It’s been one year today since the kids and I moved out of the house we had lived in for just 6 short months. A home I moved into, dreaming of how our lives would be as we started our family together. We were blended, beautifully imperfect and we loved each other. We raised 9 chickens, planted a vegetable garden, I cooked family dinners every night, and we had birthday parties and even our wedding reception there. I dreamed of Halloweens and Christmases in this house. I dreamed of what our lives would look like in 20 and 30 years. I dreamed of love and togetherness and hallways filled with laughter. I dreamed of reaching all the goals we had spent our entire engagement planning.

Then the day came when I had to mourn it all. I had to mourn the dreams and the loss of the life I thought we were going to live together. I had to mourn the idea of spending the rest of my life with this person who I thought loved me and would protect me. I had to mourn the person I thought he was and all the broken promises that were made to myself and my kids. I had to mourn the death of a marriage that I spent uncountable hours praying for.

It was difficult, y’all. So. Freaking. Difficult. I often wondered if I was letting myself down along with everyone else around me. Was leaving was the right choice? I was so emotionally exhausted that imagining picking up any pieces that would remain after yet another divorce, taunted me. If leaving was the right, most healthy thing to do by my kids and I, why did leaving feel like failure?

I was the best mother and wife I knew how to be. I wanted so much to be like the Proverbs 31 woman. I highlighted it in my bible and referred to it often, because I wanted to do right by God. I read articles and books on the subjects of marriage and being a great step-parent because I was going to do everything in my power to make it the best life possible. Yet, as the saying goes, you don’t really know someone until you marry them. That can be a good thing or it can be a bad thing. I experienced the latter. (If you haven’t watched the video in one of my posts called 5 Signs Of Toxic Relationships, do it! It talks about the red flags I ignored early on.) It doesn’t start out bad or nobody would get into an abusive relationship because it would be so easy to walk away that early on. It starts out with love bombing, constant quality time together and romantic dinners and poems, promises, gifts and sweet gestures. When the abuser decides they have your loyalty (in my case, marriage) or when the new wears off and you aren’t constantly feeding their narcissistic supply, everything flips.

The people around me who loved me most, watched me shrink into myself. I became weak and scattered, dependent, anxious and sometimes scared. Always watching my every move and stepping oh so gently across all the eggshells. I watched someone I thought I knew, turn into someone I didn’t recognize at all. A stranger. A man who was toxic for my children and I, had taken the place of a jovial man who promised to protect me. He changed me and stole my sparkle and my light quickly went out. My smile was almost non-existent except for when I was at church, where I could worship God and see people having so much contagious joy in their hearts. I also would fake smiles so nobody would ask any questions that I didn’t want to answer.

I was forced into sleep deprivation and driven crazy with manipulation and assorted antics. I wasn’t allowed to carry on with my photography business that took me years to build, simply because he felt like it took attention away from him. He thought my time could be better utilized doing what he chose. He set up cameras in our bedroom and bathroom and he watched me all night while he was at work, without me knowing they existed. He unhooked the car battery so we couldn’t leave while he was at work. I was called worthless, a terrible housewife, bitch, whore, tainted, and the c-word more times than I can count. I wasn’t allowed access to our money so there was a time he made me beg for groceries so he could record video of it. I cooked 14 meals a week for 6, so I lowered my self respect and begged. He isolated me from my friends only to withhold love and affection from me, himself. He would hang up on me hundreds of times a month and ghost me or not come home on occasion. You can see by the picture below, that not only was it all taking an emotional toll on me, but also a visible physical health toll, as well.

I started putting my head down when I would be in public so I wasn’t approachable because another man even looking in my direction caused him to spiral. I could no longer have conversations with the friends who supported me throughout the years because he felt threatened by any friendship I had, male or female. Once, a stranger said “hi” as we were walking out of Starbucks and I was accused of infidelity for weeks. I had found out the definition of narcissism in the hardest and most painful way. The gas lighting, the constant control, the reeling me back in when I wanted so bad to just stand up for myself. The intimidation, the bullying and the panic attacks and physical illness it was causing me. I started questioning my own sanity.

It wasn’t always terrible, right? If it was, I wouldn’t have ever found myself in this position to begin with. That’s why a person will keep going back to their abuser. When it’s good, it’s amazing and wonderful but when it’s bad, it feels like death. Because in some way, part of you is actually dying. The good and charming parts of a broken, abusive person is why the person they abuse might drop a restraining order and let them back in. Well, that and the manipulation. Oh, did you catch that? That “person” who dropped a restraining order, that was me. Who had I become? Domestic abuse doesn’t care how much money you have, how good of a person you are, how much you go to church or what a good parent and spouse you are. Domestic abuse will take your pretty little life and chew it up and spit it into the depths of darkness.

I changed. I started communicating with him the way he did me, with colorful language and then I would get so frustrated I would raise my voice back, which was something I hadn’t done in past relationships. I started to wonder, by my response to the maddening games he played, if I was actually the problem like he told me I was. I was always nervous that myself or the kids would do something to set him off. It’s hard to know the one you love is someone who doesn’t know how to love others. On top of that, what you thought was love, was actually just their infatuation with you. It feels like love and could fool the wisest of humans. At first he said he loved and admired my free spirit, only to cage it. He said my independence attracted him to me, but that was until it made me seem less “submissive”. When he said he was “old school” in relationships, he actually meant “degrading to women and verbally & emotionally abusive”. He couldn’t be pleased no matter what I did, by the end. I couldn’t take it anymore.

When my kids started hearing the things he called me when he stopped keeping that behind closed doors, when my daughter said she heard me crying in my bathroom while she tried to sleep, when he constantly “left” us just to then return days later to start the pattern all over again, I decided enough was enough.

Though it doesn’t just end the day you walk out. No no no, my friends. Trauma bonding doesn’t just loosen it’s grip. I’ve went back and forth in conversation with him after the second/last restraining order expired. I had moments where I caught myself starting to believe his lies all over again. I wanted him to change back into at least who he was when we met. Though I never had my kids around him again, I would go meet him here and there for months because when he said he changed, I wanted it to be true. I always ended up disappointed, though. That’s hard to admit, but my goal is to be open and honest about my experiences because someone else out there needs to read this and they need to know they aren’t the only one who has struggled breaking that bond. A year of sleeping in my own bed without him and I still wake up afraid I’ve upset him while I slept, like I did before the kids and I moved out. A year of therapy and trauma-survivors group because of this relationship and I still have days where I feel broken. But I’m here. I’m strong. I have learned so much.

Sometimes we insert ourselves into a life we think is going to be everything we ever wanted, only to realize it’s not. At some point it’s time to move on. You will eventually reach peace. Even if you’ve been wondering if peace from your situation exists, it does. I promise. Everyday from now forward, get out of bed and remind yourself who the heck you are. Whether you are a man or a woman, you do not deserve to be treated like garbage. Even if you aren’t ready to close that door yet, there will come a time. Life after an abusive relationship is not always easy, but it does get a little easier with every day that passes.

It’s been a year since the kids and I left that beautiful home and window by window, door by door, I’m still trying to finish closing up what haunts me. Something I’ve learned is that nothing is wrong with you if it takes longer to process and heal than you thought. There will be setbacks. Ride them out and don’t shame yourself for them. If it feels like I’m talking to you right now, let me just say…you’ve got this.

As far as the kids and I go, there is a happy ending to this story. I’ve worked really hard at remembering who I was before abuse and I’m working hard to become everything I’ve always wanted to be. I’m thankful for the smallest things like self-care and being able to move past this as a lesson learned. The kids don’t have to walk on eggshells and I can breathe again. Life looks so different now, in the best way.

Peace. Love. Moving on.

-M

Our bodies are in a time of change right now. With stay-at-home orders, gyms being closed and food comforting us, everything seems a little out of whack. Now is a fitting time to send some body-positive vibes out into the world. First of all, remember that change is okay. Don’t waste time being anxious about not being able to go to the gym or feeling guilty about stress eating. Life will get back to normal soon and you can get back to whatever routine it is you were accustomed to before all the crazy began. Gaining a few pounds is a reminder that we were lucky enough to have food in our pantries during a pandemic, and for that I’m grateful.

Here’s what I know to be true about myself that might help you see things a little differently. I am the same person at 190 pounds that I am at 140 pounds. I have the same dreams, the same smile, the same heart and the same sense of humor. I’ve been smaller and I’ve been thicker and I do my best to love myself at all the shapes and sizes I’ve been over the course of my 36 years. Life has ups and downs so why would we be mad at our bodies that are dealing with what we have to go through?

Confidence comes when you are comfortable and proud of who you are right now in the present, and also appreciating what your body has been strong enough to accomplish in your life so far. Sometimes we lose confidence when we hear someone making a negative remark about someone else that we look similar to. Maybe you’ve had someone close to you make comments that caused insecurities, or you wish to look like someone you’ve seen on social media. You aren’t honoring your own journey when you do that.

If you have stretchmarks somewhere on your body, are you proud of them or are you always pulling at your clothes, hoping nobody notices? I use to do it, and out of habit sometimes I still catch myself in the act. If it sounds like you too, know that you can think about yourself differently. I promise. I remember laying on my side and watching my tummy slide into a scrunched-up puddle and feeling sadness. What changed that makes me not feel that way anymore? My feelings about myself and my feelings about what others might think.

Truth be told, I use to care way too much about what men thought of how I looked. Would they see me as gross, damaged or maybe my scars would be a disappointment? I did everything I could to hide myself. It took a long time, but I finally figured out that if the people in my life are grossed out by the way I look, then they obviously aren’t my people. My soft and squishy skin with all its markings will be special to a person who values me, who I am as a human, a woman, and a mother. I’m not going to apologize for how I look. I’m here another day and I choose to appreciate that. If you find yourself apologizing for the way you look, break the bad habit. Replace it with a compliment to yourself. It may seem awkward at first, but you’ll see how powerful that can be.

Your worth is in who you are, not what you look like. Let how you love other people and what’s within you, hold more value than your weight or what your skin looks like. Be proud of yourself. Every single inch. Women are works of art and each shape, size, beautiful scar and every unique little thing, makes us who we are. Being confident about our bodies doesn’t always come easy. There will be setbacks and struggles, and sometimes you won’t feel so positive but keep reminding yourself that it takes time to reprogram your thoughts from negative ones to positive ones. You can do this.

You are beautiful and you are worthy. I celebrate you no matter your age or the number on your scale and no matter how squishy you are.  

Peace. Love. Confidence 

-M