I knew a man who often gifted me with things that were out of the norm, not something you’d find in a magazine gift guide for sure. An elderberry bush. A vintage KitchenAid. A box of day-old goslings. A cow. He was thoughtful at keying in on just the things I wanted, but wouldn’t buy for myself. He was endearing at such times, boyish and excited about his surprises for me.

His behavior toward me grew increasingly angry and irrational between briefer bouts of sweetness, a pattern which began as soon as we moved to Stringtown Rising. He told me that he felt jealous of and threatened by the growing popularity of my website, and frequently criticized me and mocked readers’ admiration of my work. “Your readers think you’re wonderful,” he’d say. “But you’re not wonderful at all. You’re a selfish, selfish person.” If that was said to me once, it was said to me two hundred times (among other similar diatribes), the only apparent goal being to tear me down.

I have never spoken of my personal life and relationship during the time I lived at Stringtown Rising, or explained exactly why I had to leave. But now you know. Aside from my fear of living at such a difficult, remote farm alone, I was afraid he was going to destroy me from the inside out. It was writing this website, ironically the same thing he used against me to mock me, that at the same time saved me. Every day, I got up with a mission to write perky, positive, informative, inspiring posts. I wanted someone to live the good life–even if that someone couldn’t be me. He came home every night and derided me and mocked me and attacked me. He was one person in front of other people, and a different one when we were alone. I was silent in response to him most of the time–and I was silent to almost everyone around me. I had kids at home, so I was afraid of escalating any given situation, so I was very, very quiet, and mostly tried to stay out of his way. When he started ranting, I’d slip away to bed and hide. And get up the next day and write something for you. Thank you so much for being here. You have no idea how much I needed you.

My cousin and his wife, Sheryl, knew from the beginning. Eventually, I also confided in my dear friend here that you all know as CindyP.

And also eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew exactly what was happening–verbal abuse and mental cruelty–and I was ashamed that I was allowing it. I allowed it because I was afraid of losing my farm, and I was afraid of losing my job writing about the farm. I loved that farm and I was so determined to hang on to it. The night he came home and told me that he wasn’t going to pay his half of the mortgage anymore, I snapped. I told him I was moving out.

I didn’t even know where I was going, but I knew I had to leave.

In a similar way, when I realized he’d stolen the stove that had been donated for my workshop kitchen, I snapped. While stealing the stove is technically a theft, morally, it’s an act of domestic violence, and I knew I had to stop being silent–because this is where silence had gotten me so far. It’s not just a stove. It’s the stove that broke the camel’s back. It’s a final act in a long line of abusive acts. And what abusers count on is your silence and your shame.

So many women read this website, and I owe it to anyone who is reading this today who needs to hear it to say, GET OUT. LEAVE. There is nothing that is worth keeping in comparison to losing yourself. A person doesn’t have to hit you to hurt you. Mental cruelty and verbal abuse is actually far more violent and creates much longer-lasting damage. I stayed for nearly four years, trying to save a farm that I could never save because he owned half of it and the games would never end. He played with me every night like a cat with a mouse.

I found myself feeling suicidal because life was no longer worth living, and I knew I was in big trouble. I thought I was so strong that I could ride it out, tolerate it, to save my farm. But no one is that strong. If someone is tearing you down, GET OUT.

All you can ever save is yourself, and you are worth all the trouble.

This morning, flowers are blooming on the trees here.

It’s an early spring at Sassafras Farm.

No one yells at me here. I like it very much. There is hope and a future. If you are in a situation like I have described or similar, please leave. It will not get better.

UPDATE: If you’re reading this post at a later date, you can see the return of the stove here.

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This post is sponsored by Clorox. That means Clorox is paying me some money to write this post. I’m pretty excited about that, so go buy some Clorox products today! I think I’m going to use the money Clorox is paying me to build a chicken house, and I can tell you for sure that if that chicken house gets dirty, I’m gonna tell those hens to go get them some Clorox, because, like, I’m not cleaning it! I’m gonna call it the Clorox Chicken Coop! With that name, it might even be self-cleaning. Do you think?

Okay, back to Clorox. Actually, back to the topic Clorox asked me to write about. Because I don’t actually have to write about Clorox. I don’t even have to say Clorox ten times, like I am, but I’m pretty happy with Clorox at the moment, so I’m giving them a bonus.

Clorox asked me to write a post for moms (which I think could include you dads! not to mention pet-parents! I’m all about being all-inclusive!) about how you spend your precious few “free” minutes. Say three. Three minutes. What can you do for yourself in three minutes? (After you disinfect something with Clorox, of course. Because that only takes three seconds. Then you’re ready to move on.)

You can take over the world.

Really! Or at least, the part of the world over which you want to take. I’ve never had huge stretches of uninterrupted time in which to pursue my dreams. I started writing when Ross was a baby. Remember that I had two more babies after Ross was born. Books aren’t written in giant leaps. They’re written one word, one sentence, one paragraph, one page at a time–and that is the same way any goal is accomplished. I could hold a baby with one hand and make plot notes with the other. I’d write down snatches of dialogue, descriptions, whatever. If I needed two hands, I could still think my notes. By the time I had a few minutes free to sit down at the computer, I could write the next scene of the book pretty quickly–then jump up and go find whoever was crying.

Some people might say that if you’re home alone with three babies all day, there’s no way you can write a book–but of course you can. If you can dream it, you can do it. You aren’t going to dream about something that isn’t, in some form, realistic for you. Nature takes care of that for us–we dream of things for which we have natural inclinations, talents, or drives. This gives us a great boost in our chances of success in our goals. We are guided in our dreams by our inner instincts. Sometimes it’s simply our outer expectations we have to shape. I’ve always dreamed of being a writer. I may never be an NYT bestseller, but I’m still a writer. You may never be a movie star, but if you dream of being involved with the stage, you can do it–in local plays, community shows, teaching theater, or throwing your church holiday production. You may never plow 500 acres, but if you dream of being a farmer, you can plant a backyard garden, put up preserves in your suburban kitchen, grow starts in your basement under lights and sell them at the farmers market, or set up a vertical garden on your apartment patio. You can pursue whatever you dream a little at a time, in just a few minutes stolen from your other daily obligations to plan, practice, and prepare. Time isn’t an excuse, it’s just part of the challenge. There are other challenges beyond time for any dream, of course, but they can be confronted the same way–with persistence. Pursue your dream whenever you can, and however you can, in whatever venue or level is open to you–or that you can pry open. The greatest challenge of all, for many people, is owning their achievements, holding themselves to an impossible bar of perfection or pinnacle. Pursuing a dream is about the journey. Own every success, however seemingly small. Own every three minutes.

If you can dream it, you can do it.

I believe that with all my heart, and I also believe that believing is the first step. Decide today that you believe it, too–and take three minutes to pursue your dream.

If you feel comfortable sharing, tell me what you can do in three minutes to take a step toward your dream! (Me, I can carry another box out of the studio to get ready for my health department-approved kitchen remodel!)

This post is sponsored by Clorox. Help stop the spread of germs with Clorox® disinfecting products.

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