“Do you have your emergency bag ready?” my therapist in Istanbul asked during our final session before I made the decision to leave my husband. For weeks, we had discussed what to include in that bag—items I could discreetly take from our home without raising suspicion, and essentials that my son and I would need in the challenging months ahead at my new, undisclosed location.
Months earlier, I had entrusted passports, birth certificates, visas, and other critical documents to a reliable friend in Istanbul for safekeeping. Although I cherished my life as an expat, escaping an abusive marriage while living in a foreign country came with its own set of difficulties. My emergency bag contained photocopies of vital documents, cash I had saved over time, some sentimental jewelry, and a few changes of clothes for both my son and me. I had also purchased new clothing, which was already waiting for us in our new apartment. As the day of my departure drew near, I roamed through our home, touching familiar objects and bidding farewell to those I couldn’t take with me. If I took them, I risked revealing my plan.
In therapy, we explored every possible scenario. What if I were to confront him and say I simply wanted to leave? What if I revealed the freelance job I had taken to fund my escape? Our years of escalating anger towards one another had led to increasingly intense fights. Deep down, I knew he would never let me go. Statistics confirmed my fears, and each time I doubted my decision, my therapist, friends, and lawyer reminded me of the harsh realities. “80% of the women I work with return to their husbands at least once,” my lawyer stated. A friend mentioned that, according to The National Domestic Violence Hotline, the average was seven attempts. I couldn’t afford to even try once more. If I chose to leave, it had to be permanent.
“I have never had a woman tell me she felt too ‘safe,’” my therapist reassured me when I worried I was overthinking the worst-case scenarios. After one particularly severe fight with my husband, a friend shared photos I had sent her, which highlighted the gravity of my situation. So, I took a freelance writing job without his knowledge, directing my paychecks to an account he was unaware of, and began quietly purchasing items to set up a new home—towels, sheets, and more. I found a charming little flat less than two miles from our home and rented it almost immediately. My escape was planned for just three weeks before Christmas.
Thus began a new countdown to Christmas as I attempted to maintain an illusion of normalcy, ensuring my husband remained oblivious to my plans until I was safely settled. I didn’t mention to my therapist that, in the trunk of my car alongside my emergency bag, was our artificial Christmas tree and a box of ornaments. I decorated the house with other Christmas items while leaving the tree hidden, and surprisingly, he never questioned its absence.
The day I left was as dramatic as I had anticipated. My five-year-old son, wrapped in his blanket in the car, listened silently while I spoke with the police. A light seemed to dim in his eyes that day, one that never returned. “I can help translate for you, Mommy,” he offered from the back seat, as I fumbled with my Turkish. The police recorded my call and offered to send a patrol car to monitor my new home that night. I expressed my gratitude and awaited instructions from my lawyer.
“You are not to leave your new apartment, you are not to even breathe unless you hear from me,” my lawyer advised, his tone a blend of authority and care. I parked my bright red car in a nearby cemetery, my emergency bag slung over my shoulder, our Christmas tree under one arm, and my heartbroken son’s hand in the other.
The new apartment was sparsely furnished—a mattress on the floor from Ikea and a desktop computer loaded with a week’s worth of movies. The fridge was stocked, and the freezer was filled with meals I had prepared in advance. We had Uno, card games, books, and coloring supplies for entertainment. Besides the Christmas tree, we had little else while waiting for the legalities to be resolved. Would I need a restraining order? When could I safely retrieve my belongings from the house? When could I leave the apartment for groceries or take my son to the park?
I had refrained from sharing my new address with friends, as per my lawyer’s and therapist’s advice. “You really don’t know who your friends are in this situation,” they warned. My lawyer later told me that during the first week, many women succumb to social and familial pressures to return to their partners, and indeed, the phone calls I received reflected that.
As Christmas approached, the only thing preventing me from giving up was the memory of our last Christmas together. The shattered dishes, the broken hearts—each of us wounded in our own way, with me curled up next to my son in his bed. I had promised myself never again. I turned my phone to silent, checking only for messages from my lawyer. I tucked my son into bed with his beloved blanket, watching his eyelashes flutter as he drifted off to sleep.
The Christmas tree had seen better days, but it was the only decoration we had. The top was bent, so I improvised with a chopstick from a takeout container, taping it in place. When we placed the star on top, the tree leaned awkwardly. It was a fitting metaphor for our situation—imperfect but standing strong.
Every year, my son and I decorate that tree, reminiscing about family and friends who have since faded from our lives. We’ve navigated custody battles, alimony, and a move back to the U.S. We’ve made new friends and rebuilt relationships with family. We have transformed a difficult situation into a safe and supportive environment. My ex-husband and I learned to co-parent without the anger that once fractured our marriage. Now, with new partners and fresh starts, we continue to heal, each of us scarred but progressing.
When people see my lopsided Christmas tree and tease about the taped chopstick holding it together, I simply smile. I have no desire for a new tree; this one reflects my journey.
If you’re looking for more information on similar experiences, feel free to check out this blog post about contacting us for support. For those interested in home insemination, resources like Make a Mom offer excellent insights, and News Medical is a great resource for pregnancy and insemination information.
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Summary:
In this heartfelt narrative, Emily Carter recounts her harrowing journey of escaping an abusive marriage while living in Istanbul. With the help of her therapist, she meticulously prepared to leave her husband, gathering essential items and creating a safety plan. Despite the challenges she faced, including legal and emotional hurdles, Emily found strength in her determination to protect her son and build a new life. The story highlights the complexities of leaving an abusive situation and the resilience required to start anew, all while embracing the imperfections that come with healing.