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When Staying Quiet Nearly Broke Me: My Story, Finally Unfiltered
- Christopher



I never realized how loud silence could be until it happened to me. One day, I just stopped posting pictures of the kids on social media, stopped sharing funny stories about my day, stopped announcing birthdays or graduations. In my mind, I was protecting my children—keeping them away from the rawness of our unfolding divorce after having front seats to escalating abuse at home. I thought, “They don’t need to see grown-ups tearing each other apart online.”What I didn’t expect was how that very silence would be used against me. My ex-husband filled the vacuum online with his narrative, telling old friends, extended family, casual acquaintances, and any others who would listen, all about how “unstable” and “dangerous” I was. How uncaring and hateful I had been. Throwing veiled insinuations that I thrived in the chaos and long process, while he simply wanted it to end. These messages are put out online, all while I was legally gagged from saying a word in my own defense. You can imagine how that tilted the playing field.But here’s the thing about silence: eventually, it wears off. And once you’ve been quiet for so long, the words you’ve held back tend to spill out all at once. So, if you’ve been wondering where I’ve been, why I disappeared, and what’s really been going on behind that thin veil of “privacy,” buckle up. Because for the first time, I’m going to tell you exactly what happened.

Realizing My ‘American Dream’ Was More Fragile Than I KnewGrowing up, I spent part of my childhood in a real house, and then, at age ten, we moved to a townhouse as my parents divorced. My mom did her best, but we never had wiggle room financially. When not in school, my brother and I had jobs, starting at age 14. When I graduated, I paid my own way through college, and finally got a stable engineering job. I felt like I’d won the lottery. Having kids? Buying my own home? Those were the big prizes—my version of security. I pictured my children running around the yard, having that perfect view everyone wishes for their kids.For a while, I believed I’d nailed it. I worked hard, first at Motorola, then GE Medical, finally landing at Citadel in 2005 and getting married (as much as we could back then). We had a condo at first, then kids, grew into a house, had built a nice retirement plan. I had a spouse I assumed wanted the same life I did. Sure, there were fights; all couples fight and no one is perfect. I know I often get lost in my work. That is an ongoing struggle. But then one day, the fights started feeling one-sided. They weren’t just arguments; they were rants, accusations, sometimes literal screaming sessions that left me questioning my own memory. Many friends reading this may have witnessed a rage from time to time. Was I crazy? Did I say something to trigger this? The rages sometimes became a silent treatment that could last for days. Other times a rage could start early in the morning and last until nightfall, persisting over several days. I had no escape. I started to pull back into my own head and slowly shutdown, not knowing how to continue as the hurtful insults flew in my direction. I remember a phrase I often said in these confrontations. “I just want to be equal”.I tried a variety of things, never with success. Every action, or every word I uttered with good intent was twisted somehow into something malicious. As spending flew out of control depleting savings, I would often suggest we maybe check our finances more closely—he’d turn it around on me. He’d say I was trying to control him, that I was the selfish one, that I didn't know how to handle the finances. Over time, I started to question everything: my sanity, my self-worth, even my right to speak. In public, my stories became his stories. At times, I would test the waters and correct one of my stories as it was being told in a crowd. Those times never ended well. That’s what abusers do best—make you feel that you’re the one in the wrong, no matter how outlandish their behavior is. I left several friends that to this day I regret, usually in solidarity to a rage he would have. I was validating the behavior.

When ‘Family’ Isn’t Family AnymoreThe hardest part might have been watching the people I called family—my extended family—his parents, cousins, siblings, people I had grown to love over the past 20 years—take his side without question, most cutting ties with me instantaneously. The only way I can communicate how that felt is comparing it to loved ones all taking a vacation together and perishing in a tragic accident, all at once. There were no goodbyes. Facebook ties immediately started to be cut off. It felt as if they just disappeared, or as if I had never really existed in their lives. At first, I assumed they’d at least listen to both of us. They’d known me for years. I was family. They saw how I doted on the kids, how I sacrificed to keep the household running. How I reached out to his mother when things were tough, struggling to find solutions. But as things at home spiraled and there were physical altercations in front of the kids, I first, almost excused the behavior. When a physical incident happened for the third time in front of the kids and friends, I knew it had to be over. I could not set the example that this was ok anymore. But the story was spun. I was a manipulative liar. An abuser. A drug addict. Suddenly, those I turned to previously, who had witnessed the volatile behaviors, quickly fell in line with him. I was the problem. Suddenly, as long tirades were written online, friends, old family, people I had not met-everyone agreed emphatically with statements made, often alluding to myself being the stain on the relationship. I sought an order of protection, and that was placed on me as well, though so restrictive I was not permitted to talk to anyone outside of a lawyer. I isolated more and more, and still to this day isolate. People were sending thoughts to his brave stance and new life. His mother and sister made statements aimed at me like “For shame!” and "ex's suck", pointed at a narrative to which they did not have the complete story. I slowly was no longer invited to things. It slowly changed me, making me feel like I was the problem all along.Once, these were the same relatives who shared inside jokes with me at holiday dinners. Now, they believed the worst rumors—like I was a cold, abusive, uncaring, negligent father that I spent my days scheming to break up the family. You can’t overstate the sting of that betrayal. It was brutal. But it also taught me something: loyalty and love can sometimes be conditional, and people often choose the simpler version of events, the one that fits into a neat narrative of “good guy vs. bad guy,” rather than digging deeper for the truth. People also deny their own truth when it is easy. I am often reserved in certain crowds. I try not to be the center of attention. It is easy to label someone a problem when that person is not constantly holding court.

Silenced by the Court, Drowned by the LiesSo, the court slapped us both with dual protective orders—basically a gag that prevented me from opening up, even to close friends or a therapist, about the details of the divorce. It also meant I couldn’t publicly refute the lies being posted all over social media. But there was a double standard. Messages still leaked online at times. One on one conversations were had with teachers. With our kids. With mutual friends. Some of the stories made it back to me.Conversations were filled with disgusting lies. Hurtful comments. At one point, I reached out to an online community on Reddit. I knew the kids did not visit the site, and I needed help. Advice. My one post was discovered and there were consequences. He always had a pass throughout the process though. Imagine having your reputation dragged through the mud daily, while you’re legally forbidden from correcting the record. Friends I’d known for years vanished. Longtime colleagues stopped returning calls. People who once admired my work ethic suddenly saw me as “that guy” they heard sketchy rumors about. I isolated myself more and I know I pulled away from many.All the while, I was getting hammered financially. Attorneys aren’t free, and every time I tried to stand up for myself in court, the legal fees soared. At first, there was a guardian ad litem. She represented the kids. Over the span of two years, she met the kids twice. That fact did not deter her from quickly beginning the process of draining marital funds. Then there was a mediator. She was a retired judge. It was one of the few times I discussed the abuse, after she asked. The response she gave-“Well, boys will be boys”. It was a comment as dismissive as one received by his mother when seeing the bruises, and excusing the abuse. There was a custody evaluator, who happily accepted thousands of dollars to produce a pre-canned report. He had not contacted witnesses. His report was full of erroneous facts. Again, another person who failed the family, but happily accepted his fees.When the finances were raised, I worked really hard to do much of the analysis. I’d sit there in the courtroom, spreadsheets and charts in hand, with proof of fraud, wasting of marital assets, and suspicious company closures—hoping the judge would see what was happening. But the judge, to put it lightly, “didn’t do finances.” Every red flag was shrugged off, and the opposing counsel, known for her aggressive tactics, walked all over the evidence. It was like watching a slow-motion train wreck, knowing the outcome was unfair but powerless to stop it.

Over Twenty Years of a Difficult Career, Wiped OutI work really hard. I have this idea that I never wanted money to be a concern for my kids. I spent thirteen and a half years at Citadel, hauling myself out of student debt and saving for the future. Citadel helped pay for 2 adoptions. Our first condo. The company is the reason we were able to move into a great house in a great neighborhood. My ex drained the accounts, funneled a lot of money into many areas that did not benefit the marriage, liquidated his IRA, closed two companies, and claimed he was broke just in time for the divorce trial. The judge gave him a pass, while the few watching from the outside could not understand how the court did not see his actions were direct attempts to hold me accountable for leaving the marriage. He was awarded a big share of the retirement I’d built from the ground up. He is receiving a 50 / 50 split of the home equity—the home I solely maintained and paid for over the past four years.Upon starting the separation process, I had hopes to finish quickly, and at the very least leave with my retirement savings, the home to maintain one piece of stability for the kids, and the kids' college funds that I started when they were born…At the end of the process, aside from a mountain of debt, I only saved their college funds. I had orders to pay his credit debt. His tax debt. Help get him a car. Half of his legal fees. Even more of my IRA. And give him money each month in maintenance. With that income, after taxes he now would walk away from the marriage without a job, yet in a better situation than I was placed. Handcuffed to the person I was trying to escape as a result of stories and lies. I was left living paycheck to paycheck. It’s astonishing how quickly you can go from comfortable to borderline broke when the legal system hands over the assets you’ve spent a lifetime earning. I watched it play out, and still do not understand why.I tried getting pro bono legal help—no dice. On paper, my salary was still too “high,” even though debt collectors and monthly bills were chewing through it. So I was stuck, paying a lawyer I could barely afford, arguing for common sense that never seemed to penetrate the courtroom walls. People would say, “But you make a good living!” They couldn’t fathom how legal fees and obligations were bleeding me dry.

The Emotional Whiplash—and the Kids Caught in the MiddleThrough it all, my kids have been my north star—my reason not to throw in the towel. I watch them with friends and think, “This is why I have to keep going.” But the post-separation manipulation got worse. Suddenly, the story was that I was an “uninvolved” parent. I was an abuser to him. The reality? I make it a point to know the kids’ friends. I have always wanted the kids and their friends to know the house was a safe space if they ever needed help. I took the kids to dentist appointments, which was taken away from me to support a narrative I was uninvolved. I could have left the marriage sooner. I didn’t. I was committed and wanted him to get the help that was needed. I did not just hand out money to the kids. I wanted the kids to learn that hard work leads to money. That became a narrative used that I was unsupportive. My true actions never mattered once the smear campaign labeled me as uninvolved and not empathetic.It’s soul-crushing. You start to wonder what your kids will think when they’re older and read the public record of this mess. It is so sad when I think every day that it will be better when the kids are grown. I am missing their childhood completely. I relive experiences from the marriage daily. The screaming at me with no way to escape. I relive the screaming constantly. I read the notes I started to take so I could remember the true past, and not the past that changed over time to fit a narrative. I spiral mentally constantly to a degree I don't think many others can relate to. I have continual anxiety and fear that keeps me awake at night. I have been labeled as not a good co-parent after setting up boundaries. I will not be alone in a space with him. To this day, he scares me.But the kids are also the drive that forced me to step forward, to peel off the duct tape from my mouth. I refuse to let them grow up believing that the bully who lies the loudest automatically wins.

Taking My Voice BackSo why am I speaking now? Because the silence almost destroyed me. Because I know firsthand that abusers thrive when their victims can’t contradict their version of events. And because at some point, it becomes more dangerous not to speak than to stay quiet. I am aware that this post will make it into his hands. That will mean I will be back in court. This time, I have nothing left to take. The house is being prepared for the final sale, my retirement is all but gone. The home equity is directed to his debts. He will be able to start the life, as I have been told, he deserves. With the years of sweat equity I built up.
After everything, I still believe it’s better to tell the truth—even if it’s messy—than to hide behind closed doors. My kids, you, anyone who’s genuinely interested deserves to know what actually happened. The financial fraud, the systematic smearing, the gag orders, the heartbreak of losing friends who only heard one side. All of it.

And If You’re Going Through Something Similar…Listen, I thought I had all the bases covered. I had a solid job, good savings, a retirement plan. I documented everything. I was involved. I am not perfect by any stretch. I told the truth, was meticulous in writing down incidents or taking photos of every instance of abuse, thinking that would be enough. It wasn’t. Because a broken system doesn’t always care about truth; it cares about who can game it more effectively. Certain lawyers will do anything for a win, even if that means bringing harm to kids.I know there are others out there in similar circumstances. If you’re feeling trapped, gagged, or afraid to speak, I see you. You’re not alone. It’s so easy to doubt yourself when everyone around you is suddenly questioning your character. I have been, and continue to be in dark places. I entered this process with some, not a lot, of money. I know there are those with way less and cannot fathom how much lower they can fall in this process. But I promise, you have the right to your story, no matter how many orders tell you to stay quiet, and no matter how many rumors paint you as the villain.


Where I Go From Here…Am I still drained? Yes. Still furious? Absolutely. Lost? 100%. I lost a house I cherished, a retirement I worked half my life to build, and a circle of people I thought I could trust. I am 50 years old. I no longer see retirement in my future. I am looking at renting a home, something I have not done in over 15 years. But I refuse to let bitterness define me or let fear muzzle me. I’m rebuilding my finances from near-scratch, still hustling every week to pay off legal debts. But in the midst of it, I’m reclaiming my own voice and my power to share the truth, for my kids’ sake and my own sanity.If there’s a silver lining, it’s the realization that I’m stronger than I ever knew. That I can speak out and keep going, despite the court system, the lies, and even my own lingering doubts. And if by telling my story I can help one other person see that they aren’t the problem, that they aren’t alone—then something good can come out of this nightmare.So yeah, I’m done being quiet. This is me, telling the world that silence almost broke me, but it didn’t. I’m still here. I’m still standing. And trust me, that in itself is a victory I’m holding on to with both hands.


A Final, Unfiltered List of the Last Several Years of Life…Before wrapping this all up, let me leave you with something I wish I’d had sooner: a list of red flags and blatant abusive behaviors. Abuse can sneak up on you; you keep excusing it, second-guessing yourself, or blaming stress or circumstances. But if you see any of these warning signs—whether it’s happening to you or someone you care about—it’s time to recognize it for what it is: abuse. Full stop. I did not fully understand abuse. I still question much.I am embarrassed.
I blame myself.
I think over and over again on what I should have done differently.
I am not the person I used to be.Below is just a sample of the actions that have changed me.


Abandonment in the Middle of Nowhere
After an hours-long rage on a family camping trip in Michigan, he left me stranded, forcing me to find my own way home.Financial Sabotage
Despite my repeated pleas to curb spending, bills and credit card charges piled up. A comfortable payout I had after leaving Citadel vanished within months—and suddenly I was the one accused of hiding money.Gaslighting
He twisted every situation until I questioned my own sanity, wondering if I was actually the abuser.Apology on Repeat
I learned to say “I’m sorry” for everything—whether I caused it or not—just to avoid triggering another fight.Walking on Eggshells
I monitored every word and braced for his next explosive reaction. One slip, and I’d face relentless accusations or stone-cold silence.Threats of Divorce
He dangled the idea of divorce repeatedly, even telling the kids it was happening, then changed his mind or pretended nothing was wrong.Holiday Destruction
Sudden meltdowns or fights ruined birthdays, celebrations, and vacations, overshadowing any joy we could have had.Refusing to Let Me Shine
If a spotlight was on me for any reason, he found a way to dominate or belittle my achievements, so I never got to feel proud of my own successes.Isolation from Friends and Family
He raged to those closest to me, spun stories to make them suspect or untrustworthy, until contact with swarms of friends fadedExplosive Reactions to Small “Mistakes”
Failing to do something exactly his way often provoked a days-long rage that exhausted me mentally and emotionally.Harassing Calls and Texts
Bombarding me at work or throughout the day with rapid-fire messages, destroying my focus and peace. Post-separation, I’d get hundreds of texts in an hour—each buzz sending my anxiety sky-high.Demanding My Passwords, While Concealing His
He insisted I hand over every account login and password I had, under the guise of “transparency.” Meanwhile, he guarded his own like state secrets, then accused me of hacking whenever I tried to figure out missing or questionable transactions.Deliberate Harm Through Finances
He closed businesses, destroyed marital assets, and then spun a tale that I was to blame for the financial fallout.Weaponizing the Legal System
After tormenting me for hours, he’d grab his phone and film me, chase me around the house, then call the cops—claiming I attacked him.Widespread Smear Campaign
He tore my name apart to friends, family, even the kids’ teachers—painting me as cold, unstable, and, ironically, the “abuser.”Blurring Reality
He told stories I started to believe or at least wonder about. (No, Neil Patrick Harris never asked me on a date!)Seizing Everything We Built
He wasted our finances, took the remaining assets, and pushed me—and the kids—out of our last sense of stability, all while insisting I was the one who caused it. While stating that I was the entitled person.Cruel Threats
“You’re pathetic,” “I’m going to ruin you,” “My family will reduce you to a Christmas card”—these became mantras that still echo in my mind.Physical Violence
I was shoved into walls, pinned to the ground, kicked—each attack ramped up my fear more than the last.Hopelessness
After all the lies and manipulation, I started to believe there was no way out—that he’d taken everything from me and no one would believe otherwise.If any of these ring a bell—if you find yourself constantly questioning your worth, apologizing just to keep the peace, isolating from friends, or feeling trapped by mental, emotional, or physical attacks—please recognize it as abuse. Gaslighters and abusers work hard to blur reality, to make you think this is normal or “not that bad.” It is bad. And you deserve better.As for me, I still wrestle with questions: Was I really the heartless spouse? Could I have done more? Those doubts come from years of gaslighting. The actions of the court have reinforced my doubts. Deep down, I think I know the truth—I experienced abuse, and no amount of self-blame changes that.Regardless, something needs to change. The family court system failed my kids. It failed me. I've learned it has failed countless others. The legal professionals that assisted should be ashamed and are as much to blame.Something has to change.