“Shutup B****h!”, He yelled as he banged his fist into the wall. He was so close to me, I could feel his heart beating and the strong breaths of rage exhaling through his body. I closed my eyes in an attempt to calm down. My body was shivering in fear. I was terrified… and he loved the feeling. “It was my fault”, I told myself at first. He hates when I talk over him. “I should’ve just kept quiet”, I kept telling myself as my back was against the wall in fear of moving. It was the day after Valentine’s Day a few years back. He was sitting in my room and noticed a rose on my desk with a note attached from a male friend. I thought he would read the note and realize that it was harmless. I guess I was wrong.
There wasn’t much of a discussion. It was more of him throwing out assumptions and waiting for a pleading response that would satisfy him. And if he wasn’t satisfied (which he never was), I was “a hoe”…”or a slut”…or any other derogatory term he could use to make me feel as low as possible. It was like I was in a slow motion film. I saw every inflection of anger on his face. I saw the rage flaring through his nostrils and coldness in his eyes. Every slur felt so much louder and so much harsher than it was in reality. I had seen this person so many times before…and I was tired. I was tired of trying to look through those cold eyes and find those hazel green pupils that used to make me melt. I was tired of hearing him disrespect me time and time again and hearing him blame me for it. I was tired of trying to make myself believe that he was the good man I loved. I just couldn’t take it anymore. So with all the strength I had, I pushed him. And for the first time ever in our relationship, I finally felt like I had some sort of power. It all happened within seconds, but once he got over his shock that I actually stood up for myself, he charged at me. He grabbed me from my legs like a wrestler and slammed me to the couch. And like it was nothing, he started hitting me uncontrollably. In the face, on my arms, anywhere he could.
I don’t remember when he finally stopped. I honestly don’t even remember the feeling of his punches. All I remember was slowly watching him unclenching his fist and storming out the door with his rage following behind him. When I was sure he was finally gone, I ran to the bathroom. Not to look at my scars, but to see if I could see myself beyond them…and I couldn’t anymore. I didn’t know when I became this girl…this girl that allowed herself to be brought so low by a man. I didn’t know my identity outside of what he told me it was. But I had been in this situation for so long, that I didn’t even remember who used to be.
Feb 15th…that was the first time he physically touched me…but it wasn’t the first time he hit me. He had been “hitting me” for years. Except not with his fist, but with his words, and with the hatred and insecurities he felt within himself. Every time he called me out of my name, he hit me. Every time he said I wasn’t smart enough or good enough to do something, he hit me. Every time he told me I wasn’t pretty or “too dark”, he hit me. Every time he tried to suppress my thinking and control me, he hit me. Every time he told me no one else would love me, he hit me. His physical touch left superficial wounds that soon faded away, but most of his abuse left me with wounds that God is still helping me recover from. They were wounds so deep, that they almost felt normal to my being. So normal, that I became enslaved to him and his opinion of me. I was brainwashed into thinking that he was what I needed…I was brainwashed into thinking that he was what I deserved. But every now and then I would have an epiphany and I’d somehow muster the smallest strength to leave…and then the lion would soften his growl. And he would run his fingers softly through my hair, kiss me on my forehead, and tell me how sorry he was and how much he promised he would do better. And my eyes would crumble up in tears and I would finally see a glimpse of those warm green eyes. And even though I would feel so weak for staying, I would once again convince myself that even though it hurt at times, he still “loved” me. So time after time…… I stayed.
But eventually, I found the truth… even when I wanted to continue lying to myself. And the truth is, abuse is not love. Whether it be physical, emotional, or mental, abuse is a killer. It’s a dangerous cycle of control and hope. Because in the midst of intentionally being physically and psychologically controlled to fear your partner…you hold on to hope. Hoping that it was “just one time”, hoping that he’ll change, hoping that he’ll become the sweet and understanding man you once met,…and ultimately, hoping that he actually does love you. But remember that love doesn’t hurt. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Don’t let an abusive relationship steal your opportunity to experience this kind of love. Don’t believe the lies that you were told….that you aren’t worthy of true love or that you can never find someone that will love you for you. Because you will. That love is looking for you…its waiting for you. All you have to do is step out on faith and grab it. But first, start the process of learning to love YOURSELF. Allow God to rebuild your mind, heart, and spirit. Allow him to transform your broken heart into one stronger than it ever was before…no matter how long it may take.
It may be hard, and it may not happen today. But I ask that you join me in starting a new cycle. A cycle of strength and renewal. Find the strength to leave what you knew, the strength to let go, the strength to heal, and the strength to believe you deserve better…and start renewing…renewing yourself to becoming the amazing woman that you always knew you could be. ❤️
DISCLAIMER ***Usually, all of my posts are real life stories/testimonies. However, this one is fictional. I just wanted to write this in a way that truly identified with those that are battling with this issue. And if you or anyone you know is in an abusive relationship or dealing with an abusive partner, please seek help at 1-800-799-7233.
And know that my prayers are with you. ****