My life changed forever on an unseasonably warm day in May, at the bank of all places. At 26 years old I was opening my first ever bank account. I know how that sounds, and you'd be right to assume this is cause for some alarm.
I grew up in a tiny town in Nebraska with a father that wanted three sons and got one daughter and a mother who drank to escape the boredom and loneliness closing in on her. She'd sometimes leave my father and often took me with her, but as soon as we ran out of money or into trouble we'd go home and they'd briefly make up. On my 18th birthday I left without saying goodbye, moving in with a friend's older sister in Omaha, who'd gotten me a job bussing tables at a hotel restaurant.
In my first week I met a charming businessman who flirted with me shamelessly. He was in town on business and said he'd like to see me again. The next time he was in town he took me out for dinner, and I lost my virginity to him in his hotel room. We saw each other several more times, and he asked me to come to New York to see him. New York was unimaginably spectacular to me, and while there he asked me to marry him. Less than a year later we were married. I was 19, he was 27.
Everything about my life in New York was incredible to me at the time. He said it was common for wives not to work and wanted me to stay home. I wanted to go to college but he said there was no point. I was disappointed, but the life I was living was beyond anything I could have imagined.
Things were great for a few years, but I genuinely wanted to have at least one thing I could do for myself and be proud of. I made suggestions all the time to my husband of things I could get involved with or study, but he always turned them down. Finally when he was in a good mood I suggested I could become a yoga instructor and he said yes, I was absolutely thrilled.
I became a yoga instructor and started teaching at a women's gym (at my husband's insistence) and volunteered teaching at a women's refugee centre. For a few years I was very content, my relationship admittedly had become more stifling and less fun, but I finally had something I enjoyed.
Everything changed when a new yoga instructor started. Her name was Anna and she was a lesbian from Michigan, and she was the exact opposite of the women I usually hung out with: she was "exceptionally liberal" by her own admission, cared passionately about the environment and female orgasms, and only washed her hair once a week.
I suspected my husband wouldn't approve of me spending time with her, but I was also starting to realize his control over who I spent time with wasn't exactly normal, so for the first time I started lying to him about where I was when I hung out with her and her girlfriend, Jol. Jol was from Nigeria, she was getting her PhD in art history and I found her absolutely enchanting. She'd been engaged at a young age, but her aunt had helped her move to America.
I was fascinated by them, and they were always shocked at the things I didn't know, and more than happy to teach me. Like when I admitted after a few drinks that I had never owned any sex toys, Anna had practically screamed at the bartender for our bill and dragged us out to the nearest sex shop.
I became much more aware of the world around me, how important sustainability was, women's rights, buying local and organic foods. We started going to and then even organizing climate change strikes or demonstrations about plastic in our oceans.
I thought my husband would be annoyed but the truth was he was paying less and less attention to me, and I was beginning to suspect he was seeing someone else. What surprised me even more was that I didn't care, not even a little. In fact we had a pretty good system, I made sure all the chores were done and showed up looking sexy to company events or networking dinners and he didn't care how else I spent my time.
I never talked much about my relationship with my friends, and they didn't push the matter much. Some things came to light, however, one afternoon in a coffee shop when I told them our seven year anniversary was coming up. They looked at each other and Anna asked, "Wait, aren't you only 26?" I nodded, realizing my mistake. When I'd first moved to the city my husband told me if anyone asked to say I was 23 and I'd been fine with that at the time, but no one in his circle had asked in a while so I'd forgotten about the lie.
They started asking about our relationship, surprised we'd married so young. I knew things weren't great between us, but he was the only man I'd been with and a lot of things I thought were normal, like him making me change if he didn't like the outfit I wore or freezing my credit card when he was mad at me. Jol tried to be helpful but Anna was horrified, insisting I was in an abusive relationship. This I was shocked to hear, my mother was in an abusive relationship and I was nothing like her, I assured them.
"There is more than one type of abuse, Lucy," Jol said and Anna nodded in agreement.
"Tell us this: do you have your own bank account?" Anna asked, genuine concern on her face.
"I... well we have a shared account. But it's under his name." Anna and Jol looked at each other and Anna finally said, "Look, it's your life, we won't tell you what to do, but please just do this one thing for me, open a bank account, tomorrow. Tell Jess to start depositing some of your paycheck into the new account. Tell your husband you're teaching fewer classes if he asks. Ok?" I nodded meekly. She got up to pay the tab and Jol took my hand, looking me right in the eyes.
"I'm from a small town too, Lucy. I know what it's like to want to escape so badly that anything is better than staying there. But the life you are living is not your only option, trust me."
I thought this all through as I went home and decided two things: I was going to go open my bank account, and I was going to look however the fuck I wanted when I did it. My husband was out of town as he often was so I had the perfect opportunity. I went to my favorite vintage shop and bought a pale yellow romper covered in different colored flowers.
On my way home I passed by a pharmacy and a stand of nail polish caught my eye. My husband hated bright colors and insisted I wear dark or desaturated colors. I'd convinced myself I preferred this too, but a bright almost fire-engine red polish was just calling to me, so I bought it gleefully.
The next day I had early yoga classes, then came home and got ready. I wore a new romper, which was flowey and short on the bottom and buttoned up the front on the top half, cinched at the waist with a vintage leather belt, and strappy heels. I admired myself in the mirror, I looked amazing, and my husband would NEVER let me leave the condo wearing something this short or this bright. I loved it.
