I Called the Police So I Could Leave My Own Home

(What leaving an abusive relationship actually looks like from the inside)

I was sitting on the bed in my guest room, heart racing, running through the same question on a loop.

How am I going to get out of here?

He was in another room but I could still hear him. The verbal assaults were coming through the walls like they were aimed directly at me, because they were. I waited. I did not move until I was sure of the distance between us.

Then I started scanning the room the way you do when you have about ninety seconds and you need to think clearly but your body is running on pure adrenaline. Work computer. Phone charger. Some random pieces of clothing I grabbed without looking and stuffed into a Target bag sitting on the floor.

One more thing. I needed my purse. My keys were in it.

I listened. His voice was still loud but it was coming from deeper in the house. I made my way down the short hallway and spotted my purse on the barstool exactly where I had left it. All I had to do was get to it without him hearing me.

I have never been more aware of the sound of my own heartbeat.

My body was shaking. My legs felt wrong, like they belonged to someone else. I made it to the barstool and reached for my purse and the strap was stuck.

Of course it was.

This was my window and I was blowing it. So, I left the purse. I grabbed my key fob and the small wallet sitting next to it, the one with my license and my cards, and I turned back toward the hallway.

My dogs chose that exact moment to decide I was playing a game with them.

I love them. I genuinely wanted to cry. I made it back to the guest room as quickly and quietly as I could with three dogs who had no idea what was happening, sat down on the edge of the bed, tucked the key fob into the small pocket on my leggings, and slid the wallet under the pillow.

He came around the corner.

I felt like I was going to be sick.

As we made eye contact I was certain he could see how scared I was. I was used to his verbal rants being hurled through the air from another room. That had become normal. What was different this time was the intensity, and the fact that he was saying them directly to my face. I did my best to look unaffected. I was not going to give him that.

Let me tell you what happened the night before. We had been out with friends. Someone made a comment about when I was single. I honestly cannot remember what it was. I know it was innocent. What I do remember is the look on his face when he heard it. I filed it away quietly and told myself that with alcohol involved it might not even register in the morning. That we could talk it through with clear heads if it came up at all.

It came up.

It felt like the moment his eyes opened he was already back inside that comment and what he had decided it meant. My eyes were barely open, still adjusting to the light, when he started screaming that I was cheating on him. That hiding my phone was proof. That he had known for a long time.

After a few minutes I had enough. I told him that was the furthest thing from the truth, handed him my phone, and told him to have at it. Look through everything. Search, analyze, go through every single thing on there. He would not find anything because there was nothing to find.

I had no idea how far he was prepared to go to find something that fit the story he had already decided was true.

He went to my photos first.

He found a picture of me with another man and stopped. He did not pause long enough to notice it was my employee, someone I had nominated for an award, photographed the day he received it. He did not register that the date on the photo was before we had ever met. He just held the phone up.

Look at this.

He kept going. He found a photo from a pool day with a group of friends.

Look at you. That slutty outfit. You were looking for attention.

With every picture he scrolled through, the comments escalated. When he found nothing in the photos he moved to my text messages. When he found nothing there he started searching for what he called cheating apps.

This went on for two and a half hours.

I eventually removed myself and went to the guest room. I sat on the edge of the bed and understood something clearly for the first time.

He was never looking for the truth.

He was only looking for something to confirm what he had already decided.

And he was willing to stay in that search for as long as it took.

When the yelling stopped I became hyperaware of the quiet.

My stomach dropped. I listened, trying to locate him. I could faintly hear him in the bathroom. I had a window.

My three dogs felt my anxiety before I could name it myself. They stood there watching me, waiting to understand what was happening. I kissed all three of them. Told them I loved them and to be good. That I would come back for them as soon as I could.

Then I moved.

I grabbed the wallet from under the pillow, collected my things, saw my phone sitting on the counter where he had left it, took that too, and slid out the door to the garage.

I made it halfway down the driveway before I heard the door swing open behind me.

I reached my car but before I could get the door open he was there. We struggled as I tried to get in and he grabbed everything out of my hands, telling me I was not going anywhere. He stripped me of everything he could see.

What he did not know was that the key fob was in my pocket.

He felt victorious. He turned and walked back toward the house. The moment he reached the doorway I started the car and drove away.

I had no idea where I was going.

He had my phone. My source of funds. My work bag. The small pitiful bag of clothes. I had the clothes on my back and a key fob and the knowledge that I would have to go back.

I drove for what felt like hours. Not just replaying the morning but replaying everything. The cheating accusations that never stopped. The comments about how lazy I was. The things he said about how I looked and how I had let myself go. All of it moving through me in the car while I drove in circles trying to figure out what to do next.

And then something settled.

I called the police.

I explained that we had been fighting, or rather that he had been fighting without cause, that he had physically stopped me from leaving, and that he had taken my belongings. I was not looking to have him arrested. I did not want neighborhood drama. I just needed my things so I could go.

When I pulled back up to the house with an officer beside me, he changed completely. Apologized to me in front of the police. Tried to wave the officer off, telling him everything was fine and he was not needed. I said clearly that I was leaving and that I needed the officer to stay.

The three of us walked to the door. I went in first. He was second. The officer was directly behind him.

He closed the door before the officer could enter.

I still do not fully understand what he was thinking. The officer knocked loudly. He cracked the door and said quietly, just give me a minute with her alone.

The officer told him to open the door. Immediately.

He complied.

After that I stopped thinking about what else I needed to take. I walked out with exactly what I had started with. A Target bag of random clothes. No toothbrush. No charger. Nothing that made it feel like I had actually left my life.

I got in my car and drove away.

Not because he was a monster.

Because I had stopped believing I was allowed to just walk out the door.

If this resonated with you, my book Why You Felt Crazy is available on Amazon. It is everything I have learned about emotional abuse, gaslighting, and finding your way out — written from inside it.