On Writing Leaving: How I Set Myself Free from an Abusive Marriage

About writing my memoir:

Growing up in New Delhi, India, I had always been an avid reader of fiction and non-fiction, whether it be Irving Wallace, Ayn Rand, Alex Hayley, or Pearl Buck. Books were readily available at home as my dad was a voracious reader. I was fascinated by the courage and wit of the writers, and I admired their true sense in expressing their thoughts and feelings on paper, reaching to the inner depths of readers, touching their hearts, squelching their bellies, or sometimes playing with their minds. But I could not fathom the driving force that made them hold a pen and paper in their hands to build their narrative. My ingenuity was only limited to venerating these authors. I never considered myself a writer or had the urge to become one.

After we moved to the USA, my children had been pushing me for years to pen down my story and get it out there-my story of an arranged marriage gone array. It was not until my therapist Leslie told me that I needed to share my compelling narrative of transformation from a victim of domestic abuse to a survivor. “Become their advocate, Kanchan. They need you. Make it your purpose”. I teared down and hugged her, standing in her embrace for a good thirty seconds. And she failed to hide her emotions too. Writing my story and reaching out to people in adversity became my core purpose, my mission. 

On my way home from the clinic, I called my daughter and twin boys one by one, “Mom is ready to write.” They were thrilled to hear the eagerness in my voice. I came home fully energized and inspired. I straight away routed to the garage and looked for the box labeled Kanchan’s notes, loosely filled with written legal papers, inked in napkins, post its, papers from notebooks turned yellow bearing my emotions and mental thoughts scribbled throughout my years of agony.

I picked up the box and brought it to my patio. I then moved my writing desk to the patio, which opened up into a nicely trimmed lawn with pine trees, facing a church across the road surrounded by mature oak trees, bringing in soulful vibes.  After all, I needed an environment to write. Isn’t that the way authors bring out their thoughts? I had to follow their practice to become a writer, I kiddingly smiled to myself. However, my patio is my favorite space in my whole house where I spend most of my time after work and on weekends. 

I was all set to take off; I picked a stack of blank sheets from my printer, took my surface pro, although my first draft was to be on paper, and a set of my preferred black ink gel pens. After chronologically arranging the papers from the box, I sketched the main framework. It was mentally exhausting to look at all the scribblings. I kept the pen aside, pondered for a while, then stepped out to take a walk around the nearby pond. 

Several thoughts jammed my mind. I took time to structure them in my head, walked back home, made a cup of ginger tea, and picked up the pen again. I took a deep breath and wrote down the major milestones chronologically after my marriage which flowed easily, to my astonishment. Perhaps it was not that difficult to get to the part of my brain that I had not visited for a long time. I retrieved the archived folder, with several files embedded deep but not yet deleted. The files contained unkind and upsetting memories of my tumultuous twenty-three years- from my marriage to escape. I named each milestone to be a chapter. 

I began with the first chapter headed, “The end of the beginning,” and dug deep into the episodes and attached emotions at that time.  It was strenuous; nevertheless, it came as a surprise and a pleasant revelation that I had the flare to express. I was astonished and enthused in the same breath when I read back the pages voicing my inner feelings on paper.

I can do it,” I said to myself. However, putting down my tumultuous journey of living in the imprisonment of an angry, alcoholic, and violent husband was going to be treacherous.  I was trapped under his control, power, and sadist behavior-solitary, isolated, and alone for years. But, my commitment to writing kept me going day after day, page by page, diving back to my deep entrenched hurt, which I believed was gone, that I had moved on, turned out to be not true. I realized it was going to be a tough jaunt, tougher than I had envisaged.

It brought back the remnants of the torture and suffering and transported back the symptomatic, physical, mental and emotional pain in my body. It was a roller coaster ride, soaring high in the sky one moment, bringing a smile of joy, hope, desire, tenacity, and empowerment of the times when I got free, turning into moments of loud shrieking noise coming from my heart with the downward spiral reminding me of the gory episodes, the torment and distress, the depressive spells and the silent agony.

I went through a period of PTSD. But the core purpose of writing my story, sharing it with the world, and reaching out to people of domestic violence did not deter my spirit from writing. I was as relentless now as I was when building the ramp toward my freedom along with my three children, who were casualties of the gruesome environment. Reaching out to people was my only mission, and there was no stopping me. I was needle-focused, generating chapter after chapter.

There were times when I had to take short breaks- walk in nature or meditate to remain sane and centered. Then, I had to take a couple of longer intervals to come out of the PTSD spell and overcome writer’s block. I took a vacation to Munich, Germany, and Vienna, which I always wanted to do. Hallstead was my favorite on that trip, setting serenity and calm in me. I felt inner happiness and sensed the true healing enrapturing me. I recognized that my narrative of distress and pain would cure my crushed heart and soul, which it seemed had not yet completely healed. I had just suppressed my pain in the wake of moving on and enjoying my newly found freedom.

Now, I allowed myself to create more space in my heart and brain for acceptance and forgiveness to keep working on the core purpose of my life. I came back from my retreat full of exhilaration and warmth in my heart to begin the chapters where I had left. In the previous chapter, I had already escaped and survived, protected my children, and brought them to a safe place. I had to complete a few more chapters of my life.

My journey had not stopped after coming out as a survivor. Now, I had to live my life and catch up for the days lost. I had freed my body, but there was more healing to be done to free my mind and soul. Thus the journey toward spirituality began. Faith in the universe had taught me that orderliness follows chaos, peace follows war, and joy is not far behind suffering. I had a firm belief that joy would come into my life someday, one day. I read spiritual books and listened to podcasts and interviews of spiritual gurus and learned men. Met and talked to seekers like me.

Mindfulness and surrendering to anger, greed, lust, attachments, and ego were fundamentals of spirituality that touched my inner self. While writing the chapter “Rekindling my spiritual journey,” I reminisced about how I gained my inner strength, humility, and gratitude. How serenity and tranquility brought me to clearly see and admire the rising orange ball from the east side of my house, painting the grey sky in its hue, the stillness in the trees, the white swans gliding in the infinite sky, waterfalls all, the star-studded atmosphere, the ever-changing shapes of the moon. I could once again laugh at jokes and move my body at the turning of music. I had come full circle with a regained identity and dignity and was close to the bare Self-Who I am. The choice to write my memoir was the wisest decision I took.   

—

Kanchan Bhaskar (Kan-chan Bhas-car), an Indian-American, is a first-time author. She holds a Master’s Degree in social work and a certificate in life coaching. She is also a certified Business Coach. Being a successful Human Resource professional, her expertise is in training and mentoring. She is a certified advocate, speaker, and coach for victims and survivors of domestic violence. Kanchan lives in Chicago.

Find out more about Kanchan on her website https://kanchanbhaskar.com/

Leaving: How I Set Myself Free from an Abusive Marriage

Raised by two loving parents in New Delhi, India, Kanchan Bhaskar has always been taught that marriage means companionship, tenderness, and mutual respect—so when she enters into an arranged marriage, this is the kind of partnership she anticipates with her new, seemingly wonderful, husband. But after they marry, she quickly discovers that his warmth is deceptive—that the man beneath the bright, charming façade is actually a narcissistic, alcoholic, and violent man.

Trapped in a nightmare, Kanchan pleads with her husband to seek help for his issues, but he refuses. Meanwhile, Indian law is not on her side, and as the years pass, she finds herself with three children to protect—three children she fears she will lose custody of if she leaves. Almost overnight, she finds herself transformed into a tigress who will do whatever it takes to protect her cubs, and she becomes determined to free them from their toxic father. But it’s not until many years later, when the family of five moves from India to the United States, that Kanchan is presented with a real opportunity to leave him—and she takes it.

Chronicling Kanchan’s gradual climb out of the abyss, little by little, day by day, Leaving is the empowering story of how—buoyed by her deep faith in a higher power and single-minded in her determination to protect her children best—she fought relentlessly to build a ramp toward freedom from her abuser. In this memoir, Kanchan clearly lays out the tools and methods she utilized in her pursuit of liberation—and reveals how belief in self and belief in the Universe can not only be weapons of escape but also beautiful foundations for a triumphant, purpose-driven life.

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Category: On Writing