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I thought I would eventually, perhaps after the baby was born, so I soldiered on and waited for it to get better. I still did my wifely duties, but tried to avoid the situation more often than not.

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It was uncomfortable, messy, sometimes painful and humiliating. He was kind enough to appease my discomfort by letting me give him oral on occasion instead of penetrating me. Such a thoughtful, selfless husband I had. I had sneaked enough porn and romance novels to have an idea though. Only one girl in my youth group had been sexually active. Rape was a one-time thing, a life and death situation, not something that happens with people who love you, and certainly not from your own husband.

Marital rape? No such thing! Sometimes I was asleep when he started. He would take his anger toward me out on our child, but I was always there to intervene. I was a hostage in my own home— but he never hit me. As far as I knew, jealousy, anger, and aggression were fairly normal male behavior. I was my mother, after all. The sheriff who responded to my call a year later told me something that really should be common knowledge.

This contradicted everything I had ever known.

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I tried. I really, really tried, but eventually, even the thought of him near me made me cringe. I told him I hated sex. I even suggested a prostitute if it would just make him leave me alone. I was dead inside.

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One day, despite all my ignorance and naivety, I finally recognized it as abuse. I will never forget that afternoon upstairs when the one-year old was napping and I was still pregnant with the second one, that he came in and then left me feeling like the dirty rag that the preacher always said I was. I did resist.

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I did say no, but he was bigger than me and stronger than me. After almost three years of marriage, I finally realized I had been raped. Maybe because I fought back that time. As long as I had no bruises, everyone else thought we were fine. One day he finally did it. He lost his temper, grabbed me by the throat, and threw me up against the wall.

I was in shock. No one knew. I looked fine. I was really good at that. I made him go to counseling with me, but all he got out of it was that I should have sex more. I had used my life savings to buy our house, and aside from that, I had been pregnant, breastfeeding, or both the entirety of our marriage. I had a two-year-old and an infant, no real education, no work experience, no childcare, no money, and no idea how to even get those things. My mother preached about the sins of divorce and the power of prayer.

Yes, there are programs out there, but getting assistance is not that simple, nor is it available to everyone. I started looking for a job, sewing things, baking things, and selling everything we owned—down to the microwave—just to keep from being homeless. Meanwhile, I just had to deal with it. I sacrificed my body and my dignity to protect us from his wrath—and it worked. I could handle it. He was nobody, and his words and actions meant nothing.

God would never give me more than I could handle. I truly believed this.

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Eventually I found a job, put the kids in daycare, and filed for divorce. By this point, I was determined to make it on my own no matter what the cost. I was on the waiting list for child care assistance for over a year. I had gotten three foreclosure notices. The utilities had been cut off God knows how many times. My car was breaking down. The kids were getting sick constantly.

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I got little sympathy because mothers are just biologically supposed to be able to handle that stuff. He used their well-being as a pawn in his sick games. He actually followed through with that. He stalked me at work and tried to get me in trouble with my boss. His girlfriend got a job where I worked, and then started telling our co-workers that I abused and neglected the kids. She got suspended. He threatened my babysitters.

I Let My Husband Rape Me, and Here’s Why…

All the while, he kept saying everything would be fine if I just took him back. He would stop ignoring the kids and stop harassing me, and he would be nice and take care of us, and everything would be sunshine and rainbows— if I would just love him again. It was all up to me.

I surrendered my body to get him to pay the light bill. I surrendered my body to keep him from losing his temper in front of the kids… to keep him from breaking my only means of transportation… to stop him from making a scene and humiliating me publicly… to make him leave me alone and let me sleep… so he would give me my phone back or turn the internet back on. I let him angrily rape me so he would stop stalking and threatening the teenager whom he accused me of emotionally cheating on him with after he moved out.

I was embarrassed and afraid and just wanted him to stop acting like a crazy person. He would calm down eventually once he got over the break-up. I just had to wait it out. Not until the day he brought a gun home.

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He thought he was being funny pointing it at me and pulling the trigger in front of the kids. When I went to file charges, the detective argued it was a waste of time. Should I have roughed myself up a bit first, used bad manners or something? A few nights later, he almost killed us all. He came in while I was sleeping with the kids on either side and tried to force himself on me again.

To be completely honest, I wished he would. Will this guilt go away? Work through all the steps in my ebook on self-forgiveness. The real issue is making peace with yourself. Good day everybody am here to share my life testimony to you all and to those time of life you think everything has end no, there is always a way out, my life is an example of that, my name is Cacilia am from USA but i work here in UK and i have been in a relationship for 4years now i sacrifice my life my money to make sure it work out and to have a happy family with my boyfriend a time comes when my boyfriend lost his job i stand to make sure he never lack anything and i fight for him to get a new job and have our wedding planed few weeks ago my boyfriend got a good job and i was so happy for him and we where happy together again last week i.

I felt horrible afterwards and called them about it, but I still feel really guilty. Trying to forgive myself but finding it hard to do so. You feel appropriately guilty because you believe lying is a bad thing. Maybe you also feel ashamed. You need to move from guilt and remorse to contrition and self-forgiveness.