Today marijuana has become acceptable, and even legal in many states, but back then it was called the gateway to harder drugs and the best way to land yourself in jail. I kept begging him for us to go to counseling, but he refused. I should have had the courage to go to counseling myself, but I didn’t want to do it without him. Then I did what probably most women do when they are in a bad situation—I threatened to leave without being willing to actually go. I lacked the courage to face my truths: I’d picked the wrong man; I was used to a two-income family, even though Bill kept the purse strings insultingly tight; we shared the same friends and I feared my circle of girlfriends might be disrupted; and what I feared most was telling my parents that I had made a mistake. Over and over I threatened to leave. But he assumed I didn’t really mean it because after each argument he’d apologize, and I’d end up staying.
Most important, though, was Nikki. She was still too young to know what was going on, but she wouldn’t be a toddler forever. And then what? Would I just keep holding on and standing by my man in a marriage crushing under the weight of unhappiness, not to mention illegal activity? Would her future have to become more important than the fear of disrupting the so-called security of the present? As I looked at her sleeping peacefully in her crib, at the end of her day of exploring and embracing a brand-new world, I wondered how I would feel if I stayed and years from now Nikki became hooked on drugs and said she’d learned it at home. That terrified me. As I was coming to grips with that possibility, an incident the third year into our marriage sealed my resolve that our union couldn’t be fixed.
My first job after graduation was at WMAL-AM radio in Washington, DC. I was hired as a news assistant for the 5 AM Monday-through-Friday shift and had been there for about eight months. My days began at three. Nikki’s weekday babysitter lived in the same high-rise apartment building we lived in so I’d make sure her diaper bag was stocked for the day, her clothes laid out, and her lunch made and in the refrigerator before I left the apartment at 4 AM. All Bill had to do was wake her up, dress her, and take her down the hall to the sitter before he left for work. Technically, I was off at 2 PM every day, but within a couple of weeks I began doing some research and writing for the public affairs department as well. That extended my day to about 4, which gave me just about enough time to pick up Nikki by 5 PM.
During the week, each evening was a carbon copy of the evening before—fix dinner, feed Nikki, leave dinner on the stove for Bill if he wasn’t home, give Nikki a bath, read her a story, and put her to bed. Then I’d wash the dishes, get her bag ready for the next day, pack her lunch, and go to bed so I could get up again to leave by 4 AM. It was a grueling schedule, but I loved being a mother and I loved my job in the newsroom. What was wearing me down was my marriage.
One night in early November 1974, I was exhausted after I put Nikki to bed so I decided to take a quick nap. I was still asleep by the time Bill got home. He stormed into the bedroom and told me to get up and wash the dishes. I thought he was joking at first so I just turned my back to him. Then I felt the covers pulled from me.
“Get up, I said.”
“I’ll take care of everything later.”
“You’ll do the dishes now.”
By this point, I was fully awake and aware that he was serious.
“I said I’m not doing it now,” I said, getting increasingly angry that my husband was treating me like a child.
He grabbed my arm, pulled me up from the bed, and pushed me into the kitchen.
“Get off of me,” I screamed as I pulled away and ran back to our bedroom.
Then he grabbed me again, this time by my hair, and pulled me back into the kitchen.
I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs but I was acutely aware that Nikki was in the other room and I didn’t want to wake or scare her.
This was the first time that Bill had actually become physical with me. I knew women who had been physically abused by their husbands, but I’d never thought it would happen to me. Something had set him off before he’d gotten home, and I was determined it would be the first and last time I would be treated like this.
By the time we got to the kitchen, I looked for the first thing I could find to defend myself. I saw the knives in the butcher block holder on the counter and grabbed the first one within reach.
“Get the hell off of me now,” I said between clenched teeth. I surprised myself with the intensity of my words, but I was also terrified at what I’d do if he didn’t back off. He must have been as surprised as I was, because he let go and moved back immediately.
“Don’t you ever, ever touch me again,” I said through my tears, holding the knife like an exclamation point.
I went back to the bedroom and locked the door. That was my moment of clarity, when I knew I had to find the courage to do what I had been avoiding for far too long. Nothing would deter me this time. That night was the beginning of the end—or in hindsight, the beginning of my new beginning.
He apologized over and over, promising never to get physical with me again. I’d always excused and forgiven his behavior, but this time he crossed a line I just could not forgive. When I threatened to leave before, something always came up that made me stay—he was having a hard time at work or he’d had a fight with his dad or there was an event we really needed to go to together—there was always something. But this time there were no second chances. I spent the next couple of months planning my escape. As disturbing as that pivotal and violent night had been, I knew I needed to take time to make my move in the right way. I knew I wasn’t going to quit my job, which I loved, and run back to New York and into the comfort of my parents’ house. I opened up my own bank account and arranged for automatic deposit for my paycheck. I started looking for a subsidized childcare center, one that I could afford and was close to my job. Fortunately, the extra work that I had been doing paid off and I was given a promotion, with more money and regular hours.
Feeling confident that I had figured out a budget that would work for us and meet Nikki’s childcare needs, I chose to move before Christmas, figuring that if I could actually leave before a major holiday, nothing else could come along that was more important, or problematic, or symbolic, that would make me change my mind. My reasoning now seems a little odd but at the time it was what I needed to cling to in order to keep my resolve. Two weeks before Christmas, on a Friday night when he went out with friends, Nikki and I left with only two suitcases and her portable crib. I was stepping out into the unknown but I was determined that my new year would be different.
For the next six months, we lived in the basement apartment in the home of my friend Rae Carole and her mom, Barbara. I met Rae Carole at the hospital the day Nikki was born. She was a spunky and sweet high school candy striper who became a dear friend and my weekend babysitter. I also began seeing a therapist, thanks to a very good health insurance plan at the radio station. I told my parents that I was going to try to save my marriage. But I knew the truth was that I was trying to figure out my new world and my place in it. I’d never, ever thought I would become a single mother.
At the six-month mark, Nikki and I moved into an apartment of our own. This was the first time in my life I had ever signed a contract in my own name. I had gone straight from my parents’ home into a marriage. Before Rae Carole’s, I’d never been tested to balance a checkbook or live on a budget. I never gave myself a chance to know what I could do myself or if I could even survive on my own. This was my chance. I was now solely responsible for Nikki and myself. Now, with eyes wide open, I had chosen single motherhood. I had chosen the courage to find my own strength.
While it was a relief not having to deal with Bill’s erratic mood swings and abuse, it was an adjustment dealing with just one paycheck. Staying with Rae Carole those few months had enabled me to save some money, and when I moved a little bit deeper into suburban Maryland, rent became more affordable. Also working in my favor were those extra dollars in my paycheck. I was learning to liv
e on a budget, and everything started falling into place. I had a newfound confidence that I could actually make a life for us, and it felt really, really good.
As I began basking in my newfound liberation, I realized how much better I felt—about my life, about my job, about my role as a mother, about me as a woman. I thought about the Maya Angelou quote, “Courage is the most important of all the virtues because without courage, you can’t practice any other virtue consistently.” How right she was.
After a few months of being on my own, I unexpectedly found myself drawn to one of the up-and-coming reporters in the newsroom. William Westley Moore Jr. had cut his reporting chops in Florida and North Carolina, and everyone loved not only his professionalism but his easygoing manner and infectious smile. He had been hired as a street reporter but our news director, Ted Landphair, recognized Wes’s talent for more long-form reporting and began assigning stories he could spend a couple of days on and really dig deep. He was promoted to director of public affairs and since I was now the public affairs researcher, Wes and I started working more closely together. I felt like I was thriving in my independence as a single mother, but eventually our respect for each other’s talent turned to love. But while it was the work that connected us, it took Nikki to seal the deal.
When she first met Wes and took to him immediately, I made a note that this guy just might have a future in our lives. We gradually came to know and eventually love his family—his mom, dad, and three sisters Evelyn, Dawn, and Tawana. Living halfway between his apartment and mine, they were always willing babysitters and became an incredible support system for breaking news days and our date nights.
I was determined not to make the same mistake I had made before by jumping into a relationship too quickly and too intensely. My therapy sessions, along with the struggles and eventual satisfaction of single motherhood itself, helped me find the courage to recover from a bad marriage and pace myself on the road to a better one. Two years later, when I walked down the aisle that second time, each step was sure and fearless.
LESSON FROM A LIONESS: Learn to let go.
If you look really hard, as I have, at why we stay stuck for way too long, you might notice it is the fear of change that’s at the heart of the matter. We can fear a lot of things, but fear of change is one of the most debilitating. Change means uncertainty, and who has ever been in love with the unknown? Tony Robbins says that our need for certainty is what keeps us stuck in the past, even if the past is as horrendous as my first marriage. “Certainty is fundamentally about survival,” Robbins says. “We all need to feel certain that we can avoid pain, and, ideally, find some comfort. Continuous pain means continuous damage, and that eventually leads to our demise. It’s frightening to step into the unknown. It’s difficult to be vulnerable. And it can be overwhelmingly uncomfortable to have that sense of uncertainty about what lies ahead. So we hang on to the past—because even if it’s steeped in pain, it’s what we are familiar with and what we have certainty about.”
The courage to change is not easy to muster, and this type of change does not come overnight. Here are some thoughts to help you as you get comfortable with the idea of getting a bit uncomfortable.
STEP 1: SAY YES TO WHAT IS.
Author Eckhart Tolle says, “Whatever the present moment contains, accept it as if you had chosen it. Always work with it, not against it.”
If you feel like a failure because you couldn’t make your marriage work, don’t resist the feelings. Give them permission to exist, and then let go as a natural part of the growth process. I went into my first marriage thinking it would be like my parents’, but I had to admit that I was ending a marriage devoid of the core value of a loving two-parent family. I had to say yes to my feelings that the relationship wasn’t right for me. The recognition and acceptance that each relationship is unique and deserving of forging its own path gave me the strength and courage to later build a union with Wes that was enormously rewarding.
STEP 2: LET IN INSTEAD OF LETTING GO.
Inviting in the new comes after we have achieved acceptance.
“Change is always scary, especially when you don’t know what’s coming next. That’s why you might find yourself clinging to the unwanted because that’s what’s familiar and known to you,” says author Maria Stenvinkel, who wrote about this in her article A Surprising Way to Let Go of Painful Feelings and the Past. “To make sure that doesn’t happen, consciously decide what’s coming next. Let in instead of letting go. Rather than pushing away the unwanted, invite the wanted.”
When I decided I would find a new home in a suburb of Maryland that I could afford on my own, I realized I didn’t have to fear being homeless. When I replaced my fear of not making enough money with the goal of getting a promotion, I created something new to fill the void. And of course, letting love into my heart let in hope, instead of the dread of feeling I had to let love go for good.
STEP 3: FOCUS ON WHAT YOU DESIRE.
It’s time consuming and energy sucking to replay mistakes in your mind. It’s frustrating to live in the past. “Instead of trying harder to let go, accept fully where you are,” says Stenvinkel. “Embrace it completely. Say yes to all worry, shame, and guilt. Confirm all the negative thoughts and feelings so that you can release yourself from their grip. Simply, give up the battle.”
It’s what I did with Bill; my white flag rose a little more slowly, but wound up waving nevertheless. I had to admit that I was ending a marriage when I’d grown up with the core value of a loving two-parent family. I had to allow myself the shame of being the divorced one in my circle of friends. I had to accept that I would live in the basement before I allowed my daughter to have a life less than what I knew I was capable of giving her. Then, and only then, did my negative feelings start to disperse and make room for empowerment. Saying yes to those feelings gave them less power. It was like facing kryptonite and realizing it wouldn’t weaken me after all; that it was all in my head.
Profile in Courage: The Terrie M. Williams Story
You cannot swim for new horizons until you have courage to lose sight of the shore.
—William Faulkner
I first met Terrie Marie Williams in 1984, walking through the halls of Essence magazine. Talk about presence! As we were walking toward each other, I saw a tall, beautiful woman with close-cropped hair, sporting palazzo pants with an oversize jacket, carrying a briefcase-size pocketbook, with bright welcoming eyes and a huge smile. As we met mid-hall, she extended her hand and said, “Hi, I’m Terrie. I understand you are part of the TV crew. Welcome to Essence.” With that began a friendship that, for me, has been one of the most inspiring examples of what courage and true grit look like.
Terrie provided public relations assistance to both the magazine and our show, so that’s how I got to know her after our brief encounter in the hall. She was great at what she did, always able to get interesting tidbits of information about the guests that I hadn’t seen anywhere else. Guests could sense that Terrie genuinely cared about them, so they became forthcoming with information that eluded most other public relations professionals. That she was able to marry these two very different professions was my first indication of Terrie’s intellect and courage when it came to taking risks. It was only one of her many courageous milestones.
She became so successful at Essence that in 1988 she took a huge leap of faith and started her own public relations firm—The Terrie Williams Agency—and landed one of the biggest box-office stars at the time, Eddie Murphy. I asked Terrie what it took to leave the security and stability of Essence and branch out on her own.
I look back and say, “Who did I think I was?” I’m trained as a social worker, took a PR course or two, and then land one of the biggest stars in the world! Who does that, you know what I’m saying? I don’t think I had a whole lot to do with it. It was Divine Intervention. I guess I was able to connect with people and who they were underneath, regardless of what they were presenting to the world, and I gu
ess they trusted me not only to help them with their skill set but to reach them on a personal level.
Eddie Murphy was just the beginning. Miles Davis, whom she had met years before as a social worker and who encouraged her to one day start her own business, was next. As one of the country’s fastest-growing public relations firms, Terrie became a highly sought-after public speaker for conferences and lectures all over the country. In one of these presentations in New York, she met a young man. He wasn’t famous; nor did he have the next great idea. All he had was a heart that Terrie couldn’t resist. She had the courage to make a life-altering decision.
I don’t even remember what the conference was or what I was speaking about but at the end of it this young man, this beautiful soul, came up to me. He had a light force about him that I had never seen in a young person before. It was part of God’s plan that we met. We talked for a long time, long after everyone else left, and I just felt compelled to give him my number. It clearly wasn’t a romantic thing or anything like that. Damn, he was only about sixteen years old! But there was just this connection with this beautiful, beautiful soul. I think I knew that day that Rocky Ephraim would always be part of my life.
We started talking fairly regularly, and I found out that his parents were divorced; his mother had moved down south and Rocky and his three brothers were pretty much left to fend for themselves. They lived in Brooklyn but he was always in Manhattan because that is where he went to school. One night he was in the city really late and since I had a spare bedroom I invited him to stay there so he wouldn’t have to ride the trains so late at night. He started to do that really frequently, going to school straight from my apartment.
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