New Light
You hear something long enough you start to believe it; Get broken-hearted enough it’s so hard to heal it; You told me I was wrong and I started to feel it (Ooou); For a moment I’d forgotten who I am… (~Mega, New Light)
I can’t stop thinking about everything he’s said to me. I wonder if maybe he’s right — that I am all the awful things he claims. You stare down, fidgeting with your hands under the table, shoulders slumped. You can’t meet your therapist’s eyes. Ashamed, drained, and mentally frayed. His words echo in your head: Selfish. Self-centered. You overthink. You always pick things apart. Why can’t you be happy? You treat me terribly. Therapy makes you selfish. You want attention and don’t live in reality — maybe if you got off Instagram and all your stupid quotes, your thoughts would be your own. You just want perfection. You make life miserable…
There’s a pause. You slowly lift your chin to meet her gaze. That’s the abuse working, your therapist says without hesitation. It’s doing what it was intended to do — make you question yourself. That’s how we know it’s abuse — it’s crazy-making. She says this with the certainty of someone who’s seen it many times before, her matter-of-fact response bringing a small measure of comfort, gently bridging you to the possibility of healing.
Logically, rationally, you know she’s right. But you still feel you have to unlearn the messages and undo the damage that made a home within you. I want to un-know and un-hear these things! Every step toward reframing this version of you he created feels like an uphill challenge at high altitude. It doesn’t get easier as you get closer to the top. The air gets thinner. Movement is harder. Every step is a struggle. One step, then another, and another. You’re determined to make it to the mountaintop.
Leaving was the first, crucial shift you made — taking your life back. Despite his best efforts, you still remember who you were before him, before his words wore you down piece by piece. Before this relationship, you were confident, joyful, independent, strong, and vibrant. He claimed he loved these traits about you. Then he twisted each one into a criticism to make you feel ashamed. Over time, the fire that once burned within you has shrunk to a faint flicker. I barely recognize myself anymore. I feel like a shell of a person now.
Based on the research, you know it takes up to seven tries to successfully leave an abusive relationship. Sadly, the staggering statistics show how difficult it is to escape abuse, or that many never leave, stuck in a cycle: attack, reconciliation, love-bombing, repeat. You understand and know this all too well. You know firsthand how hard it is to walk away and have lost count of your own attempts to escape this hell.
In your experience, by the time you finally left — no, ran for your life — you were months past that first moment your inner voice urged you to go. You need to get the fuck out. You remember the forceful impulse to protect yourself, though your thoughts and feelings then were tangled and hard to express. Am I exaggerating a fight or misunderstanding? Maybe he’s right that I overthink and am too sensitive. When someone causes you to doubt your sanity or reality, that’s the sign you weren’t safe here. Still, nine more months passed before that quiet nudge turned into a full push out the door, both literally and figuratively. Until then, you remained in purgatory.
He’s accusing me of leaving him for someone else. You confide in your therapist after ending things — just hours after his middle-of-the-night freeway chase until you finally safely arrive home at 2:00 a.m.. He can’t accept that you would leave unless it was for someone else, refusing to acknowledge that his abusive behavior is enough reason. No — it must be about you.
He’s right. You are leaving him for someone else: YOURSELF. Your therapist is available and responsive, talking with you every step of the way, even now on her day off as she waits to board a flight for her personal vacation. You are in serious danger. Please be careful, she reminds you.
When you finally leave, the void is abrupt and the silence deafening. No more calls or texts. What was once full of tension, hate, or even wild romance now feels like a vast canyon where your heartbreak seeps into every fracture. That empty silence often feels unbearable, a key reason victims stay or return — it seems safer to stay with the monster you know.
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. (~Anaïs Nin)
Stuck between a rock and a hard place, you find it equally impossible to stay as it is to go. On one hand, you’ll be forced to give up someone you love, and a relationship you desperately fought for and wanted. And on the other hand, you’re forced to give up on yourself. Either option seems unbearable, and comes with immense pain and heartbreak.
You look down at your wrists. Your fingers trace the ink of the tattoos that look back at you. Across your left wrist says “yes you can” in flowing cursive, commemorating running your first marathon, and serves as a general reminder that you can do hard things. No. Impossible things. And along your right wrist is a rose, inspired by Anaïs Nin’s quote. The rose in its blooming state is meant to remind you of how painful it is to shrink yourself for others when a vibrant, powerful version of you is caged within.
The choice is clear.
I’m just going to say the thing you’re not supposed to say: I love you, but I love me more. (~Samantha Jones, Sex and the City)
