Menu: Lifestyle
By: Rebecca Lee
Updated: Dec. 13, 2019
Originally Published: Nov. 12, 2019
I chose them by choosing myself.
I wish I could say the signs weren’t evident from the start, but that would be untrue. In fact, I can recall the exact moment I first recognized them, and they appeared almost immediately.
You might be wondering how I managed to endure nine years in that situation when I was clearly aware of the issues. The truth is, I was trapped in a relentless cycle. If you grow up surrounded by abuse and chaos, when you find yourself in a similar situation, it feels familiar—like home. I didn’t know fear; I believed this was what I deserved. This was love, or at least my twisted interpretation of it.
As a daughter and a mother, I have walked a long path influenced by generational patterns. I’m neither proud nor ashamed of my past. For years, I could have continued on this maddening journey until one fateful day…
That day started off as normal, but something shifted. It was far from our worst argument, yet it had a significant difference. I had foolishly believed I was concealing the emotional scars from my children. But on that day, I realized those scars were visible. My pain was not hidden; my children were also living in sadness and anxiety, even if we never spoke about it. I had shed countless tears behind closed doors, only to pull myself together before facing the world. Little did I know, I had unknowingly taught them to suppress their emotions, to mask their tears, to pretend everything was fine, or worse, to believe it was okay.
That day, tension filled the air, and our plans unraveled. He hurled names at me that once made me cry, but over the years, I had grown numb. I was too numb to let it shatter me. Instead, I questioned how he could speak to me that way. His chilling reply was, “Because that’s the way I talk to you!”
Those words lingered in my mind, cutting deep. I didn’t just cry; I felt myself crumble. After he left for the bar, I curled up next to my sleeping son. I longed to let out my anguish, but my two older daughters had friends over, and I knew I had to keep it together for them. To my dismay, it was too late; they had heard everything. Ten minutes later, my 13-year-old daughter came over and lay on my chest, asking if I was okay. I tried to deceive her, claiming I was just frustrated.
She couldn’t take it anymore. She broke down, wondering if she was to blame. Her deep, aching cries shook me to my core. I scooped her up, reassuring her it had nothing to do with her, but the damage was already done. I tried to convey that her happiness was what I needed to feel better.
That bought me some time, but not much. I told myself I had until morning to decide, and here’s where things got complicated. My husband was a good man who had committed terrible acts. He was a loving partner who had stomped my self-esteem into the ground. He offered kind words, only to follow them with cruel insults. He was everything I craved but also my greatest weakness, my addiction. I felt utterly lost.
I spent hours praying for guidance, but I found nothing. The morning arrived, and my deadline had passed. Despite knowing deep down what needed to happen, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. You don’t just leave someone you love, especially when you think they love you back. I walked in a haze, feeling my children’s eyes scrutinizing my every move, eager to see how we women confront verbal abuse.
Then, amid the chaos, clarity struck. I pictured my daughters hearing hurtful words, being told they weren’t enough after giving their all. I envisioned them crying alone, questioning their worth. I realized they were following in my footsteps, and that gave me the strength to change course.
We switched off life’s GPS. It would have been easier to continue down the well-trodden path, but that future no longer suited us.
I had always tried to shield my children from sadness, but I had to be honest about our family separating. I wanted them to understand that love should never hurt like this. We cried together on the couch, yet I left them with a vital message: No matter how much we care for someone, if they don’t treat us kindly, we must walk away. I made them promise that we would break this cycle.
For years, I had brainwashed myself into thinking leaving would ruin their lives, failing to confront the truth: staying would cause far greater damage. Maybe I feared the pain of leaving more than admitting it. When I finally found the strength to be honest with myself, the answer became clear. To prioritize their happiness, I had to first prioritize my own.
I chose them by choosing myself.
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Summary
The author reflects on her journey of leaving an abusive relationship to prioritize her children’s happiness. She recounts the painful realization that her emotional struggles were impacting her children. Ultimately, she chooses to break the cycle of abuse and embrace a healthier path.
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