2Corinthians 12:9: But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.
Sometimes I think I have recovered completely from being in an abusive relationship. Other times I can clearly see that, despite having come so far, there is still recovery ahead. I wonder if that will always be the case. I’ve been doing a ‘recovery’ course recently – in truth I started it as I was supporting a friend who was running it, but it has been eye-opening, emotive and transformative in ways I didn’t imagine.
I have memories of being told that if I tried to leave, my children would be removed from me. That he would paint a picture of me as a psychopath – a liar and a fraud – and that I was too mentally unstable to care for my children. He convinced me that the courts would turn against me, that people would see how broken and incapable I was.
Nowadays, I can get so angry at myself for believing it. How did anyone ever manage to pull me so low? How did anyone manage to convince me, a strong, capable, intelligent, woman – full of dreams and aspirations – that I was useless, incapable and that no one would stand by me? The change in my confidence from meeting him to leaving him was drastic and I can still get overcome with anger towards myself.
If anyone else told me they were experiencing anger at themselves for being ‘fooled’ my heart would break for them. I’d want to shake them and tell them NO! You were not stupid, you were not in the wrong and it happens subtly, taking apart a piece of you at a time without you noticing until there’s so little left. My head wants to extend the same grace to myself – if only it were that easy! Sometimes remembering how subtle things started helps me feel less of a fool and less angry. But it hurts too – reliving the breaking of dreams and remembering how my hope fell away until I had nothing left to cling onto. If I imagine myself as a third person, I desperately want to wrap that girl in a hug and hold her tight through the pain. Yet feeling that way towards myself is tough; I don’t hold that same worth for myself as I do others. My standards for myself to live up to are far higher – and quite possibly insurmountable.
Sometimes to process how I feel I write it as little poems. Let me caveat this by stating that I am NOT a poet and I’m not suggesting my poetry is good. I share this because as I think back on the insidious beginnings of my relationship I’m reminded of the start of a poem I wrote whilst we were still together. It was so clear how the tables had turned so quickly – from him being lucky to have me, to me being lucky to have (and indebted to) him. I wrote:
You looked at me with wide eyes – I was the blossom on the tree,
beautiful, freshly blooming, full of potential.
Slowly you caressed my petals
Admiring each one, gently, delicately.
I knew you would handle my heart with equal care;
I was safe with you.
I didn’t understand why you picked that first petal,
I hadn’t noticed it had started to wilt and needing pruning
Yet you assured me it had.
I trusted you through the doubt –
How could I not when you admired me so much?
You called me beautiful – how lucky you were to have blossom like me.
A few more petals gone – picked, discarded, dying.
My character needed refining; you were so kind to help me –
I was indebted to you for enhancing my beauty.
Yet I didn’t feel more beautiful.
I needed to try harder for you to still look at me with that same initial awe,
How lucky I was to have you to help me bloom.
The poem goes on a little more – I clearly knew at this point things weren’t healthy or okay. I remember being told how I felt ‘wasn’t right’. I can still hear him tell me, “You are entitled to feel however you want to, but it doesn’t mean you’re not wrong for feeling that way”. At times I used to feel angry at him for gaslighting me (only I didn’t know it was gaslighting then), but so quickly I started to doubt myself, to wonder if there was truth in the things he said to me – was I too sensitive? Was I overthinking things? Maybe I wasn’t myself when I was with my friends, and how I felt was linked to being led astray by them. Did I need to spend less time with my family so I could still be true to myself? True to me and to him – to us.
I wonder if the sadness of remembering those early days will ever leave. If I will ever stop seeing the threads of the doubt that he, and people before him, have weaved into my life?
For now I will sit with God and pray:
Lord, please make your power clear in my weakness. Please hold the parts of me that hurt, that feel broken. God, please speak your truth over me when the threads of doubt start to take hold. Please help me accept that it wasn’t my fault – that I am not ‘stupid’ or ‘lesser’ for being abused. Thank you for carrying me this far.
And the truth I will cling onto can be found in Philippians 1:6.
For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will complete it by the day of Christ Jesus.
I trust that you will complete the healing you have begun, Lord.
Amen.
