Stolen Not Lost

"There is a special place in hell for women who don't help other women."

                                   -Madeleine Albright, 2006

The manipulation of children during or after a divorce is a serious form of post separation abuse often referred to as parental alienation or domestic violence by proxy.  An abusive ex partner will try to extend their control and punish the other parent by weaponizing the children.  And along this abusive emotional ride, they often incorporate others to assist in their brainwashing of the children.  

Telling the children false stories to convince them that the loving parent is dangerous, uncaring, or mentally unstable - well, that is just the beginning. Sometimes the abuser goes so far as create an entirely different reality with a new narrative, essentially brainwashing their own children into erasing memories and replacing them with what they are told.

Such an atrocity was inflicted on my two sons during my own divorce from an abusive man who was my husband for 20 years. If you don't believe in the manipulation and brainwashing of parental alienation, abuse by proxy, I am here to state an example that cannot be refuted.

Please bear with me as I begin with a little background here.

My ex-husband, Robert, began tormenting me with his version of a plot twist all the back in 1991 (I kept a journal).  At that point, we were already married over a decade and had two sons.  Robert told me that someday he was going to find a woman who needed him.  He further explained how it was best for him to have a much younger woman who "came from nothing", was uneducated, unworldly and would appreciate anything he threw her way.  He specially wanted a woman who was in his own word "desperate."  This abusive narcissist wanted to be worshipped.  And I did not fit this bill.  I was one year older than him, and although I obeyed (yes, or else there were consequences), I doted on our two sons.  I would never ever worship Robert Levine! Coming from a very financially comfortable family, I grew up with luxuries. So that was nothing new.

1991 was the first time I heard that threat. And it was not to be the last.  My sense of security as a mom was questioned as Robert loved to point to the younger women with stepchildren almost their own ages.  I reacted by withdrawing much of the time - realizing how very cruel this man was.  Knowing that he was more than capable of throwing me away like yesterday's garbage, I was never going to put him on the pedestal his narcissistic self required.  I was never going to worship him for beating the daylights out of me, locking me in bathrooms and closets, and controlling even the food I ate.  No, he would never be worshipped by me.

As the years proceeded, he would be chasing other women - younger women.  And I just tried to survive.  I knew about his secretary (young, came from less fortunate background, uneducated) who met his criteria.  Their relationship was confirmed by Robert's cousin as well as his brother-in-law.  There was also the Greek diner owner's daughter...and probable others I didn't know about.

Then came Janet.  I could look at it like she got my trash.  But that's not the entire story here.  She assisted in stealing my sons from my life.  Even after I begged for her assistance during my divorce.

Janet was Robert's sister's sister-in-law.  For many years throughout my marriage, she was present at family functions.  Janet had socialized with the Levine family for a decade.  She was much younger than me and I never really clicked with her to have a substantial conversation.  She was married to a man who openly cheated with his secretary (the entire family spoke of it).  All I heard for years was "poor Janet," as my mother-in-law would say of the many stories she was privy to regarding the Janet Pohl Torre saga.   My ex-husband's younger sister, Debbie, was married to Marc Pohl, who was Janet's brother.

Eventually, during our marriage, Robert announced he was bringing Janet food at night - from the family business, Foodirect, because she was struggling financially after her husband left her, periodically, alone with her son. So picture this, my ex-husband telling everyone in the family that he was doing a good deed by bringing this helpless woman food.  At night. Right.  And I have a bridge to sell you.

It was already into the year of 1997.  I had been forewarned years prior that Robert was seeking the perfect replacement of me.  The domestic violence kept escalating as he tried to push me out of my marriage, sometimes also threatening me with death. 

As I came more and more into myself, bolder than before - he was losing more and more control over me.

Janet was the person he was able to mold.  Narcissistic supply.  She would appreciate any crumbs my ex threw her way, she never even graduated high school (her brother told me), she loved to get high and experiment with recreational drugs (something I would not do in all the years Robert attempted to force me)...Janet was putty in Robert Levine's hands.  Narcissistic supply is the constant attention, admiration, validation, and emotional reaction that a person with narcissitic traits or narcissistic personality disorder requires from others to prop their self-esteem.  Janet fit the bill.  And she benefited financially from being used in destroying my relationship with my sons.

But she also knew what she was doing.  Plotting.  

By the late 1990's, I had already contacted the local police regarding the domestic violence I endured.  I had started telling friends and even my rabbi about what Robert did to me.  I was growing in many ways, starting to stand up for myself.  And I was learning about abuse, not just living in it.  I did not know it then, but Robert and Janet sneaking around a "lakehouse" in Mahopac, NY, meeting in restaurants saying it was just a coincidence...they planned on erasing me from the lives of my sons, Jason and Jared.

As Robert and Janet were together more often, the violence in my home escalated.  The abuse became unbearable - which I realize now was Robert's plan all along.  The worst of times was during the summer when Jason and Jared were away at sleep away camp.  Robert had even started threatening me with his guns.  

Robert, along with his paramour Janet, set the stage.  Hellbent to make my life as miserable and unsafe as possible, the beatings amplified.  Robert started involving my sons in the abuse.  When he'd lock me in the bathroom, he'd ask my sons on the other side of the door, "How long should we leave her in there?"  The three of them would laugh.  Then Robert would go downstairs into the basement, turn off the circuit breaker only to leave me in the dark for hours as the three of them would go out to dinner.  Leaving me alone in the dark, locked in the bathroom of my Bedford home.

He started involving my sons in so many ways - reshaping memories, molding a new narrative.  And I was not in it.

Just to jump ahead - I tried leaving all the abuse several times and filed for divorce three Robert 3 times.  It's true that the third time is the charm.  He kept threatening me.  On one hand, he was pushing me to leave him - and on the other, he would say that if I left him I'd never see my sons again.  Gaslighting and crazymaking were an everyday occurrence.  After years of court appearances, my divorce was finally granted on cruel and inhuman treatment. 

And throughout my divorce, he had Janet step in to take the place of me, my sons' mother.  She moved into my home after I left - while our divorce went on for years via the legal abuse Robert bestowed on me.  My sons were told that I broke up the family.  That I didn't love them enough to stay with their father.  That I wanted a new family.

And as evil as Robert Levine was and is....Janet participated in erasing me.  I raised my sons practically alone until they were 14 and 17 years of age.  But she went along with replacing my sons' memories.  She was a tool in the alienation of my sons.  

One of the most powerful tactics of narcissistic abuse is gaslighting—where the abuser makes you doubt your own memories, feelings, and perceptions.This is clearly exhibited with a narcissistic parent in parental alienation, abuse by proxy.

My sons wrote me horrible emails, calling me a cunt, wishing I were dead, and worse.  All based on lies they were told.  I was being blamed for things I never did.

Through the years...I emailed Janet, messaged her as well.  I begged for her to help me see my sons again during my divorce.  Her reply was, "Go fuck yourself."

I saved those emails.

Here's the bottom line of divorcing an abusive narcissist:  you don't lose custody - oh, no.  Your children are literally stolen from you.  Stolen.  

And I always thought there was some sort of obligation women had to help other women.  I was naive.

The real bomb was dropped on me only months ago, though.  When in a text message, my younger son Jared at the age of now 40 told me that I was only his "biological mother."

Robert married Janet as soon as our divorce was final.

I was already erased.

And remember I told you that I could literally prove the brainwashing involved?  During the divorce, my son Jared actually told me that his father just met someone "new" and she was his "new girlfriend."  My son at 14 did not remember all the years he sat across from Janet at birthday parties and other family gatherings.  It's as though his memories were replaced by what his father and Janet wanted him to believe.

But the "biological mother" crap was it for me.

It was a funeral.  It was a death.  It was the end.

That is the kind of bullshit manipulative narcissists drill into the minds of the young.  So that was it for me.  No more reaching out, no more praying, no more hoping.  In a matter of few words, my son let me know there was no hope of ever reuniting with my alienated children, as they were gone.  And so were all the fond memories of life with me in them. 

As long as they choose to think of me as only their "biological" mother, I could not bear it.  For I had given them my heart, soul, and every breath for their entire childhoods.  They were my entire life from the moment they were conceived, beyond the 14 and 17 years.  I cried every day during my divorce - over them.  I almost lost my life when I wanted the pain of not seeing them to end.  They were my everything.

And I am their mother.

I didn't lose Jason and Jared.

They were stolen.

  

“Sister of Mine”

Dealing with a toxic, manipulative, or cruel sibling is emotionally exhausting. When a sister acts horribly, it causes deep hurt because family ties make the behavior hard to escape. So many memories and yearnings co-exist between my mind and heart. When you say the details of a painful experience out loud to a friend, the hidden weight of a bad relationship suddenly becomes clear and impossible to ignore.

Knowing of my present struggles, cancer doesn’t even trigger compassion in my only sister.  Through years of therapy, I’ve learned so many terms while dealing with people who hurt me. And I’ve become way too educated on things like narcissistic abuse, coercive control and passive aggressive behavior.

Here is a letter I wrote yesterday…to my only sister.  My only sibling. It’s part of my healing and search for peace. After telling her of my cancer diagnosis, she blocked all avenues of correspondence. Yes, even my phone number. She will probably never see this, but I feel better sharing it.  And acknowledging that I deserved to be treated better.

So many people ask me about her.  It’s easier to share my letter in explanation.

Here it is:

​Dear Jeri,

As I try to figure out how to use google documents to type this, so many thoughts and feelings are swirling around my head. I’ve tried reaching out to you unsuccessfully. So this is my last resort.

It’s 2 in the afternoon and I hope to get this letter written before my cancer treatment in two hours.

The medication involved tends to make me overly emotional, overly anxious, …overly everything I guess. And then if I take pain medicine for the side effects, well that’s a whole other story. So I want to write you with the clearest of heads.

I’m grieving a dream. And you are the focal point. I started playing Canasta two years ago with a local group of such wonderful women. Two of the women I play with are sisters. It warms my heart so much to see their relationship. It is such a beautiful thing. I love watching them, listening to them, and seeing them interact. You are always in my thoughts. I miss what I never had.

They did not grow up with parents who played them against one another. They were not abused in any way by a mother who was a bully; and they did not have a father who looked the other way when they needed him. I think for us, the triangulation was the worst of what our narcissistic mother did to our relationship. She pitted us against each other because it threatened her existence if you and I were to become close in any way. So sad. No…tragic. It was tragic that we were raised that way.

As a child, I would stay in my room and cry. I would disappear into my books. You were always the stronger willed between us and never took shit from anyone - not even our mother. When you got older, you’d escape and go out at night. It never mattered that you weren’t allowed to. You were one tough cookie. And I was the wimp. I can’t even count how many times our father put me in a car with him in the middle of the night,stopping at 3 New Rochelle bars, and made me walk in to each one of them looking for you. It was horrible.

But you rebelled. I always submitted. You were tougher than me. Always. And still are. My life has always been guided by my heart. You were usually guided by anger and independence.

Imagine what our relationship would have looked like if we did not have such a dysfunctional family. If we had been united on holidays and normal days. If we had learned to lean on each other rather than feel such a tremendous detachment.

I hesitate going backward, but must address so much before I cannot. Perhaps writing what I wish I could say to you will bring me some peace. You see, I miss you. Or am I grieving a dream? I miss not having a sister.

But I wish I had the sister I always yearned for……

After you found out that I sent your son’s (then future) mother- in-law a sweatshirt I had tie dyed during COVID isolation, you went into full on rage mode over the phone. Stop playing victim.  Nothing was done TO YOU! The cursing and verbal abuse I had thrown at me was horrific. I tried defending myself but you were in full blown rage mode and could not hear or process anything at the time. In your explosive anger you even started screaming at me about things that happened when I was 7 years old and you were 4 years old on a swing! It was absurd and I now realize that you were totally out of control. But you brought up something that happened when I did something with a childhood swing - when I was a mere child. Sorry, but that’s a bit insane.

I wanted to tell you things that I remembered, but couldn’t get a word in.I wanted to tell you how much you have let me down and hurt me my entire life. Purposefully. Not when you were a child and didn’t know what you were doing or mean any of what occurred. I wanted to tell you how many times you had literally broken my heart as an adult. I’m taking this opportunity to share.

As our mother always played us against each other throughout our childhoods, there isn’t much I remember regarding my relationship with you. I know she locked us out of the house and made us go and play in the backyard…but I don’t remember much more than playing on the tire and building forts in the woods. But then we were teens….and you went with the tough kids, had a boyfriend, went to bars with your fake ID and was popular. I didn’t do those things. I read books and became an honor student. I had a boyfriend. But I never did anything but study with him. Remember how you made fun of me when you found out I was going to college as a virgin? I remember that. We were in your red and pink bedroom and you were telling me there was something wrong with me. And proudly told me you were “experienced.”

Some things I remember very clearly. Maybe as clearly as you remember the swing incident you yelled at me about. There is however a difference between the actions of a 7 year old and a teenager. I’m sorry that swing incident stayed with you all these years. I am sure I never meant to hurt you. Not even when you were so cruel to me. As we grew older, is that why you were always so mad? 

On the day I married Robert Levine, I knew our parents would not be there. Rabbi Wohl was even against it. But I asked you to be there with me. I bought you a dress and held it, waiting for you right up until the last minute. I still wanted my sister. I always did. I wish we would have had a conversation back then. But you just didn’t show up for me. And you didn’t even talk to me. You cut me off like our parents taught you to. Then Jason was born and you came back into my life to meet my son. 

You married Harry and I was your matron of honor. You never for a minute took the time to talk to me then either. You never acknowledged how hard that was for me when you had a huge country club wedding in Greenwich …As you danced with our father, I cried and felt my heart ache. I was happy for you, but that didn’t make it any easier.

I was struggling and perhaps you were, too. We were not close enough to tell each other. I wish we were. I was being abused by my husband and you were unhappy with yours. We never spoke of what we went through separately. Our parents found out about the domestic violence I was surviving and I went to live with them for 6 months, pregnant with Jared. I was so happy you got to see Jason more often and had hope you would be his special Auntie.

But still you and I never sat down and had a conversation. We shared nothing except a hello and goodbye. I wish I could turn back the clock and fix all that. Why did it have to be this way? Our mother still couldn’t have us both together in her life. She never encouraged us to be there for each other. It’s as though she couldn’t have more than one of us in her life at a time.

Life went on. I moved to Bedford with my 2 young sons and abusive husband. You continued on your own path with Harry until all of a sudden you weren’t together. But for a while, Jason and Jared brought us together. I credit Harry with that because he was so family oriented. It was good for a while, though superficial. You and I still never talked. Not the way I see sisters talk and best friends communicate. I wish we would have been closer. 

When you met Jimmy, you told me about that. I thought it was a start. You confided in me a little bit. And the day you got engaged to him, you came over with Oliver the puppy to show me your engagement ring. It was one of the most special moments I can remember with you. It was heaven for me. But that was short-lived. I wanted to meet Jimmy but you wouldn’t permit it. You married within a few months,on February 14th, and I was not invited. I was under such duress from all the abuse I was living with I never noticed that I never heard any of your wedding plans, etc. And just like that, our mother let me know you were married after the fact - and you did not even include me. Our mother was so evil that I believe she got off on how much that hurt me.

But I still wanted my sister.

One day, I picked up our grandmother to take her to get her hair done. As I was driving, she matter of factly told me you were in a car accident. It felt like my stomach fell out. I immediately asked for details. Do you know she said it had happened a month prior and no one had the decency to let me know? I would have been there for you. I would have helped you. Instead, when I did find out, you wouldn’t answer my phone calls.

Eventually, I wrote you a letter and that opened the door again. I visited you in Georgia with my sons. We were not close, but we knew where each other lived and stayed superficially connected for a few years. That ended when I needed help. I called you one night at 11 pm after one of the worst beatings of my life. I locked myself in the powder room of 11 Piping Brook Lane and dialed your number, the only person I thought I could lean on and confide in. Jimmy answered the phone. I told him it was important and apologized for calling so late. He put you on the phone. I told you what my then husband did to me. I was badly injured and told you how scared I was, that I didn’t know what to do. You quickly replied,“I don’t want to get involved.”

And then you hung up the phone. Silence followed. A silence you orchestrated to last over 10 years.

I am a domestic violence survivor. I say survivor proudly because not everyone makes it out alive. I've had dozens of surgeries to repair the damage done by Robert Levine. My fractured spine was repaired with a 6 hour operation, one week hospital stay, and 4 week rehab facility. I thought you’d come - but you didn’t and didn’t call. Damage to my foot was repaired from him slamming a door on it over and over again. I was in a wheelchair for a month. Never heard from you.

So I wrote you another letter. And we reconnected. I told you how our parents cut me off and out of their lives - citing my life was too messy. I went through a horrific divorce that took years. I lived in 3 domestic violence shelters and they would not assist me. Our mother said,“You made your bed now lie in it.” While I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to, our parents were busy touring Europe. 

But before she cut me off again–as you know she did that several times over my life – our mother told me she was done with you, too. She said that your son had diabetes and she could not handle having a grandson with diabetes. She also told me that your husband, Jimmy, hated Jews and had said something terrible to our father about that.

Did it hurt when she cut you off, too? What kind of parent does that? An evil one. And our father was just as bad as he was complicit. For a while he called me collect from a payphone but then he got caught. And that was that.Unfortunately, I see alot of our mother in you. I’m being nothing less than honest here. You can’t see it because you don’t want to.

I have cried plenty over you. Or is it the dream of a sister that I still cry over? I have a rare blood cancer and am battling that without family. You used the fact that I made your son’s mother-in-law a sweatshirt to cut me off again. But if it wasn’t that, it would have been something else.

Whenever you needed me for my nephews - I was there. Yes, you sent me the airline tickets but I loved them so much and wanted to have an everlasting relationship with them. I will always be their Aunt Julie. I know for some sick reason that relationship threatened you. Whenever Scott would fly to NY on business and meet me for dinner, he had to hide it until he didn’t - and I heard you yelling on the phone to “stay away” from your children.

But when they had knee surgery, wisdom teeth pulled, etc., I immediately got on a plane, taking off from work to help out. Always. And I treasured each and every moment I was with them. And you.

I cannot put into words how much my visits to see you meant to me.  I appreciated each timeI came to Georgia. But you would never come and visit me - no matter how much I begged you. I also can't put into words how much it hurt when you wouldn't let me visit anymore.  And when you moved to a new home in South Carolina, you continued to say I wasn’t welcome to visit.

Until the last trip, more than 7 years ago….you started showing extreme anger then, too. Also mentioning that thing with a swing when we were children! We were in a restaurant and Jimmy told you to stop. I can go on and on….and write a book here. But for what? Well, if you read this - good. Understand that no one is perfect. Not you. Not me. And our relationship was predisposed by an abusive narcissistic mother.

We can do better and I would like to meet you halfway. We are the only 2 people that know how we grew up. Please break this cycle of family dysfunction.  What are you teaching your sons? That love is only conditional? And you’d cut them off,too.  I already heard that when they do something you don’t agree with, that you block their phone numbers as well. They are both adults now. Yet you still try to manipulate them.

You have done such extreme acts of cruelty in the last 4 years alone that I can’t wrap my head around them. Knowing how much I wanted to be a part of my nephews’ lives, you purposely do not invite me to their weddings? After knowing you are the only family I have. Scott actually called me up to uninvite me! He and I had been talking about the wedding for months and as his Aunt, I assumed I’d be there. You know how much that hurt when you coerced him into telling me you didn’t want me there. This isn’t like an incident with a 7 year old on a swing. This is a grown ass woman who knows her sister thinks the world of her nephews and wants to be a part of their lives.

Then I talked to you afterwards. Stupid me, you didn’t care that you broke my heart. For you did it again when Brian got married. Did you know that a few weeks before Brian got engaged, I was talking to him on the phone and his last words to me were “I love you.”  Now who makes their children do this to their Aunt? Do you really need to be in that much control? Are you that threatened of not being their focus. You are their mother. Period.

You got rid of Jimmy’s family like our mother got rid of our father’s ….now you got rid of me? Why? You invited your high school boyfriend to your sons’ weddings but not your sister? It’s insane. Because he could give them a big present? I’m still hurting over this and I bet you are happy about that.

I’m going through a tough time…I can hear you calling me a loser again…but I don’t choose my situation. It hurts to see you have no compassion. I miss what we could be. Even if it were to be just a weekly phone call of greetings and updates.

I’ll keep praying the ice around your heart melts and you learn to accept that you cannot control everyone and everything. I know that need for control is directly linked to your lifetime of an eating disorder.  It’s not healthy.  

And some things are not meant for you to take personally. Making your son’s mother in law a sweatshirt was not meant to upset you.  On the contrary.  It was an act of kindness from my heart.

Loving my nephews and wanting to be in their lives - should not upset you.

This was a lot for me to carry. I’m exhausted but glad I wrote this.  Even if you’ll never see it. I will probably be waiting to hear from you until my last breath.

I miss you.

I do remember glimmers of kindness in between all the hurt.  I’ll hold on to those.

With no way to reach you, this was all that’s left.

Your only sister,

Julie 

Not Alone

"It is in the shelter of each other that the people live." - Irish proverb 

There was a time in my life when I was all I had.  With two children dependant on me, I remained in a marriage that was physically, emotionally and psychologically abusive for two decades. I had no family to lean on, and most of the people in my life were on the payroll of my then-husband.  When I literally made a friend of anyone, my ex husband would figure out a way to sabatoge it.  Or just forbid any sort of relationship from forming.

Life is different now.  Every day of my life still contains battles of different sorts.  Only now, I have an army behind me.  

You always hear there is strength in numbers....people pray together, sign petitions together, even mourn together.  Right now, this strength is contributing to my survival.  I've muddled through - hell, I've lived through! - so much already.  A friend just emailed me....that I will find a way to get beyond my most recent obstacle.  In the past, I found a way through so many hurdles and complications.  I'm hoping I will be able to this time.

Special thanks to my dear friend Nancy Panes for orchestrating a Gofundme to help me through my latest war, which includes my cancer journey.

Looking back over the two decades that were my "marriage", I remember times of difficulties.  Many of the control tactics used by then husband Robert Levine were merely an extension of his defective personality.  As young boys, my sons bore witness to many hardships and absurdities their father bestowed upon us.  Now mind you, we lived with a housekeeping staff in a gorgeous home on Bedford acreage, drove the most luxurious cars (when we were not chauferred), went on the most extravagant of vacations( $1,500 a night 20 years ago was nothing for our hotel), and when "the boss" approved, money was no object.  My jewelry and clothes were the best of the best - he picked everything out.  But my sons bore witness to much else. When their father would watch every single penny of "his" multi-million dollar fortune, I figured out ways around it.  Selfish and unkind, to say the least, he had to have full control over every cent.  And the only time he would express the most remote form of generosity, was when he 1. had beaten the crap out of me, 2. needed something, or 3. wanted to make a certain impression. 

My sons, Jared and Jason, lived through craziness.  Their father would tell them they were not "allowed" to have new sneakers - many times, even when their shoe size changed!  I would save up and buy those sneakers for them.  Scrimp was more like it.  My sons would be ecstatic and terrified at the same time - saying their father would kill me if he found out I bought them new sneakers without permission!  I would hide the new sneakers in the trunk of my car until their father was at work or sleeping.  Discarding the shoeboxes at the local A & P dumpster, I would take the sneakers and rub some dirt on them until they looked used.  Then my sons would feel safe to wear them.  

One time, my younger son needed a new bicycle. A neighbor brought it to my attention, after I had already realized this.  Jared's knees were hitting the handlebars.  At 13 years of age, he still loved his bike, rode it everywhere.....But Robert said he could not have a new one.  Too scared to beg his father, we kept quiet until I couldn't take it anymore.  Robert would come home with new acquisitions on a weekly, if not daily basis.  $200  for each fish for his fish tank, another motorcycle for $80,000....and my son's knees were getting bruised from banging into his handlebars.  One day I took the husband’s credit card( yup, I snuck it out),  I never had my own credit card….headed to the local Bicycle store - and purchased a new bike for Jared. You know Jared was too scared to ride it when I brought it home?  He thought his father would "kill" him - and me, for buying it.  Turned out my son's instincts were correct - and Robert returned the bicycle within hours. Just another episode we made it through - lots of banging, screaming, breaking things, and then my punishment - after the kids went to sleep. I woke up with a badly bruised shoulder, and my son did not ride his too small bike again.  Sadly, we learned to move on.     

I remember how we had a corner on the bathroom counter where we were to leave written requests for monies we needed.  Yes, even my sons had to write their requests as soon as they were old enough to do so.  I saved some of them - their scribbled requests.  Pathetic, huh?  Considering we lived in an estate in Bedford and one of our cars was almost $1,000,000 (a 1933 - 1006 Packard Dietrich Convertible Sedan), it wasn't as though money were a problem.  Sick.  Often times, Robert could be heard boasting that he was the Bank of America...and he'd tell us he had more money than G-d.  If I needed money for the drycleaners, there was a written request.  If the boys' needed a gift for a friend's birthday party - a written request had to be approved by Robert.  Yes, it was a terrible way to live.  But I always found ways around it.

Like all those times my sons and I made donations to local charities.  We could never tell their father.  He would go into rage mode.  Another example was when the neighborhood asked me to donate macaroni salad, potato salad, etc. from Robert’s  business, Foodirect, for a community picnic (and I didn't even know many of the neighbors after living there for a decade) - my then husband’s blood curdling scream expressed his words, "Someone has to pay for that shit and it isn't going to be me."  So, I stockpiled what I had to contribute to the picnic ... and got by.

I managed to live through two decades like that.  With many stories, there are many scars. I won't get into my  physical punishments for disobeying him, not now.  But even after leaving him years ago, I'm still trying to adapt my life to the wills and demands of that abuser.  Robert has yet to fulfill our divorce decision settlement from 2006! He used the court system to make money disappear and wear me out.  I never collected my half of the Bronx business, Foodirect, or my half of my house at 11 Piping Brook Lane in Bedford, New York. 

After seeking a divorce and justice in our broken court system for over 17 years, the post separation abuse left me financially bankrupt.

Some things don't change.  He still tries to control things. He destroyed my relationship with my sons through lies and coercive control….as the sons continue to be manipulated by working at Foodirect as adults.  I have 4 grandchildren I’m not allowed to meet. But the difference is, I have people who care about me - holding me up.  And in the process, I am  holding out hope to keep moving forward. One day at a time.  Sometimes, from moment to moment.

There really is strength - in numbers. 

If you think winning isn’t important, you’ve never had cancer.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-julie-levines-healing-journey

So Different

All my life, I've felt like a square peg that just doesn't fit into the circular opening of a puzzle.  So, often, I think differently and feel differently than others.  And more often than I can count, I will acknowledge that I feel too much.

When my sons were in preschool, I had a Ferrari Mondial.  It wasn't because the car was a status symbol.  I am an admitted car nut.  Throughout high school and college, the photo I carried in my wallet was a photo of a lamborgini countach.  I have been car crazy since the age of 6 when my uncle introduced me to his shiny new Pontiac Bonneville convertible.  I love cars.  So this new Ferrari back then was a daily driver that my then husband and I both drove.  As an abuse surviver with CPTSD, I can recall experiences and situations in the past extremely vividly.  Especially the time when I knew I had to pick up Jared at preschool and the only car available to me was the Ferrari (we always had multiple cars in our collection).  

I did not want to use it to drop off or pick up my sons at their SUNY Purchase preschool.  Not wanting to make any other parents uncomfortable (I knew many of the parents were professors at the college on teachers’ wages),  I just wanted to fit in.  But the then husband and I had many a fight over using the car for such a purpose - I can recall one emotional rage explosion Robert Levine had in particular.  It did not end well and I picked up my son in the flashy loud red car.  My ex husband and I were such opposites in our thinking.  He always wanted people to think he was better than them.  I always just wanted to fit in.  I never wanted to throw material things in anyone's face - but Robert enjoyed impressing people.  At all costs. He made a point of boosting and boasting his economic image.

During my marriage, I always did what I could to volunteer for local Westchester County New York causes.  I did so quietly.  I specifically volunteered through Friends of Karen and at the Millwood Food Pantry.  For years.  I did not wear my diamond jewelry, my Gucci loafers, or Prada clothing there when I volunteered (retail items purchased to upstand the image my ex husband wanted me to project - he was all about status).  No Chanel flats ever saw the Millwood Food Pantry.  I didn't want to throw material things in anyone's face or appear so financially fortunate.  I didn't want the gap between me and those I encountered to be as vast as an ocean.  And I would park whatever car I was driving that day, down the block and walk.

It was as though Robert viewed me as an extension of his own image - I had to project wealth and success (neither of which I was personally).  Robert was always in  control of every single penny in our marital finances.  When I would go grocery shopping, I would have to request an itemized approximate amount of the money I needed.  Upon my return, he would review the receipt and take back the change.

When I worked part time in retail, if I didn't put the earned salary back into the store via items I'd purchase - my ex husband would take each and every paycheck. He demanded them - or else . It's so funny and sad...I remember him convincing our 2 sons that I had a shopping problem and kept stealing his money - I hate shopping and only came home with "things" so he wouldn't take my checks.

But when I volunteered at those local organizations during my marriage, I was just Julie.  It was wonderful.  Like a breath of fresh air.  I never told Robert about any of it.  In fact, I remember him screaming at the  top of his lungs (which he did often) because packages of paper towel were missing in our basement's storage area.  You see, Robert owns Foodirect, the largest wholesale food and grocery product business in Hunts Point Market of the Bronx, in New York.  He used a part of our basement for items he would bring home - and I helped those items make their way to the Food Pantry.  I'm smiling a huge smile as I type this.  Robert wouldn't give anyone ice in the winter.  That's for another blog entry.

As I'd park my car down the block from whatever establishment I was volunteering at, I was myself - no airs, no false images.  Just the way I wanted to live my life and help others.

After I divorced Robert Levine, freedom was the first thing I felt.  But I didn't even know what my favorite food was.

A few years ago, I saw something online that disturbed me emotionally to a point where I realized it made my stomach sick.  A woman hosted an event for underprivileged young girls in Newark New Jersey.  In several of such events' photos, she is wearing her Chanel shoes, her designer clothing, jewelry - exactly how my ex husband would have wanted me to appear.  In my mind, all I could think was how inappropriate this appeared among young girls who may not even have owned their own toothbrush.

What makes people so clueless?  

And why am I so different? 

Now we have Facebook and Instagram to deal with.  I avoid those social media platforms at certain times of the year.

I literally feel sickened when people post photos of their holiday tables to show everyone the abundance of food they have.  There usually are no people in the photos so it's not like a family remembrance pic.  Just photos of their luxurious table with overflowing food photos.  

What are these people trying to say?  And why?

I want to cry when people post piles and piles of holiday wrapped gifts under a tree for their photo op - no children in  photos.  What are they trying to show everyone?  What they can afford?

And Chanukah is no different.  Just photos of gifts piled up in my opinion serves no purpose other to accomplish the way the photographer wishes to present themselves to their audience.  Look what I can do!

How many people do not have an abundance of food at their holiday tables?  How many homes are without piles and piles of holiday gifts for their loved ones?

I had alot of both for most of my life and I did not and would not focus on such a display to the world.  And it's no sour grapes because of my present financial struggles.  It's a matter of consciousness.

Why aren't people conscious of how many don't have such opportunities?  Why are people posting - Look at me photos- Look what I can pay for!

Why not think of the majority of the world?  Especially those who are struggling in ways many can't imagine.

God bless the fortunate families, and God bless those less fortunate.

Enjoy the things you can afford quietly.  

But what I would like to see is....people using social media for good.

Share your family memories with your loved ones in posts….but also share animals in need of homes, neighbors in need of emotional support, locations and organizations where victims of domestic violence can find help, etc.

I post my reality. On “X”, I share my life experiences regarding abuse and how to recognize the red flags.  I know I am helping others by the feedback I receive.On Facebook, there are photos of my fur baby - that’s for me to preserve each and every joy he brings me.  I’ll share my artwork to sell, my Julie’s Bloomies for exposure (sold exclusively at In the Pink in Livingston New Jersey), and I’ve learned to ask for help when I need it by sharing my cancer journey.

I’ll post a blog entry and tell you my life’s story so my past won’t be someone else’s future.

I’m writing this just to vent.  But maybe something will click in a reader’s mind and they will start sharing lost and found pets, animal rescues, neighbors in need…and keep it all real.

Humbly yours,

Julie