From Lost To Found

Mar 1

Healing After An abusive Marriage

By the time I was getting divorced, I didn’t recognize the man I was leaving, nor did I know who the girl in the mirror was. By the end, I couldn’t tell if I was leaving him or leaving behind a version of myself I no longer recognized. All I knew at that time was that I could barely make sense of my feelings and emotions.

“I had no tears left inside of me and no grief left to work through. I was already gone.”

I was angry - conned out of a decade of my life. Sad - the fairy tale I had once clung to had turned to dust. Confused - how did someone as strong as me end up here? Resentful - at all the things I could never undo. And humbled - because if I could end up here, I finally understood how so many others did too.

When you begin losing control of your life, it doesn’t happen all at once.

He didn’t take me out to dinner on our first date and say: “Hey—just so you know, I will gaslight you at every turn. I will make you pray for my fist to connect with you, because then people might finally believe you.”

No, instead, he was charismatic and charming. A combination I have learned to be incredibly wary of. He was polite and agreed with me on almost everything while still standing his ground on a few key subjects—just enough to show me that he could think for himself and wasn’t simply placating me. We spent hours in deep conversations, sharing vulnerabilities. He paid attention to me, made me feel special. And on the day he dropped to his knee and asked me to be his wife, to spend forever with him, I truly thought I was the luckiest girl in the world.

I didn’t realize my marriage was abusive until months after the divorce was finalized. I remember the day so clearly. I had walked into the studio I owned. Because of COVID, I was renting out the two additional rooms to friends. That specific day, I came in, and all of the furniture had been moved.

“Healing sneaks up on us the same way that abuse does.”

As soon as I crossed the threshold, it felt like someone had knocked me over with a 2x4. I couldn’t catch my breath. My nervous system was screaming. Fight or flight immediately kicked in, and I fled.

I arrived at my mom’s house ghostly pale and unable to form sentences. I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew I needed to find a safe space and retreat.

I picked up the phone and called my therapist, who explained that what I experienced was a true PTSD reaction. What my renters didn’t know was that moving furniture was his tell. It was the prelude to destruction—the signal that a storm was about to consume me.

The Day I Decided to Leave

I had no tears left inside of me and no grief left to work through. I was already gone.

I had been beaten down and left without any sparkle or shine. I didn’t know who I was, where I was going, or even what I needed.

Ironically, healing sneaks up on us the same way that abuse does. I don't remember when or how it started, but at some point, I decided I no longer wanted to live with the anger raging inside me. The goal at the time was simply to calm the monster enough to sleep, but the overachiever in me never got that message and decided she wanted to eradicate him altogether.

Next thing I know, five years have passed, and yet again, I’m left staring at a photo of a woman I do not recognize.

But this time, the woman looking back at me was whole.

From Lost To Found

Healing After An abusive Marriage

Related Content:

What I’ve Really Been Looking For

What I Learned from Betrayal & Boundaries