Please enjoy this month’s BRAVE Interview with Jane VanVooren Rogers!

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Thanks to Karen Creamer for inviting me to participate in the Brave interview series!

I’m Jane VanVooren Rogers, writer, editor, and speaker. I have a poetry chapbook, “How to Avoid Being and other paths to Triumph,” and I’ve written hundreds of print and online articles in the last 20 years.

I’ve edited novels, memoirs, and personal growth books, helping clients polish their words before they release them into the world. I’m really enjoying helping people do that, and I’d love to follow in their steps and release more of my words into the world through nonfiction books and poetry.

I’m a mom of two children: a 10-year-old son and a 7-year-old daughter. I am reshaping myself, my home, and my life. I’ve been through many difficult experiences, and I’m choosing to view those as opportunities. My mission is to share stories to offer help, hope, and healing to others — letting people know they’re not alone.

When Karen asked me to do this interview, I was having a tough day, feeling sad, and not feeling brave in any way. Then, the next day, I read several of the other Brave interviews, and got inspired. Thanks especially to Melanie Delorme, who survived the death of her young son, for reassuring me that sometimes being brave is to just keep yourself going and take the next step forward.

I’m going through a difficult transition. This is my first time talking about it publicly.

In February, I decided to leave a marriage I’d suffered through for 2.5 years. I know it may not sound like long, but it was one of the most emotionally grueling experiences I’ve endured. (If you knew my life story, you’d know that’s saying something.)

Yet, I loved this man to the depths of my soul. I know he felt the same about me. We were together for 5.5 years. I fully devoted myself to this troubled but loving, kind, intelligent, funny, and extremely talented man who I felt had stepped up for me and my kids. Our wedding day was one of the happiest days of my life. Our minister said the love between us was “palpable,” and we wrote vows that reflected that love. I had every intention of being with him until I died. I wanted it to succeed SO BADLY.

I’m sharing this to clarify that my choice to divorce is not a “throw-in-the-towel-after-not-even-trying” situation that people can sometimes assume after a short-term marriage. This was not a “trial” marriage or a half-baked attempt. I was all in, with all that I was and had.

Even though I knew he had a severe mental illness and substance issues, for the first few years of our relationship, he seemed much better, and we were happy. But right after our wedding in August 2015, everything imploded.

I was taking care of three other people, and no one was taking care of me. I was not taking care of me. I was drowning. I was drowning in silence and isolation and pain.

I tried again and again, communicated (and cajoled and encouraged and comforted) again and again, forgave again and again, and let him come back again and again. I gave so much of myself — way too much — long after I should have admitted defeat and let it go.

I can honestly say I tried everything I could to make it work. But you can’t make a marriage work by yourself. This was my second marriage, so I felt added pressure to make it work no matter what, and create a better example for my kids.

And my kids were watching, especially my 7-year-old daughter, who didn’t hide her negative feelings about her stepdad. Even though (thank God), my kids usually weren’t present for the worst incidents, kids often can see the plain truth that adults deny.

One night, my daughter looked at me after my husband and I had argued and said, “I feel so bad for you.”

That got my attention. I tried to explain to her that my husband had a lot of problems he couldn’t control and are hard to understand, that it wasn’t up to him to make me happy, that I needed to make myself happy, blah blah blah.

But suddenly, I said to her and my son: “Listen to me. This is important. If you’re EVER in ANY situation like this, with ANYONE, I don’t care if it’s a boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, wife, roommate, coworker, friend, whomever, TELL ME, and we will GET YOU OUT OF THERE.”

Soon, I realized I needed to do the same for myself: get me out of there. And them.

I was showing them what love looks like, what a marriage looks like, what a healthy relationship looks like, and this wasn’t it.

I realized I’d never want my children in a relationship like this. I knew I had to model something better for them.

• Even though I thought this was going to be a better, kinder example of love.
• Even though I loved him so much.
• Even though he used to be so good to and for me.
• Even though all his problems weren’t all his fault.
• Even though I vowed in sickness and health.
• Even though I knew about his problems before I married him.
• Even though I wanted to teach my kids about unconditional love and compassion and forgiveness.
• Even though I thought it would be so different this time.
• Even though he still had such great qualities.
• Even though we still loved each other.
• Even though, even though, even though.

I have had to battle these “even though’s”.

Letting go is definitely a process.

On the last night my husband was in my home (on Groundhog Day, ironically), his drinking got way out of hand.  I confronted him and lightly pushed his shoulders. He growled and asked if I wanted him to hit me, which was a first, and also the point of no return. To keep us both safe, I put a boundary between us, having him go on the porch and literally closing him out of my home and my life.

Even though it was the middle of winter, and he wanted me to give him his gloves. Even though it took his ride nearly an hour to get there to pick him up. Even though he yelled curses at me and banged on the door the whole time. Even though he said, “I hope you die.” Even though the next day, he didn’t remember saying any of this.

It didn’t matter anymore. There was nothing more I could do. It became a matter of survival. In the end, I had to choose my own survival, regardless of what happens to him. That’s still hard and heart wrenching for me to say.

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A few months later, in May, when my kids and I were supposed to be doing a Muffins with Mom event at their school (but we did “Donuts on the Deck” at home instead, and I drove them to school afterward), my daughter told me that she had something in her classroom for me. This cut into my schedule, as I needed to be home shortly for an important call, so I felt a bit frustrated (and said so) as we rushed to her classroom.

When I got there and saw the Mother’s Day gifts she had for me, and her frowning face as she looked up, dejected by my stress, it hit me that this was the most important “call” of my day. I felt badly for getting upset at her.

Then I saw three words she used to describe me on paper: helpful, brave, beautiful (actually, “byotefoll”).

I smiled, but I was choking back tears. It was so kind, and it caught me off guard. The word “brave” was the one that made me nearly lose it. I was amazed that she’d use the word “brave” to describe me. I hugged her, thanked her, apologized for being in a hurry, and wished her a good day. Then I put on my sunglasses and felt the tears coming as I walked out of her school.

A bit about my daughter: She is a smart, strong-willed girl, “7-going-on-27.” She is insightful and surprisingly wise for someone with only a handful of years of life. She knows what she wants. She stands up for herself. She is OK being exactly who she is.

Since toddlerhood, she could argue and defend her point of view like a lawyer. (In those moments, she reminds me of Julia Sugarbaker from Designing Women with those brilliant, impassioned, flurry-of-articulate-thought monologues. My daughter is named Julia as well — not specifically for this character, though I always liked and respected her. Sometimes I think I had it coming!)

She wears mismatched socks and her brother’s hand-me-down red tennis shoes to school and doesn’t care if anyone makes fun of her. She has the upper body strength to climb on the monkey bars, sometimes back and forth repeatedly. She is herself, and she’s good with that. I admire her for her strength and bravery.

Though I may have been smart or insightful at her age, I was incredibly shy, nervous, and unsure of myself. As odd as it may sound, I’m striving to be more like my daughter. To overcome my insecurities, get clear on who I am and what I want, and never (again) let anyone dull my sparkle.

You never know when someone else may think that you’re brave — maybe even the bravest person they know.

Sometimes over the last few years, I’ve felt like “sad sack Mom” or “just getting by Mom” or “can’t get her self/house/life together Mom”. But whenever I voice these insecurities to my kids, it’s like they don’t see any of this. They might see the house’s messes or unfinished projects, but they’re not attributing that to my personal failure as I often do.

They tend to reassure me, saying I’m a great mom, a fun mom, a doing-a-good-job mom, even when I feel like I’m not. Even when I’m crying or overwhelmed or sad or defeated or just not feeling like enough.

I recently heard a pastor talking about the Olympic gold-medalist wrestler Helen Maroulis, who used the phrase, “Christ is in me; I am enough.” I was discussing it with the kids on our way home from church to make sure that they were getting the message that they are enough, just as they are.

But then I went home and started pressuring myself about all of the undone or unfinished things in my house, and suddenly, I felt like the lesson was for me. We can be so worried sometimes about “if the message is getting through” to our kids. But are we taking the time to make sure that we are getting the message? That we are being kind, patient, loving, and compassionate — with others, but also with ourselves.

So that’s what I’m working on: Project Me. Remaking myself. Remaking my house. Learning how to take care of me truly for the first time in my life. Even though maybe I should have learned this decades ago. For whatever reasons, I didn’t. I am learning it now. I am learning how to take care of and love myself.

I am so grateful for a loving God, my amazing children who boost me up more than they know, my supportive parents, and a few trusted friends, who have stood by me, witnessing my struggles, heartbreak, embarrassment, guilt, and shame. They’ve all helped reassure me that I did all that I could, that it’s time to empower myself and grow, and that I deserve peace, love, and joy.

I am also so grateful for the wonderful ladies of my Celebrate Recovery abuse survivors group and 12-step group (where I’m working on healing). These women’s brave sharing of their stories and struggles always unlocks new insights for me, and it’s so good to have friends who are on the same path, embracing faith, examining themselves, and working to overcome their hurts, habits, and hang-ups.

I am taking the next brave steps in my life, one at a time, and finally putting me first.

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Thank you for sharing your incredibly honest, brave, and empowering story that I believe will help many people, Jane.

If you are in a situation like this, get help now. Online: The National Domestic Violence Hotline:  http://www.thehotline.org/ or by phone: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)

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You can reach Jane VanVooren Rogers on her writer/editor Facebook page for writing or editing services, to request a Facebook Live interview about your published book, or to order a copy of her poetry chapbook, How to Avoid Being and other paths to Triumph, which is also available on Amazon.com

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Read the other BRAVE Interviews here: The BRAVE Interviews

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IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE INTERVIEWED FOR THIS SERIES ABOUT SOMETHING BRAVE YOU HAVE DONE IN YOUR OWN LIFE, SEND ME AN EMAIL HERE: karen@karencreamer.com