4/6/2025
Blue Elk, Oregon, Stone & Rivers Ranch
It was stupid.
I knew that as soon as your voicemail picked up.
"The voicemail box is full and cannot accept new messages." I was relieved I didn't have to leave a voicemail and grateful that Allah spared me from adding humiliation to said stupidity.
I was going to leave a voicemail without letting my lips tremble under the guise of “catching up,” but it was a lie.
It's been 45 minutes since I called, and about 90 since everything went down. It took that long for me to form words again. Of course, I cried out to Allah -- not in a sheer, wailing, despair sort of way -- but I know He is the Most Capable.
But you've been in fights. Lots of them. Always with the wrong people, mostly for the right reasons.
My question was going to be simple: How long does it take for the fight-or-flight symptoms to release from your body, for it to process it fully?
I knew you could tell me what to expect and for how long.
Rather than be in fear of what was happening to my body, I've tried to pay attention and list the things:
Crying: Normal. Why wouldn't it be after being in a sustained fight-or-flight state for almost 90 minutes?
On and off trembling. Normal. The energy has to go somewhere.
Jumping at sounds outside. Normal. I was scared. Probably more scared than I thought I was. Angry that I had to go through that.
Chills. I took a very long, hot shower to warm up.
The tension in my body was clear and manifest, almost like I'd been in a car accident or a physical fight. Except, I never threw a punch.
He could have grabbed me so quickly during that time. He could have palmed my throat and, with the anger surging through him, squeezed.
It was like being in a dream where you're too scared to scream or where you go to hit an attacker, but your arms turn into silly putty right before you wake up.
He'd been drinking. He said he'd stopped, but I knew he hadn't.
I've kept Rowan in the loop about him. Of course, I have. I can call Rowan, but should I?
I’m sure the answer from Rowan and anyone else reading this would say, “YES.”
Rowan can handle it. Rowan can always handle it. But he's not here, and he's about 450 miles away. After Ramadan, the university sent him to Portland with another professor for a week for a forensics seminar. Extra training. I'm sure when he gets back, there will be exciting stories to hear. But from there, there's nothing he can do to help me.
Then again, there's literally nothing you could do either. You're even further away. But this was personal. For a minute, I felt the family's old ways creep up my spine to handle this.
Nothing actually happened. There was tension and, eventually, on my part, forceful shouting.
Except I had to swipe his hand forcefully away from my face once. I had to get up from the chair, pivoting once, and screamed, "NO!" to his face. I made sure other people had heard. More than one person was nearby, watching, waiting. He seemed oblivious to these things.
I haven't written in this journal since before Ramadan. There were storms, work. Ramadan. I wanted to focus this Ramadan.
I also didn't want to call you. I didn't.
I don't like that I did.
I know my husband would understand if I told him. He will understand. I will tell him. Just not tonight.
I have to remind myself of all the things:
The police haven't shown up with a complaint.
There were witnesses.
I didn't do anything wrong.
He got unruly with me and in front of others.
I'm not getting fired.
He has a reputation for this behavior.
Every year, he becomes infatuated with someone new. This year, it's been me. I've told him I'm married. Discussed it several times. Explained why I don't wear a wedding ring.
He backs off and complies to a point, but always circles back again with attempts at affection at regular intervals, always under a different guise of “needing help” of some kind.
He's not a terrible person at all. Most of the time, he's OK and behaves himself in the library. Based on what he's checked out this last year, he even pursued a new hobby.
I suppose it didn't hold his interest.
Each time, he ramps up his efforts. I've tried to be nice to him, thinking that if someone was, he'd maybe work through his problems easier. I've tried to get him plugged into the community more, introduced him to people who he could become friends with, spent time showing him how to find community events and all of this, kept my boundaries, talked in public, etc. But through it all, he refuses to hear me.
And this evening, it seems like it came to a head. I can't keep telling him "No." I don't have to explain myself any longer.
I didn't do anything wrong.
I stared at your name and number for a good long while before pressing "Dial." It was the shock, I told myself. If Rowan were here, I would just melt into him, wet face, mussed hair, blotchy face and neck and all.
He smells like white oak.
You used to smell of a mix of jasmine and earthy musk.
I didn't fully finish crying until I'd gotten home. I know I was speeding on that back road, too. I'm grateful I didn't get into an accident.
How long has it been since my body has gone through something like this, where I was afraid for my physical safety, where I thought my efforts to diffuse things would fail? It's been almost a decade now, I would guess.
It's been about three and a half hours since everything went down. I just wanted to know what other symptoms my body will experience. The hypervigilance came roaring back and has basically consumed me at this point. How long does it all last?
I know I'm going to be tired.
I feel so bad that I called. I could erase it from my call log, but I won't. I will tell Rowan. He will help me know what to do.
I don't want to get the man in trouble, but he does need to stop his behavior.
No woman should have to go through that to enforce a boundary to convince a man that "No," really does mean "No."
As for tonight, my phone is on Do-not-Disturb. Only immediate family can get through. If you called back, that's why you got my voicemail in return. I'm sorry.
And I don't know why I'm sorry. I love Rowan TO PIECES. He's strong, calm, the whole ball of wax. He can defend me, but I know you've seen things. Done things. Experienced things other people really should not have had to experience in their lives.
The attacks you both started and have stopped have been personal. You know things.
You are both men. I am not a man. I do not react the same way. I do not have hackles, an iron spine, and fists of fury to wield. I use my words, my wits, and my knowledge to communicate, to steer, and to diffuse.
I figured you could walk me through the adrenaline aftermath, even though I'd never done bouncing for a nightclub, and never the type that owned it.
Tomorrow, maybe I'll find some books on it. I work in a library. I have technology at my fingertips. I know I could have Googled it all.
I didn't have to call.
But next to Rowan, I was always safe with you. Always. Your voice has always been a comfort to me. And you understand. Even if my body betrayed me and my lips had begun trembling into our voicemail, you'd hear that and nothing else. You'd know.
You’d also call Rowan immediately after hanging up. You’re loyal and always have been.
I will tell Rowan. I promise. Tonight, the rifle will stay propped in the corner near the bed, the bracer bar under the doorknob, and the kitchen light will stay on.
I just want to sleep.
But for now, I think I'm going to be sick. Nausea is probably normal, too, right?
I want to sleep, but I can't.
Do you remember when you stayed on the phone with me when I was caught in that tornado warning in Wichita? The rain was so horrible. There were tornadoes in the area, and I didn't get off the phone until my body involuntarily fell asleep.
After what I went through today, I think I'd rather have the tornadoes back.
He didn't touch me.
He wanted to.
I told him not to. Several times.
I didn't leave sooner because I was in public, I felt I could diffuse the situation, and I was counting on him being reasonable and logical. I won't make the same mistake again. But safe to say, there will be no more chit-chats or check-ins. I will tell the main librarian/office lady that if he comes into the library, I can't help him anymore.
This feels like such a mess. And it's really not.
I didn't do anything wrong.
I said "No," so many times and declined repeated requests (more like orders) for me to argue or "discuss" in specific ways. He had to be reminded openly (since he wasn't listening privately) that we were not in a relationship, that I was not interested in him, and that it was not his place to behave that way with me. He does not own or control me.
I didn't do anything wrong, so why do I feel so bad for standing up for myself?
I had to stand up for myself. I had no choice. Part of me wants to re-enroll in martial arts again, but that is just my lizard brain talking. I'm not in shape enough to start martial arts again. Rowan will be home soon, and he'll help me craft a plan.
Everything will be OK.
I'm sorry that I called, and I'm sorry that part of me misses you. You're the only actual expert in this realm that I know of. I'm not shy about calling certain experts when needed. It’s what the family did. I suppose it was just a reaction, nothing more.
It was stupid, and I wasn't thinking clearly. I didn't want Rowan to worry. You're -- you -- you're more silent, and right now, I want stealth until I can get it sorted.
Allah forgive me. You know my intentions. You know the person I wrote this to will never see it, and you know I will tell Rowan. Help me call him tomorrow after his meetings. My mind will be clearer by then. And please, help me sleep.