My Experience with Emotional Abuse and Trying to Rebuild Beautiful
Breaking free from the shackles of a toxic relationship, one taunt at a time…
It doesn’t get any easier. Every day that passes widens the chasm in this breakup abyss and further rents the tear. I slowly feel the love fading; but the memories, and the forever I once built in my heart? They just don’t go away. In many ways, penning my experience with emotional abuse encumbers me with a heavy sense of loss and shame; I lost a relationship I invested in and am time and again derided by the discomposure of it all. The testing, the judgement, the overperformance to be accepted… and yet I realize how vital it is that I tell my story. Women are often silenced and dismissed for their experiences, and my hope in this writing is to someday help another woman recognize a toxic trait before her dreams come crashing.
We met in the fall of 2018. In a few months, I was the smitten kitten — I constructed a theatrical future with this tall, intelligent, handsome man whose former years in the United States Marine Corps only added to his already attractive quotient. I thought I could do no better; a lie I repeated to myself, squinting through my fogged glasses of irrationality. What did I — impulsive and querulous as I was, have going in comparison to someone so well put-together? He was everything I’d wanted and everything I had hoped to have. The fable of the frog cooking itself in a pot of boiling water? That frog was me. Even though my gut feelings were on overdrive, I was hastened to trust, and so I did.
Nine months before I met him, I had been ghosted by someone who assaulted me — no warning, no closure, no viable proof. My struggle with fears of rejection and abandonment ominously surfaced and his Houdini act brought me to an emotional standstill. I pushed myself through six months of therapy, and when I began to feel whole again, I swiped right on the man I thought was the dream. And for a good while, he was — the texts and calls flowed, I loved getting to know him; he placed an effort on me no other man had done before. And that is why, before I begin to describe the cracks, I’d like to state two things: this is not my smear campaign, and I must appreciate him for everything good he once was. I take responsibility for my shortcomings, but like a lot of women often do, I sold myself short in pursuit of something real and believing too soon that I had found it. I saw the red flags and chose to ignore them in fear of being viewed as needy or uncompromising, because with dating, he seemed intentional. I used to date a different girl every day and name them after the days of the week, he once told me. I am not him anymore. You are the only girl I’m with. And in head-first, I jumped…
He always kept his word — I was never ghosted or stood up. Our dates spanned several hours one day every week, and he refused to split the restaurant bill. He’s driven down to see me (we live in different cities), kindled long conversations, and inquired of me a million questions. I want to know everything about you — everything! He was feverishly erudite — artificial intelligence, gravitational waves, politics — they all captured his fancy, and whenever we would argue, his stance was set forth calmly and with kind, lucid confidence. Even though they perturbed me, I picked my battles to ignore them so I wouldn’t lose him. He told me every day how much he cared for me and liked me, and how he wanted us to develop a deeper connection. Everything has a positive, negative, and neutral side, he’d say. Choose positivity! I’ve been around his neighborhood jaunts, his favorite watering holes, and even met two of his close friends. If things ever did get rocky (which as time passed, they often did), he’d hold my hand or hug me, and lethargic though they seemed (I’m not a very physical touch person!), I was drugged to his affection. I’m a man, not a boy! His confidence frightened me to question, and I attributed it to the butterflies I felt every time I saw him.
It was perfect.
Perfect until what started out as small lapses in communication began to perpetuate. My struggle with rejection and relationship abandonment sometimes led to anxiety that would culminate in depression. The texts and calls that once so easily flowed began to pulsate every few days, and because I thought the world of him and believed he could do no wrong, I internalized self-blame. Maybe I’m not that interesting or attractive, I would tell myself. We would still have our weekend dates set (he refused to stay over — Don’t assume why I don’t want to!), but his accessibility began to fade. I can’t take my phone into work! was what he’d say after several days of radio silence. A fair point, but who isn’t on their phones for that long? The fear unearthed a panic. Now, I work a full-time job too, and communication throughout the day is not what I expect; but as a woman wanting to be pursued, consistency helps. How someone who sweet-talked me for weeks could now go for days without a squeak was very disturbing. He’s not your boyfriend, my best friend said. You need to be open to the possibility that he could be seeing other people. That was not a possibility I was given to understand, but in wanting to please, I chose to accommodate. And yet the fissure only seemed to widen.
I remember my anxiety peaking the week I had not heard from him for three days, and I decided to ask him about his relationship needs because mine were certainly not being met. I have none. I am confident in who I am. I’m a winner and a warrior, not a victim. People are going to behave the way they want to. I chose to ignore the snide victim reference, but I did request a little more proactivity, support, and understanding, and even if not immediate, to follow-up and not leave me hanging. Give me proof I have been inattentive! Three days is not a big deal! I’ve been through this dance before and I don’t want to do it again. You need to go for more therapy. And I duly made an appointment. If you’re not all in, I’d say, we can reconsider this. What do you want? And he’d respond, I want you. So we continued dating, the back and forth being better than nothing at all. Don’t test me. If you want to leave, leave. But by then we’d been dating a few months already, and I had my online account removed. I’m not deactivating mine, he said, but neither am I going to use it. And I asked no questions.
He disliked planning his free time and wasn’t one for small gestures. I joked about what he was going to get me for Valentine’s Day, and after a sarcastic laugh, he said — Nothing! I’m not a sucker like other men to dance to a woman’s every tune. I chuckled! V-Day is overrated, but when my other girlfriends got chocolates and flowers, a small part of me grappled with disappointment. After another unresponsive few days some weeks later, I inquired from a mutual acquaintance if he was safe. He called me around midnight that night, and when I confessed I’d been worried, he scoffed. Why would you call him? I’m a man! I can take care of myself. That was so unnecessary! And yet here I was, with faltering lines of communication. I would instinctively feel unease, but he chalked it to unnecessary anxiety, and so unnecessary anxiety was what it was.
He enjoyed testing people — he’d throw in a thought and depending on how well he judged the response, bait reactions. I often left feeling hopelessly misread, but fearing being called negative and made to feel I wasn’t good enough caused me to hold back. You sing at church. Write me a song if you want me to kiss you anymore. I’ve kissed you way too much! I wanted to be kissed, and so I nodded. For weeks that followed, he closed his lips tight. Let this connection between us flow organically; don’t force it! I worked on that song for as long as I can remember — casting doubt on it when we fought and revisiting it when tempers eased. I furnished it with a tune and so much feeling. The day I finally had it ready, he cited a previous argument not to listen to it. The following week when I tried again, he was too tired. And by now, we were exclusive. But I’m not going to introduce you to my family, he retorted one day when I asked, after stinging me for weeks saying he’d told them I had died for a reason I now don’t recall. It will not happen until I’m certain you’re the one. Getting to know someone takes years…
I first experienced the force of his anger in early April 2019. A friend had confided in me that her date had forced himself on her when she was drunk, refusing to wear a condom even though she’d asked. When I shared this with him looking to unburden my dismay, he went ballistic. How dare you fucking call this assault? She was drunk, nobody had a fucking gun to her head. She went with the complete knowledge of what was going to happen. If she complains, she’s going to ruin his life. Why was she fucking drunk? Also, why do you care? I interjected that consent cannot be taken when inebriated. Bullshit! he yelled. She was drunk and that is her fault. I’ve had sex with drunk women! as he proceeded to check for sexual assault laws in her home country to further his point. I remember being so consumed by fear that night that my breathing stilled, and because in all the six months we’d been dating I had never been brave enough to confide in him my own experience with assault, I apologized and told him my story. He calmed down and listened, told me it was not my fault, and said he had always known I had underlying issues because he was adept at reading people.
It took me months to realize what a dangerous situation I was already in. Imagine being told by someone you admire that they read you perfectly, and by their actions being shown that all they see are imperfections! The realization slowly erodes your confidence, clawing at you from the inside, and sears your internal battles open. No matter how hard you try to justify yourself, you eventually nestle into the lie that maybe your view of yourself has been wrong all along, that maybe you are in need of saving.
A few weeks later at a colleague’s birthday party, in the middle of getting to know my work friends, he disclosed my opinions of a fellow coworker to the group. It was something I had mentioned in confidence, and although the group played it down, I was horrified. They think the same way about her. Didn’t you see their faces? I told them the truth. I did not lie the way you did, by omission. You waited six months until I was in a relationship with you to tell me you were assaulted. You never gave me the chance when I was deciding in the first three months to see if I wanted to date someone with your history. What happened to you is something that stays with you for life. You lied to me. And with that and some other in between smack, he walked out of the bar him and I were at that night, not turning back. His abrupt exits were relatively common and had been addressed before, but as I ran to catch up with him, he began to justify his behaviour. You lying to me is akin to me not telling you I have a child from a previous relationship. How would that make you feel? I don’t have a child, but you’ve lied, and now my trust is short. As we sat on the beach sifting through the emotions, his face emitted an eerie, silent anger he denied. My only prayer was for him to not hit me. You lied, you’re so negative! In between my tears and holding him, I remember pleading — Stop, please stop! I am so scared by the way you’re behaving. If we break up tonight, you wouldn’t care enough for me and will replace me tomorrow. He threw my hands off him, looked at me stoically, and responded — If we break up tonight, I will replace you tonight, not tomorrow. Take your fucking hands off me and don’t you fucking tell me to stop. Only my mother has that right. Don’t you ever fucking tell me what to do. I remember chastising myself later that day for not trusting him enough to reveal details of my assault earlier. I could not grapple with the confusion and emotional neglect, so I booked myself into therapy once again to my therapist who now warned me to be wary of behavior such as his, indicative of past trauma. But when I first met him, he’d told me of a previous relationship of six years, how he loved her and wanted to marry her, and how good he was with long-term commitments. Great guy! You are so lucky to be dating him! his friend once told me. And into the next month we went, me confident that everything was my fault.
In hindsight, I wish I’d shown more gumption. My reactions governed what I was willing to accept, and had I not viewed him through rose-colored glasses, I would have had the courage to walk away. But love clouded my judgement. Oh man, I am so fucking good looking and intelligent! Look at this body, the body of a God! he’d joke, and I’d laugh. Otherwise, it was — I am the humblest, most radically honest, loyal person you will ever meet. If I questioned it, he’d say — Have we proven I am a liar thus far? Soon, texts on a timeline began to go unanswered. I was working. I’d book tickets for us to watch a movie together and minutes before it started, he’d insist on downing another beer. I need to finish this! If you want to go early, you go ahead. I’ve entered theaters thirty-five minutes late. If something scared me during a movie and I tugged his shoulder, he’d roughly throw my hand to the other side. Cálmate, man! Cálmate! if I ever vocalised a strong opinion, forcing me to confront my crazy. At restaurants, he’d chat up the waitresses, ensuring he knew everything about them — their birthplace, the languages they spoke, the significance of the lockets on their necklace… Ah, so many women! he’d exclaim. He added me on LinkedIn one day and removed by the next. You talk too much and tell everybody my business! because I told a friend that my boyfriend could help him with schoolwork if he needed assistance. Everything you told the waitress was wrong, he once said about my Spanish, just as she proceeded to bring me exactly what I’d ordered. Not free this weekend. My stripper friends want me to help them set up a tent for an event. And still the fact that he was with me was better than me being alone. Have confidence in my integrity!
One weekend in June 2019, after having not seen him in two weeks, I woke up in a frenzy. Something inside me seemed amiss and my anxiety was on overdrive. I reactivated my Bumble account and swiped left for what felt like hours until I found him, with his profile active, and pictures changed the week before. I broke down on that call and asked him if he was cheating. I am not. When you update your pictures on Instagram, Bumble automatically updates it for the men. You’re not a man, your settings are different. I can’t believe you’re accusing me of cheating on you. You have no trust. And I believed him. I wasn’t however comfortable anymore with his profile being active, and when he deleted it, he said — I kept it up because we’ve been fighting. If things don’t work, I wanted to jump back in. I always look at life positively. My glass is neither empty nor full — it is refillable. A few weeks later, he casually mentioned how the women at Hooters hit on him and gave him free chicken nuggets, how he asked the receptionist at his gym to send all the pretty girls to exercise next to him, and how his female coworkers kept asking him out for happy hour. He told me how he’d met a blind girl who said she could tell by his voice how good-looking he was. In better circumstances, his words would have been mere jest, but slowly, bit by bit, with assault over assault of my trust, I felt the longevity of the relationship fade. It was like walking on eggshells. He’d shut down topics he didn’t like and aggressively debate ones he did. My opinions were met with brick walls, and I stopped learning to even be myself.
My cousin, after speaking to him on video chat one day, called to ask me if I was certain this was the man I wanted to be with. He doesn’t seem affectionate, he said. Boyfriends don’t act so aloof. He never let me sing along to music or work the stereo in his car. This isn’t your car! Every time I hummed a tune, he’d change the song and laugh. Responses to my questions or conversations began to elicit blank stares and eye-rolls, making me feel like I did not know enough to even be engaging in conversation. Google it! he’d say, or I don’t know, what do you think? or I really don’t care about this stupid conversation you’re trying to have. I wasn’t allowed to bounce conversations with friends off him. It’s gossip. You don’t have ideas. I don’t learn anything from you. You’re as dramatic and crazy as the Kardashians! If he did ask me a question and I responded, he’d sigh like I’d said something stupid. You don’t magnify my happiness. I’m happy because I am happy; you don’t add to it. You’re an energy sink! If I asked him why he still stayed with me, he’d respond — Don’t test me. If you keep calling it out, it won’t work. Saying ‘no’ became his next favorite thing. Can we go eat Indian food? No! Would you like to go wine tasting? No! With no other options given, it was on me to try harder.
If I did not plan a date for the weekend, there was no date. How do you know I would not have called you? You don’t know that! On my birthday, there was no text or call (barring his languid wish the previous night because I’d called). I didn’t want to be mean to you on your birthday, he later said. When I hear your voice, I feel like being mean. On the glass-bottomed boat tour we took that weekend at a local Floridian reef, when every other couple on board held hands and cuddled, he refused. It’s too hot. Take your hands off me. On the day I had the check-engine light on my car come on, he listened to me rant and directed me towards help. Two days later, he said — You’re the first female engineer I know who cries at seeing a problem. I work with so many smart women and none of them are fazed. I guess that is at least one thing unique about you, if nothing else. When I took offence at his offhand compliment, I was berated for looking at it negatively. Didn’t I say you at least have something ‘unique’ about you?? When I asked if he’d like me to take him skydiving for his birthday, he guffawed — Absolutely not! I’m not going to be caught dead in a metal tube with you jumping into open air when you cannot even deal with your car’s engine troubles! In my defense, I love adventure thrills; car issues are simply expensive. After a particularly rough interaction with a colleague at the office one day, I texted — Please call me, got something important to tell you. He responded two days later. But you did not say it was urgent. Important is not urgent.
He broke his no-kiss rule on his birthday after cajoling me at the movies to be intimate. This is the best birthday ever! They duly stopped the following week without his song being ready and I continued without being kissed for months. On the weekend my aunt visited, he agreed to meet her, slowing his walk to a maddening crawl just feet away from the hotel entrance. When I turned around, he had disappeared. I spoke to my family for a few minutes and then saw him come out of the restroom, ignoring me as I repeatedly called his name. Every time else I’d want to open up to him, he’d say — You only talk about yourself. You never say anything positive. I teach you so much and you teach me nothing. You’re never grateful. You’ve lived a life of such privilege and you still complain. Only people who see negative in everything and come from privilege need therapy. I began reading more books to engage him in better conversation and bought myself a gratitude journal. If nothing about me interests you anymore, why are you still with me? I asked again. I choose to be, he’d say. Don’t test me. If you want to leave, leave.
Towards the end of August 2019, he mentioned wanting to take a vacation with his friends, unsure of the place and duration. When a visa I required (one that my lawyer had given me much chagrin through that I had waited months for) passed approval later that week, he said — Oh! I guess your lawyer knew what he was doing after all. Instead of worrying about it, maybe you should have known you’d get it. You’re never positive. What a waste of time. If you didn’t get it, you can go to your home country and try again. Big deal. I was in tears after that tirade and refused to apologize. He hung up. I apologized the next day to no response. Three days later, I texted him again. Can’t talk, on vacation. Talk when I get back. And I had no idea where he’d gone to! With hurricane Dorian looming that weekend, I got a text: If you die in the hurricane, I’ll be sad. I called him to talk later that week and received an international dial tone! He had gone abroad without ever so much as a mention to me! He picked up the call, heard my voice, made small talk, abruptly told me he was on vacation, and stopped responding while keeping me hanging. Two minutes later, I hung up hearing him hum in the background. The no texts or calls continued for two more days (he was however constantly on WhatsApp), and I called him again. Why can’t you be normal? I’m on vacation with my friends! You’re wasting my money! Can you believe this bullshit, dude? — he told his buddy as they listened to me cry, refusing to give me any information. I even told him I’d pay him to talk to me for a few minutes. He refused.
I told you I was going to Colombia on Spirit Airlines. You never listen. We partied all day and night in Baranquilla and Cartagena and you wasted my $24 calling me international. The same way you forgot the bad things you said about my father and then lied about needing to ask your best friend about it. This had been a previous conversation and I could swear I have never spoken ill of his father. However, he had also never mentioned Colombia or Spirit Airlines to me before leaving. Those are details I would certainly remember, and even if I did not, I saw no harm in him repeating it on call when I asked him. Why should I keep repeating things when you never listen? I was on vacation. You’re not my fucking wife. I don’t owe you any explanation for what I do with my life. I do whatever the fuck I want. When I confided in a colleague who also was a former United States Marine about his behavior, he asked me to stay away. You’ve been with this guy for almost a year and he did not even tell you he was going abroad? Leave! And in true me fashion, I stayed. All my friends were so tired of me being unhappy. How have you changed so much? You’ve always been such a fun, happy person. What is this guy doing to you?
I was so emotionally distraught and tired that my anxiety soared, locking my gullet so bad that I could hardly swallow my food. I had no appetite for days. I tried so hard to be understanding and conversational, despite my basic needs of communication, love, and accountability not being met. The next time we saw each other, I broached the topic again on where our relationship was headed — something about it just did not feel right anymore. Through clenched teeth and seething anger, he said — I am not going to spend another motherfucking minute talking to you until you pay me $24! I told you where I was going, and you still called me on my vacation and wasted my time and money. Give me my money back if you want me talk to you! I had to send him the cash on Venmo before he immediately calmed down. I wanted to know what his ex-girlfriend of six years had done different and where I was falling short. Many things, and we still didn’t work out. And I don’t know where this relationship is headed. I don’t know what tomorrow holds. For all you know, you could leave me. If you keep asking me these questions and are unhappy, leave. It’s not like we’re hooking up! I’ll find someone else tonight. A week later, with my heart now just existing broken, I went out for happy hour with a friend, someone I had previous history with. At that point, I just wanted someone to listen to me. My closest church friends in the city had stopped talking to me because I was dating a non-Christian, and I was so alone that I only wanted someone to hear me cry. I take complete responsibility for making the choice of going out that day. I did not drink, but when the friend started trying to kiss me, I stopped and saw myself home. I tossed around the entire night and told my boyfriend what had happened the next day. You’re going to do what you’re going to do. No gun was held to your head.
Hanging out with four of my friends the next weekend was the last I remember genuinely having a good time. Conversations flowed easily; he held my hand through the night. Unbeknownst to me, I had conditioned myself to accept the bare minimum. He even called to talk on the phone after so I would not fall asleep on the wheel — his first time in weeks. However, my friend noticed something amiss. Are you genuinely happy? he asked me. I don’t know, I responded. I am not getting what I need to thrive in a relationship, but everything works slowly, correct? To which he said — Listen, he does not deserve you. Your investment is not reciprocated. He may do the very least because it takes no effort from his side to keep you. But you need to know how you want to be treated. And truer words were never spoken. I had not experienced this degree of hopelessness or sadness in years. It was harrowing to come back full circle.
Our one-year anniversary rolled around, and it was crickets for that as well. Another bout of gaslighting ensued, him telling me the date I thought our anniversary fell on was not the real date, refusing to tell me when it really was, and then calling me forgetful for not knowing. The last time we met, I asked him again if I could sing my song for him, and he motioned for me to start in the public parking lot. When I interjected if he could listen to it in private in the car (I was shy), he refused. At this point, I stopped even believing that the song would help heal the wounds of neglect. What if he did not like my voice or pitch or the tune and lyrics? Oh well, I guess this is another kiss-less week. I cannot explain to you how defeated I felt. While walking around the strip mall that night, I asked him if he would split the hotel fare with me for a friend’s wedding we were going to next month. He stared at me weirdly and shrugged — Give me the total and I’ll see. I was so devoid of his attention by then that I really wanted him to stop and address my plans. He took my hands and twirled me around, and for a split second I felt a tug on my waist. The pain dissipated quickly but since I had been so starved of affection, I sat down and told him my waist hurt, hoping he would care. Call the medics! he said, as he walked away. He probably saw through my ruse, but it was too late by then. On Sunday the next day, we spoke for an hour before he suddenly needed to ‘go work’. Bye, I gotta go. Bye. Another common rude exit. I heard nothing from him all week and couldn’t even tell him on call that I had been approved for another visa I’d applied for. Please call me, I have something urgent and super exciting to tell you! Nothing. Stayed home, had to work was all he responded over the following weekend. I was exhausted holding my feelings out for him. I texted asking him if we could please talk about our communication because I was not being met in the middle, that five days not hearing from him was disrespectful, and maybe we should see other people. We’re done. Don’t threaten me. You went on a date with another man and had the gall to accuse me of cheating multiple times. You’re so subversive. You feigned injury to get my attention and tried to make me feel bad about it. You’ve lied multiple times and it’s not good. I responded saying I did not mean to threaten him, I only wanted us to be happy and understand each other and see eye to eye. I don’t know what I want to do. I’ll text you later in the week. The next Friday, I texted him again. You’re important to me. I want us to be happy and meet in the middle.
He texted back: I don’t want to be with you. Please don’t call/text anymore.
And that was it.
A year of investment in trying to change myself to be more desirable, say the right things, feel the right feelings, have the right opinions, discuss ideas, be better at conversation, be more interesting, bring more happiness, laugh a little more, be understanding, ask about his well-being, put up with bad treatment,… and he still broke up with me on a text message. My initial feeling of relief did not sustain itself through the months that followed. I would cry myself to sleep every night, question my integrity, regret my decisions, text my friends asking if I was worthy, and wish I had no anxiety. But in those months leading up to the breakup, I had also prayed. I prayed for God to either make us work or show me a way out, and as much as I hated His answer, it was all I now had. I was blind to his emotional unavailability and deaf to the gaslighting. In contemporary women-speak, I forced myself to be adjusting and accepting, that all good things take time and energy, and even if they came at the cost of my sanity, it would be sanity well worth its’ while. Today I say fuck that; because how long was I supposed to exist as the gossipy, uninteresting, negative, argumentative, dramatic, crazy, and energy-sinking girlfriend, held in limbo? How long was I supposed to hope that my flaws would not be used against me or hold me back from a collective future? How long until I was worthy of becoming a part of his life? They’re stupid! They’ll never work out! was what he’d say of my friends who’d taken the next step in their relationships. But I was no longer naïve to endure that maybe someday he’d view me as someone genuine, and surprise me and call me positive and happy so we could actually thrive in a relationship that was mutual.
That evening, as I hung out with a friend to get over my hurt, we finagled through Bumble again and caught him online — not even an entire day since he had broken up!
Looking for someone to engage in random ratchet behavior with…
I’ve poured my heart in pages, but I can tell you that nothing hurts more than realizing your love for someone posed no value. I was never the end, just the in-between. In a world where the next best thing is only a swipe away, we cease to place significance on personhood and emotions, and to take each person, flaws and all, as they come, hopefully leaving them better than when we first met. It was the come-to-Jesus moment I needed to realize that it took less than 24 hours for him to move back online, looking for the ‘ratchet’ activity he constantly deprived me of. He preyed on my fear and low self-worth, exacerbated my anxiety, and labeled me a flaw.
I started out not wanting to be ghosted but I’ve resurfaced knowing that there is so much more that goes into a relationship. Even though grumbling and stress have not escaped me, I have balanced them out with a fair share of achievements and success — both the visas I required went through, I started learning salsa dancing, began to paint again, brushed up on my Spanish, upped my reading, completed an OSHA safety course, and earned myself a raise and a possible promotion at work. The feeling of helplessness staying in a loveless relationship will never undermine the distance I have mentally, emotionally, and spiritually covered. I learn every day to not let it affect the way I see myself or how I deserve to be loved. I am capable of love, and with the clearest conscience I can say that I have loved well. It was choice that led me to make myself small to prioritize him while I endured disrespect, anger, mockery, lack of care or concern, gaslighting, and verbal and emotional abuse. After he broke up with me, I texted my closest friends for five positives about my personality. Until COVID-19 struck and I was asked to work from home, those responses were post-its stuck on my whiteboard at work. Every time I looked up from my computer, I was forced to see value in who I am.
The Vice President of my company walked into my office one day, two months into my breakup for his customary quarterly hug. What’s the story behind this? he asked, looking at my whiteboard. A breakup, I replied. He took a post-it from my stash, wrote the word ‘Gorgeous’, and pasted it back. If I had a better handwriting, I’d fill the empty slots. You are so worthy. I hope you know this is his loss. Also, word of advice — a breakup is much cheaper than a divorce.
It’s been nine months since he walked out, and I can honestly say that my down days are not completely behind me. What is though, is my fear of not being loved or accepted, of wanting to please to be pleased. I read a book called ‘The Gaslight Effect’ by Dr. Robin Stern a few months ago, where she very poignantly states: It’s not about who is right or wrong, but how they make you feel… So if you’re reading this and see yourself in my experience, know that I stand in your corner. Know that you are loved and valued, regardless of how men may treat you; they do not hold a candle to your worth. Abuse is never your fault, and loving an abusive man is never easy; the deepest scars are the ones that are invisible. And know that, no matter what, while you may be indebted to friends and family for pulling you through, the person you are most indebted to is yourself.
Today, there is nobody I’d rather answer to than me…
