Story:  BackStory    

Letters:  Page 1     Page 2     Page 3

Emilia: A story of subtle abuse.
Backstory: March 1983

It started off innocently enough. I was a traditional midwife back then. She called me in March 1983 to see if I would support her through her pregnancy and then deliver her baby. She was due in June. She said she had just moved to the mountains and would I meet her at a motel? Sure, no problem.

At the motel I was met by a very obese woman. There were 3 young boys, aged 9, 7 and 3. The place was very grubby and unkempt, but I put it down to motel living with 3 kids. She said her name was Emilia, but that wasn't her real name I found out later.

We started to talk by phone almost every day as she kept me up to date on her pregnancy, welfare and housing search woes. A month or so later she moved to a small house up the valley, and eventually to a larger house.

It was her voice, her way of talking to me that drew me in. She definitely had a hard luck story: the child she was carrying was from a rape. One of the other midwives I knew in Vancouver had attended her labour and birth three years previous. She seemed to be on the same path as me spiritually. I started to spend lots of time with her as she was so fascinating and needed so much help.

My marriage to B was slowly dissolving. We both were open to seeing other people and except for having kids together there was no other real bond. He was a great dad, but we didn't talk much.

By May I was ready to move out and move in with Emilia. I think I was falling in love. I wanted to just leave by myself, but Emilia and her home health worker Dorothy, convinced me that I needed to bring my kids with me. I was torn about taking my daughters away from their dad, but without realizing what was happening, I was being subtly convinced that my girls didn't need their father.

You can see what happened by reading the letters, but I was convinced to move in with her, give her money, and took care of her kids. And with all of that, I basically had a nervous breakdown. And then in the middle of the night she left.

A few years later I fell into her trap again, but this time my eyes opened a lot quicker. When she wrote to me in 2014, I had not heard from her for years. I will continue to see her as my abuser.