Click
I had programed my mind. I knew I would have to attend the murder trial in a forced, locked down, zombie mode. I prayed that I could put
myself into autopilot—I hoped I could hear and see . . . but not feel the facts
of the story that had broken me. I knew I had to be that fly on the
wall—the one with no emotion or passion shown—just an everyday citizen
learning about a crime.
The scary thing about allowing yourself to slip
into autopilot . . . it is not easy to find your way out—and other times a
single moment of weakness can lead you to snapping out of it in uncontrollable
ways.
Our bodies were not made to work properly in
autopilot—it is a fight or flight mechanism that was never meant to be
permanent. Autopilot—or as I have called it, zombie mode—is something our
bodies do to keep us safe. We can see what is around us, we can hear—but in
this type of mindset . . . we cannot feel.
I had lived in autopilot many
months—unintentionally—but during the trial I had to put myself back in it . .
. on purpose. I knew I could not feel, even if I wanted to—but sometimes I
would begin to feel regardless of how hard I tried to fight it. The hardest
part of all was when I would go home for the night . . . and I couldn’t snap
out—I could hear my family . . . I could see their sweet faces—but I could not
feel anything.
It was October 2012 and the murder trial was about
to begin.
The morning came—it was still dark outside when I
pulled myself out of bed. My eyes burned from the tears I had cried the night
before. My heart was heavy knowing I was going to be leaving the kids all
day—but I knew my mom had come to pick up my slack. I was in turmoil as I tried
to accept the reality that today was the day—I was anything but prepared.
I stared at myself in the mirror. My pep talk was
less than loving. Ashlee . . . you have to stop. This is not about how it
felt for YOU. You have to suck it up, get over yourself and put on your game
face. Stop crying. Stop feeling. There is nothing that will be said that is
going to change anything. Once this is over—and Dateline wraps it up—it will be
done. You will be able to put together all the pieces—then come home and start
living for real. You cannot feel . . . you cannot wish . . . all you can do is
listen. The past is in the past . . . but today— it is here again. It isn’t
real this time . . . just a recap of all that is was. Game face. Stop crying.
Do NOT feel. Autopilot time. Do not feel. Everything is going to be fine . . .
? . . . you are going to have to be numb. See, hear . . . but do NOT feel.
I knew this day was going to be strange. I had a
new life—I had learned to love, but a broken past I still longed to heal. My
nerves were getting the better of me, but I tried to smile despite my
inevitable butterflies. I was hopeful with the reassurance I had received
during jury selection. I knew this time in court would be hard—but I felt peace
that my healing would come . . . regardless of the verdict.
My friend Brittany volunteered to drive me down so
I wouldn’t have to walk in alone. It was nice having a friend to talk to on the
drive—to the beginning of what would come to be the longest month of my life.
By the time we reached the courthouse I was so
flustered I was shaking. I was nervous to see Rob again—but this time my
thoughts were consumed more on the fact I was going to have to face Kandi—I
didn’t feel prepared. I wasn’t ready to embrace the pain her decisions had
caused me. I didn’t want to look into her eyes and search her soul for her
pain. I didn’t want to let go of the anger I had towards her—because in my
mind—she didn’t deserve it.
I walked into the courtroom; my eyes darted in all
directions. I scanned the room to make sure I hadn’t missed any hidden
corners—if she was there I didn’t want any surprises like I had been given the
first time seeing Rob—she was nowhere to be seen.
I took my seat on the victim side along with
Emmett’s parents. His mom and I had not had many conversations since he died.
We had both taken some time to piece together our own realities. Emmett’s dad
had only come for me—with no personal desire to be there—he came to be my
support. It was nice to have them both on the bench with me—a gentle
reassurance that I would not face these truths alone.
As we sat silently staring into the empty room, I
couldn’t help but look at the bench just across the walkway from us—the ones
who had come to support the other side. I could see what looked to be Rob’s
parents and sister. I could almost feel the butterflies that must have been
dancing around inside each of them. My eyes stared—fixed on them, almost
in bewilderment. How could they come to support a murderer? Could they not
see the obvious ending to this trial? What hope was inside them that brought
them here—did they think he was going to be able to walk out with them at the
end of the day? How could any parent watch something like this? Maybe they are
in denial about their son? . . .
My judgmental thoughts were happy to take the place
of my insecurities—my mind did all it could to keep me from feeling my own emotions.
It was easier to sit and wonder about other’s personal struggles—then to be
surrounded by my own.
Soon Rob was escorted into the room. He was in
chains, but this time he was wearing a suit—not a prisoner jump suit—a business
suit. I guess it made sense he would want to look presentable—but it was weird
for me to see him dressed like one of the attorneys. Who is he pretending to
be? . . . Does he really think a suit will let anyone see past the gun he held
in his hand? . . .
I swallowed hard—trying yet again to slow down my
self-righteous mind. I guess inside, since I knew I was not allowed to feel my
own pain—I had created an unspoken rule that everyone else’s pain was fair game.
The minute Rob took his seat, and the judge began
to speak, my numb mind began to slip out of autopilot. I had to control
it. I pinched my arm. Ashlee . . . this isn’t real. You are only here as an
outside on-looker. Remember nothing you see here today is going to hurt you
anymore. You have to be brave. You cannot feel. You can see—but you will NOT
feel. These are just going to be facts . . . pieces to your puzzle. See them,
collect them . . . but do NOT feel them.
I tried with every fiber of my being to buy my own
BS. My heart was pounding as the jury walked in and took their seats. I tried
not to make eye contact with any of them—one catch of my stare, and my secret
pain would be revealed.
Tears began to form—I fought the urge to wipe them,
for fear someone would see. I choked back my emotions and my throat closed
off. I began to think I had made a mistake. PANIC—I felt claustrophobic. I
can’t do it. I can’t sit here like this doesn’t affect me. I can’t pretend
everything is ok. It took everything in my power to not scream and run out
of the room.
My eyes darted around again searching for something
to stare at. Rob . . . jury . . . judge . . . Emmett’s family . . . Rob’s
family. Nothing in that room was a safe place to rest my weary eyes. Every
bench held a reminder of why I was there—a reason for my heart to feel.
I wished so badly I had Shawn sitting by my side—a
neutral safe haven to turn to for strength. I wished I could grab his hand and
try to calm my beating heart. My mind darted back and forth—in and out of the
past and present—trying to wrap around it what was real. I wanted to press
pause for a minute on the past and step back into my present life. I
wanted to go home and be surrounded by things I was allowed to feel.
Have you seen the movie CLICK? Don’t you
wish sometimes you could press a fast forward button through life's really hard
trials? Everything would move quickly and you wouldn’t be able to feel
any of the pain?
The murder trial was just like that for me—only my
autopilot wasn’t at a fast forwarding speed . . . it was all in slow motion—oh
and I could feel the pain . . . only I had to pretend I could not.
I went in that day with the knowledge I could not
let the information affect me—at least I couldn’t show it if it did. I knew I
had to sit back and be a silent observer—an everyday citizen with no emotion
to what was being said. The only problem was—I wasn’t an average citizen who
had come to hear about the violence that happened in my city—I was a wife to a
man who had been gunned down in a parking lot. Every word spoken affected my
children and me—every fact displayed . . . had changed our lives. I drove there
each morning already in autopilot—knowing I was willingly walking into an
emotional torture chamber.
There are many forms of brutal torture. No one
should ever be physically or emotionally abused; no one should ever have to
watch a loved one die. I have heard stories about torture camps decades ago,
and read many books about lives affected by that kind of torment. But I hadn’t
endured any form of torture in my life—I knew nothing about a pain purposefully
inflicted upon me. The torture I learned about for the month of October
2012—was a different kind of torture.
This torture was a slow motion detailed description
of not only the horrible choices my husband was making, but the details of how
two bullets sunk into his heart and skull. Slow motion details of text
messages, and emails; slow motion pictures of the crime scene that will be
sketched into my mind forever. Slow motion details of the activities of three
people that night—leading up to 10:00. Slow motion details of how Rob circled
around inside of Walgreens looking for him. Slow motion details of how Rob
moved his truck out of the views of the camera. Slow motion details of how he
waited in that truck for seven minutes for Emmett and Kandi to return . . .
with a letter written to me on his front seat. Slow motion details of how
Emmett and Kandi pulled up together inside his truck. Slow motion details of
each of them getting out of their cars, and gathering out of the view of the
camera. Three people—all going in slow motion. Slow motion details of every
possible witness that came and went. Slow motion details of the angle the
bullets entered him. Slow motion details of how and where the blood splattered
all over his truck and the ground. Slow motion details of Emmett taking his
last breathe. Slow motion details of every person within the sound of the
gun—witnesses trying to remember if they heard a bang bang . . . bang, or a
bang . . . bang bang. Slow motion details of every emergency person who walked
onto the scene, and every detective that investigated that night—every angle
and every fact that played into the murder. Three people standing at three
different crossroads . . . all coming together in one big bang—a slow motion
explosion of bad choices and broken hearts . . . ending a life. Click.
Slow motion details of how two shots of gun—changed
our lives forever. A slow motion torture I could not talk myself into walking
away from.
I spent a month with a lump in my throat— and a new
kind of pain in my heart. I don’t remember taking a breath in those days I
spent in that courtroom. My eyes burned and my hands shook as I soaked in the
pieces to the broken puzzle from our story . . . day after day after day—every
one with a new topic—a different expert explaining what they had spent nineteen
months researching and analyzing.
Just like the day I spent in jury selection—with my
eyes fixed on Rob—I studied people’s souls. I watched each movement the
attorneys made. I stared into the eyes of every witness—barely able to look
away. I studied Rob, and the interactions he had with his crew of defense. I
eyed each witness as they would come and go. I watched as Kandi pranced onto
the stage and held her hand to the square. I watched Rob’s family hear the same
facts I did—day after day after day.
I sometimes wondered if anyone else had pushed the
same button I had—the one where you were put into some sort of trance
resembling no emotion—but you were really dying inside.
Each day brought different knowledge—a new
challenge in forgiveness of the three people whose crossroads collided that
night. Every day was like someone had pushed the reset button on my remote—like
the hope I had received in the past vanished into thin air.I always pictured my
road to forgive as an uphill climb. I thought for sure that each step I took
would be supported by the next step.
That month I learned that hope and empathy are very
fluid. The more I listened about the bad decisions made that night, the more
anger I felt towards all of them. The more anger I felt towards the three of
them—the more I fought the urge to hate myself and question my worth. Every
word spoken about the affair pierced me like a knife—a blatant attack on my
worthiness of being enough as a wife. Every fact proven about the gun, reopened
the wounds it had caused in my own heart. Every word Kandi said on that
stand—beckoned me to hate.
Every ounce of self worth I had tried to find for a
year and half was lost as I lived it all again. The battle of hope and
despair became a cycle I ran over and over and over each day. The search for
empathy for each of their circumstances—many days— seized from my heart as I
tried to force myself to not feel my own pain. I learned a lot about the power
of the mind as I purposefully pretended to be in autopilot and not feel—but
felt every word—and the more I didn’t allow myself to feel . . . the less
empathy I saw for them.
A trial I knew would not change anything from the
past became an emotional internal battle of darkness and light. The temptation
to hate had never been stronger. The battle to conceal my pain was overwhelming
. . . and the hours my body went home to try to sleep—my mind did not follow.
The trance took over my body—autopilot became me. Shawn and I didn’t talk much
that month, some days hardly at all. I saw many meals brought in, I received
many hugs—but that month, I did not feel the love that was all around me.
The learning experiences and opportunities for
growth in our lives are not going to be concrete—they will be fluid. For every
step we take into the light, there may be nine steps backwards trying to take
us back into the darkness. Each day we will go in a different direction. Some
days we will jump forward, others we will fall back.
Forgiveness, hope, charity, and empathy—all virtues
we are trying to perfect—will flow in this same manner. Perfect mastering of
any virtue will not come in this life. They will constantly be at battle with
the opposition. Our hearts may be full with empathy and love for a foe one
day—and the next day we may remember the pain they have caused. Some days we
may fail in our battle to perfect our virtues—but we can start again the next.
I learned a lot about this cycle of virtuous autopilot . . . the dance of
despair and defeat being replaced with feelings of peace and hope.
I began to see that for me, forgiveness and hope were not
an uphill climb—but a mountainous obstacle. And some days I did not win. Some
moments I hit valleys; others I saw stars. Some moments I could see myself—and
others all I could see was defeat.
We each hold inside of us a power of self—who we
perceive ourselves to be. During, and even before the trial, I allowed just
about anyone to determine my vision of my self. I did not know I could be
the keeper of this power.
Some days—when I learned different facts about the
case—I willingly handed over my sense of self to the perpetrator of the crime.
When they spoke about the affair—I didn’t just listen to the facts—I
internalized them and focused on what I did wrong. I shifted my power of self
over to Emmett or Kandi. (Because they did this—I must be this.) When I learned
a fact about Rob’s actions, I internalized his decisions and shifted my power
of self over to him.
I allowed the facts to bring me to many of my own
crossroads—where I stood waiting for their approval . . . that I was enough.
I listened every day for one of them to change the
story—I secretly waited to hear the part when I was enough for any of them. I
longed to hear Kandi say she was sorry, or for Rob to stand up and cry for the
pain he had caused me. I yearned to have Emmett walk in and tell me this didn’t
all happen because I was not enough for him.
But guess what?—nobody did.
The battle to hate had little to do with anyone in
that room, or with Emmett. The difference between a good day, and a bad day in
court had little to do with the facts that were displayed . . . and everything
to do with the power of self I could see.
When the facts were presented I had two
opportunities—two different outcomes. One was to hold my power in my mind and
allow myself to feel the effect of that decision—but not allow my power to be
given to that person. The other opportunity, I often times allowed, when a fact
was presented—I gave away the power of my sense of self, and imaginarily handed
it to the person who caused the pain.
And that is what made the difference between a dark
day, and a light one. The information was not different—but the way I allowed
it to affect me was drastically not the same. Maybe Kandi was a slut, Emmett
was a jack ass . . . and Rob was a freaking idiot—but their actions were not
mine to own. They would have to own their roles in the story—not me. Their bad
decisions could only break me . . . if I gave them my power. Regardless of who
I was, or wasn’t, those three had made their own choices—and the days I could
remember that . . . I stood tall.
The click of that gun was powerful. These horrible decisions, made by three people,
were impactful in my life—they had changed the course of the journey I thought I
would live . . . but they didn’t break me. The only way I could be broken was
if I chose to let the world destroy me—if I gave away my power to anyone but myself.
The world is going to try to break us—trials are
never going to end. Even when the murder trial was over, its power has
never ceased to try to destroy who I viewed myself to be. Truth is—the world is
never going to want us to see ourselves, because the minute we do—we hold in
our mind the power to be everything we were created to be.
It is not the trials in life that define who we will
become—it is our reactions to them. The days I walked into that courtroom in
darkness and despair—I felt it run through me. I saw and heard with a broken
heart. I hated and I despised. I was numb to anything uplifting me, and I was on an emotional journey of heartache. But those days I walked into that courtroom willing to
hear, see, and not feel the pain—but feel the spirit—those were the days I was
given the miracles I needed to remember who I was. I was not a broken widow who
was going to be plowed out of her own life. I was a strong daughter of God who
was being given a new way to view myself—regardless of what others saw in me . . . or failed to see.
The past has been cracked, the pain has been deep .
. . but I am not broken. Because of Him . . . even I . . . the widow to a man
who was gun downed in a Walgreens parking lot for stepping out on the promises
he had made to me—to protect me, and adore me, and hold true to our
marriage—even I could have a life filled with dreams. Even I could find more
reasons to smile, and see myself for who I really am.
Life is going to be a roller coaster of dark days
and light days. But I can promise you this: if we pray for the ability to see
ourselves as God sees us—even the moments when we feel broken and weak—let me
rephrase that . . . especially in the moments when we feel broken and weak—we
will be blessed with a different view. We will be given the ability to see our
own strength and the gifts we have been given. We will be able to view
ourselves as an eternal being, and not just a temporary body. We will be able
to find our ability to one day be made whole from anything in our past that has shaken us.
Somedays autopilot may take the reins so you can
stay safe—but don’t give anyone else your power. See, hear . . . but only FEEL
the truth. Sometimes truths are hard to feel. Sometimes facing the truths that
cracked you—breaks you all over again, but it is truth that puts together the
broken puzzle pieces of the past, and that sets you free from the dark roads
you have walked. And it is truth that brings you to the knowledge that you are
enough.
Don’t let others destroy you. Be you. Find
strength in your story—even the parts that want to take your power away and
leave you with nothing left. Even if the jury of life is sitting in front of
you . . . staring—and you are wondering if there is anything left for them to
see—God still sees it all. He feels the silent tears you are crying inside. He
hears the gentle whispers your heart is pleading. Maybe you feel alone from
where you are standing—but He is not far away. In those moments that darkness
has surrounded you, and you wonder if everyone has forgotten who you are—pray
that you can remember, even if no one else does.
Sometimes the greatest miracle of all is—waiting
around for someone to see your worth . . . but finding it for yourself instead.
God is not dead. He lives. He is waiting for each
one of us to remember Him, to find hope not only in our stories, but in His
creations. He sent His Son to die for us—that we could one day live again. So
we could make it through the trials and the days our bodies go into autopilot.
He knew it would be hard. He knew there would be no remote to click fast forward
through the darkness and the pain—so He allowed His perfect Son to die to atone
for the world.
Grace—it is the power that is inside each one of
us. Because of Him . . . the trials we spend pretending we do not feel
the pain—will strengthen the view we have of ourselves. The power that lies in
each one of us is greater than anyone else can see. It is a hope that only we
can find; in the stories only we can live.
Believe in Him. Believe in his plan—and never stop believing in the one
person he gave you to be your greatest cheerleader . . . YOU. No one else has been
where you have been—the pilot of your destiny is you. Truth is—you are His
greatest creation of all. And when you can see that . . . you will know He is not very
far away.
11 comments:
Beautifully written as always. Thank you for sharing. You have an incredible Spirit & I needed that tonight.
Very uplifting msg. Life is about choices. I wish you & Shawn nothing but health, love & much happiness.
Thank you for speaking to my soul tonight. I needed to hear your words.
Agency is an interesting thing. Sometimes we try to give our agency to other people by living in a reactionary mode and other times we try to carry the burden of someone else's agency by thinking we can control their choices. Neither way ends up being very comfortable for us and it can make our burdens feel heavier. I've noticed in my own life the weight I feel has more to do with the relationship I have with my savior and how much I trust him to carry than with how heavy they are. I'm so grateful he is strong enough to carry the burdens that weigh me down so I can truly not even feel them upon my back.
Your testimony and strength is beautiful as always! Thanks for sharing!
Beautiful! Thanks for sharing so much of your life with everyone online! I enjoy your blog... you are s strong gal!
Thank you for sharing your insights and conviction. Your testimony strengthened me, today. "Believe in God," allowed God to remind me of an ongoing assurance of His love. It stirred sweet memories and promises of hope at a time when I need them. Thanks to Shawn, as well. His support has obviously blessed you; his encouragement to write this blog has blessed me and many others.
Your blog speaks to the heart. I would like to know if anyone knows of any resources for a spouse with mental issues. I have been married for 15 years and over the last few it has progressively got worse. My spouse has extreme paranoia to the point where he believes I am out to get him. I have endured more emotional abuse than any person in their right mind would be able to handle, but I feel I have no options. He will never leave, he does whatever he wants and if I bring anything up he turns it around on me. I am always the problem. He already spent 8 months in jail on domestic violence charges; however once he got out they didn't make him do anything that was required? me & my kids had to do so much stuff. I have been told that emotional abuse is not against the law. I don't feel like I have enough on him to go to the police, he still blames me for the last time, but my life was on the line. I want out, he is not sane. He is very good at acting like he is around other people though and will never get help. If I go to the police and he gets out he will kill me. I feel so trapped & alone. Anyone who has any advice or resources please post it.
Anonymous: I am glad that I had to make comments be approved before posting them, so I am forced to take time to read them because your comment is one that needs answers. I will do some research for ideas for you, and I hope there is someone else who reads this comment who has some good advise . . . but I encourage you first to take time to make sure you don't follow anyone's advise unless it is what you are supposed to do. You could get a hundred people telling you stories on what worked best for them, or what they believe you should do, but the truth is nobody is in your place or knows your exact goals. I would recommend getting very prayerful on what the best answer is for you, so when advise comes in you will already know the direction you are supposed to go- and then other people's resources will help you on your journey of your decision. I don't know your name, but I will be praying for you and your sweet family. Your safety is important and whatever road it take to get there, I hope you can find it. Good luck girl.
Two ideas for the person asking about resources: First, contact NAMI (National Alliance for Mental Illness). They should have resources to help you and all of your family. Mental Illness is a serious disease and must be treated as such. Second, if you are in physical danger find a local shelter or support for abuse (like CAPSA). Don't allow yourself to stay in an unsafe environment. Third, pray for strength and direction. Best of luck to you.
Ashley, thank you for your blog and all you share.
Ashley,
I'm glad for the days you stood tall.
Thank you...
Your courage has lifted me.
You are amazing.
Your words spoke to me in such a special way, that finally gave me a moment of true understanding about myself. I've been told that my life's tragedies could only be seen in a lifetime movie; so horrible. I am a widow now. My first marriage was with a man who led a double life, stole from me and the public, making national news. After recovering from the blows of his crimes and infidelity...well happiness...Years later I found my soulmate...only later to lose him instantly in a car accident. I never wanted to be divorced or widowed but that is now my story.. Ha and I'm still in my mid 30's. I feel tainted by others decisions. I grew up in the Brady bunch family; no tragedy ever struck, with church every Sunday, great christian friends and family. Somehow life has allowed me to give away my own sense of self. Seeking the approval of others has become a job for me. Staying in touch, as a widow, with my husbands family and wondering why we lost touch, along with fleeting friends during the grief process, was/is overwhelming me. the hate ran deep for myself. Trying to figure out why people can be disappointing or not supportive during difficult times has been internalized to a degree of hatred for myself. Your message is an eye opener on the power of self and who God created us to be. I wish I would have read something like this sooner.
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