Recognizing Abuse: My Journey with Lewis and Tyson - A Domestic Violence Awareness Story

The next part in our Domestic Violence Awareness series is the story of Lewis. I hope it’s obvious that I am changing the names. Please do not try to identify, find, or dox anyone you think you might know. Lewis is a man that I met online when I was 18. I spent my 19th birthday alone in his apartment while he went to some convention. He picked me up from 2 hours away, drove me to his home, made sure I had what I needed for a couple of days and dipped. This was exactly what I asked for. I was in a very chaotic time period when I met Lewis. 

Lewis and my connection started off strong. There was love bombing. There is always love bombing. As someone that had poor boundaries and poor love in the home, it always felt right when someone love bombed me. Of course I didn’t know what it was then. I expected that Lewis would keep that same momentum throughout our relationship. Eventually he moved me into his apartment as a way to help me escape my foster sister and her husband. (As always, that is a different story.)

I lived with Lewis for several months without a job. During this time I was taking care of the home and being lazy otherwise. Eventually he lost his patience for this, understandably. Instead of having a conversation with me first, he decided that he lost interest in me. Unbeknownst to me, this man was still on dating websites, meeting up with women on his lunch break, sending and receiving dirty pictures and apparently fucking a 16 year old. She might have been 17.

What was so odd was that I knew the child. She was my sister’s ex-boyfriend’s daughter. She lived 2 hours away. I don’t remember exactly how I found out, but I remember that Lewis had to be tested for herpes after this. I was livid, not because of the potential for STDs, well, not solely because of that anyway. I was livid that he had been sleeping with a child at the age of 29. 

This guy should have helped solidify my gut instincts. Everything I ever suspected about him would be confirmed. I logged onto his computer one day to find him setting up a meeting with another woman on his Facebook page. We worked through that. And by that I mean he drove me to a friend's house, 1.5 hours away, gave me money for the weekend, and was put on notice that I would be doing whatever I wanted. I remember I found out about the girl and the woman he was meeting the same week. I was, no doubt, terrified by the… creative threats I spit at him for an hour and a half. Beyond all of that, he intentionally made me feel like I was at fault for his proclivities. He tried to make me feel bad about myself. This relationship started to break my relationship with myself. He made me question my intuition and my emotional intelligence.

Lewis and I had broken up after the above situation and I moved in with a neighbor/new boyfriend that I had made friends with. Let’s call him Tyson. (I’m so sorry you’ll have to bear with me, we aren’t done with the Lewis story - but we are about to connect 2 abuse stories.) Tyson was also a love bomber. He made me feel like I was his whole world for a time. I was, he was unemployed, had a baby, spoke poorly of the child’s mother, was behind on child support, and never saw his child. I later found out that was because he had a domestic violence charge on him from the child’s mother. 

Tyson was a different kind of abusive. He would accuse me of cheating on him. I was working full-time as an assistant manager for a dairy place. Sometimes I would get held over with closing duties, and other times I would take a couple of minutes to buy groceries to feed us. One night in particular, I was about 5 minutes late walking home in about a foot of snow. I had also purchased a few items I needed for his requested BLTs.

I walked in the door of our apartment that I was paying for, and Tyson dropped down on his knees in front of me to sniff my crotch. He was certain he would be able to smell another man on me. He legitimately could smell my period coming, so I don’t doubt that if I had been sleeping around he would have caught it. You would think this would have been the end of the conversation. Most nights it was. He went and sat down while I started frying bacon for his fucking BLTs. The kitchen was small with only one small opening to get in or out.

It wasn’t long before he was screaming at me while blocking my exit. I think it went on for about 5 minutes, all the while my blood was boiling. Did I mention I have anger issues? But also, what he was aiming for was reactive abuse. He wanted me to do something that he could showcase as crazy. He almost got his wish as I picked up the cast iron skillet I was using and told him if he didn’t “back the fuck up I am going to throw this bacon and oil on you.” He backed up, I cut the stove and walked out to go calm down. 

He followed me outside to continue the argument. When we went inside he continued to rage and knocked the vacuum over while making direct eye-contact. I was intimidated but hadn’t yet lost my voice or my backbone. Had I stayed, I learned later, that he would have hit me. This display of physical violence was meant to scare me and wear me down. This behavior is what I call abuse ramping up. It is a precursor to future abuse.

 I don’t remember how that night calmed down but it wasn’t long before I went home to spend some time with my family. He called me constantly, picked fights with my ex, and tried to monopolize my time. This is a tactic that if I had stayed would have resulted in isolation. Having to fight the entire time one is spending time with folks who love them would eventually condition the target to spend less and less time with the people who could see and say something. Abusers will isolate you from your support system, this is just one example of how they do it.

While he was acting crazy, my sister reaffirmed that he was, in fact, acting crazy. She looked so concerned. It was her concern that caused me to text Lewis. Lewis, for all his many failings, has a hero complex that saved my ass. When I got back to town, my first stop was Lewis to iron out the details of my stay. While we were discussing, I got a call from the neighbor across the hall from Tyson telling me he was throwing my shit into the hall.

This was actually less of a problem than Tyson wanted it to be. It was helpful. I did try to enter the apartment to make sure my things were out. I had been paying, and I got mail there. He should not have been able to bar me. He and I argued through the door. Eventually he got me to react the way he wanted me to the whole time we were together. I kicked that metal entry door hard enough to break a chain lock clean off. He immediately called the cops, eerily calm, to report that I had broken his nose. 

I took this time to tell Lewis I was going to jail, he had been ferrying my things up the stairs. I gave him my debit card so that he could bail me out. He had a date that night but he promised me he would make sure I got home. The cop apologetically arrested me after hearing both sides. I spent about 30 minutes in that jail cell before I was released on a promise to appear. 

Lewis, although he had saved me, was still not a true hero in this story. He continued to use sneaky tactics with the intention of cutting down my self-esteem. One last story to round us out and finish this chapter of my life. Lewis had a female friend that insisted on meeting me while I was with Tyson. She, to this day, claims she had a morbid curiosity about what kind of woman would date Lewis. I loved her immediately. 

Lovely and I were both bigger gals. She had about 15 pounds on me, I knew, we went shopping together. Lewis wouldn’t let me sit on his lap one day, because I was too heavy. Later that night Lovely came over and he encouraged her to sit on his lap. I called him out on it and he admitted this was done with the intention to hurt me. 

There is one more piece to the Lewis story that I forgot. Consistently, when I would call him on mistreatment, he would become self-hating. I didn’t recognize that as abusive until later but it never sat right with my spirit. I am a compassionate person so it worked for a long time. The night it stopped working he grabbed a katana and threatened to kill himself. I stand by how I handled it. I called his father to come get his weapons. Next time, I’ll call the cops and let them handle it because his father just determined he didn’t mean it.

So, in conclusion, we have talked about love-bombing, manipulation, undermining, escalation, gaslighting, isolation, reactive abuse, suicidal threats, control of the physical environment (trapping me in the kitchen), isolation using finances, and finally reactive abuse. For more information on other ways those things can present please click HERE for additional education and resources.

I have been fortunate in my stories so far that I; one, recognized that something wasn’t right before things got too bad and two, was able to find support to leave when I needed to. Not everyone is as fortunate. My story of leaving within the first time or two of trying is uncommon and not representative of the norm in these situations. If you are struggling to leave, I hope you can find the resources available. You are not weak, you are not deserving of abuse, and you are not consenting just because you can’t see a way out. I love you and I will help in any way I can. Even if it is just holding space for you while you find your voice.

With love and compassion, 

Mia Marie

Revisiting Cannabis: History, Stigmas, and Sustainable Futures

Weed, Green, Wacky Tobacky, the Devil's Lettuce, Sweet Mary Jane, SweetLeaf (if your Ozzy) these are all common names for Cannabis Sativa the plant that can be medicine, paper, textiles, construction materials, and, perhaps most surprising, fuel. Cannabis has been used throughout most of recorded history and we have archeological evidence that it was in use prior to recorded history. It’s no wonder that our ancestors cultivated these fascinating plants before tomatoes. 

Today I want to focus on some of the more modern thoughts surrounding what is arguably one of the most versatile plants in existence. I grew up in the DARE era. I was shown commercials about how my brain on drugs looked like a fried or broken egg. Weed being one of the most talked about for some reason. Sure, the program talked about coke and heroin but for some reason, weed was the focus of the media it seems. This was of course decades ago now and I live in a state that has legalized the “recreational” use of cannabis. I put recreational in quotes because I am of the opinion that all folks that are using mind and mood altering substances are self-medicating to some degree. 

“What are your qualifications?” I can hear some of the more critical folks asking. I have been observing and living various degrees of addiction since I was born. I’ve seen it all. I lived with an alcoholic mother who at some point developed a love affair with booger sugar and other things that we don’t often automatically even consider as addiction. Members of my extended family have all shared stories of their own addiction struggles. I spent years tending bar. I’m observant and psychology is a hyper fixation of mine, even though I do not have a degree. I have spent years observing addiction and drug use, in various settings. And I have that face that everyone wants to share their demons with. You start to notice some patterns after a while. 

Now back to cannabis, specifically. Did you know that our Founding Fathers smoked, just, a lot of pot and used hemp as textiles? Neither did I until I started working in the cannabis industry. I started working with a company that took great pride in their caregiver roots. Caregivers are what the medical industry called folks that grew for medical use patients. Card carrying patients with any number of ailments ranging from chronic pain and loss of appetite caused by cancer and cancer treatment to severe and debilitating anxiety. Because this company took great pride in what they were doing, they provided us with reading material for education purposes that we were encouraged to read during our down time. I unfortunately can’t remember all the books that I read, but I will do my best to include a list of references for more reading.

Wait, so the founding fathers smoked pot and used hemp and then it was bad and now it’s good again? How did we get here? Great questions. Hemp and Cannabis are the same plant, but one is bred specifically for its medicinal benefits. We actually used cannabis in this country for like 100 years without an issue. Then POC brought us jazz music and jazz cabbage became associated with POC. I shouldn’t have to tell you that during the early 1900s we, those of us lacking melanin, were particularly heinous in our treatment of what we perceived as others. Many of us STILL are and unfortunately that is a conversation for another day. So, I am saying that racism set our country back significantly. 

Had it not been for racism and greed we could have had a healthcare system that bothered to research why cannabis is medicine and we could have been further ahead in identifying exactly which compounds work best for which ailments. Had it not been for racism and greed we could have saved millions of acres of forests in Michigan alone. I’m not here to educate you on why that’s bad. I’m sure there are better resources for that. Well where does greed come in, you ask. It was lobbyists with personal interest in things like paper made from trees and criminalizing the medicine to make a profit that convinced corrupt politicians to help demonize it. Crazy to think that we still allow lobbying despite humans proving again and again that they will only look out for their own best interests instead of the best interests of the many. But again, that is not today’s topic! Stay on track.

When Nixion had cannabis scheduled as a drug, it was against medical professionals advice. For context, because context is always important, there were protests against the Vietnam war going on at this time, there were civil rights protests and there was the women's liberation movement. Politically it was an active time. Culturally, the communities that would be disproportionately affected by the criminalization were - you guessed it- POC. There are better educators out there than me to explain the nuance here, but it boils down to this, believe POC when they tell you their experience and how it is we got here. Generational trauma gets passed down in two ways; behaviors like people pleasing and code switching (and many others.) and a literal genetic component. Trauma: individual like abuse suffered in the home and collective like slavery, lynching, and an un-winable war literally change our DNA. None of that is actually today’s main focus however it is an important bit of context. And you are always encouraged to fact check me.

Medical professionals knew that there were real world applications for cannabis in the healing sector, even in the 70s. In the 70s, maybe for the first time, we were seeing things like PTSD which were talked about as “shell shock” and “combat fatigue”. While there was a huge stigma around mental health, even more so than today, especially in regards to our veterans, what they were seeing would eventually be labeled as PTSD. I can’t say for sure that medical professionals knew cannabis would help with mental health things back then, but given that was when they were also looking at LSD for its ability to rewire the brain, it's not hard to imagine they had an inkling. 

What we know now is that humans have what is called an endocannabinoid system. Its a complex system that I once read described as being responsible for the body’s homeostasis. Research on this is a bit on the newer side of course but what we know is that the shape of the compounds found in the cannabis plant fit perfectly into this endocannabinoid system. This system helps regulate things like cortisol, the stress hormone and other systems. It is a key player. I can’t remember specifically if I read this next bit or if it is an original thought, but it seems to me that the endocannabinoid system can be thrown out of wack by living in fight or flight and this effects the cortisol levels. I don’t remember the specific science that led me there, unfortunately. Smoking pot, anecdotally, helps me function like a normal person with a normal nervous system. Smoking pot helps others manage their physical pain. Cannabis is medicine.

Moving forward, I hope to see a future where we use cannabis in sustainable ways. Imagine less deforestation and more hemp farms. Picture a shift from oil to hemp biofuel and replacing concrete with hempcrete for building materials. Cannabis is a plant that requires fewer resources to grow than most crops, and its applications are endless. If we hadn't demonized this plant a century ago, we might already be living in a greener, more sustainable world. But the second-best time to make this a reality is now. If you have thoughts on how we can make this vision a reality, let’s chat in the comments.

With love,

Mia Marie

P.S

Further Reading
Green: A Field Guide to Marijuana by Dan Michaels and Erik Christiansen
Grass Roots: The Rise and Fall and Rise of Marijuana in America by Emily Dufton
The Cannabis Manifesto: A New Paradigm for Wellness by Steve DeAngelo and Willie L. Brown Jr.
Terpenes: The Magic in Cannabis by Beverly A. Potter Ph.D

Additional resources:
Generational Trauma
Trauma and Addiction

Generational Trauma and substance use

War on Drugs and the demonization of Cannabis

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Breaking Silence: My Journey Through Domestic Abuse and Healing PT. Poe

I recently broke my silence on big things that have happened in my life in a big way. One way was calling out my husband for continuing to refuse a divorce after almost 13 years as the only way he has to maintain control over me. In honor of breaking my silence and in observance with Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I have decided to share my various stories of abuse. I’ve experienced a lot, if I’m honest, with a lot of people. To keep on track, I will only be focusing on the fellas I actually shared a home with. (I acknowledge that I have had a lot of relationships. It is worth noting I do not accuse all of my exes and I am, in fact, friends with some of them.)

Some of you may find this series unbelievable. I understand; not everyone recognizes the cycles and patterns of abuse. Not everyone understands the generational trauma that so many of us witness and relive until we decide to break the cycles. The first step to breaking the cycle is awareness. The second is knowledge and identification of abuse. The third is real people sharing their real stories to help break the shame surrounding the abuse we’ve suffered and the silence that the patriarchy benefits from.

It is my goal to illustrate some aspects that we don’t always immediately recognize as red flags. If you’ve always been blessed to have a functioning nervous system and don’t care to see other perspectives, this series isn’t for you—and honestly, I may not be for you. But if you are open to different perspectives and, like me, grew up licking love off of knives or being spoon-fed general dysfunction, please stick around.

It is best to start at the beginning. So, let’s begin with the boy I dated when I was a freshly minted “adult.” At 17, I was living in an apartment, having recently graduated from a pre-independent living program after living in a group home. We aren’t here to talk about how I got there. I was no longer eligible for the program because I had graduated high school a semester early, so I went to college, worked, and lived independently at 17. Poe and I met on one of the two buses I took to and from school each day. I was enamored with Poe, and Poe was enamored with me.

We became fast friends, and he quickly divulged a laundry list of mental health disorders. I was young and naive, studying psychology, and thought I could handle it. At some point, he stopped taking all of his medications. What ensued was unintentional, but very real harm—for both of us. I debated even including this story for a couple of reasons: one, I believe I was partially culpable—I was in some kind of spiritual psychosis and thought I could heal him; and two, I am very aware that he was not well.

As far as I know, Poe is usually doing well these days, and I have no ill feelings towards him. I’m sharing this story strictly because it highlights some heavy abuse tactics. He would often show up to my job in hysterics, claiming that demons in our apartment were causing problems—not to cause me trouble, but a lot of abusers will use this tactic to make you lose your job to keep you trapped. I eventually dropped out of school, worked two jobs, and left or lost both, either directly or indirectly because of him.

He would manufacture crises, keeping me in a state of fight or flight. This can be done on purpose to keep the target confused and stressed. Again, his motivation was not to cause problems; unfortunately, the outcome was the same. He would wake me up while I tried to sleep. Sleep deprivation isn’t just any ol’ kind of abuse; it’s legit torture. And that’s why I ultimately decided to put Poe in this series. It showcases some of the more insidious and difficult-to-catch signs of abuse. It’s all crazy-making behavior.

As I continue to unpack my experiences, I invite you to join me in this series. Let’s create a safe space for sharing our stories and learning from one another. I hope to hear from you, whether it’s through comments, messages, or sharing your own experiences. Together, we can foster understanding and support, paving the way for a healthier future.

With Love and Compassion, 

Mia Marie