Weathering the Storm: Confusing Emotional Abuse For Love

(This was originally published on my Substack.)

I will fold his clothes exactly the way he likes it, hoping he’ll notice, and be pleased with me. And, I will make his favorite meal— if I can remember what that is because the last time I messed that up too, or he didn’t seem to notice. And, I can try having the house perfectly clean so he doesn’t have a thing to make a snide comment about or a reason to shun me all night long. And, if he works late at the office, I can make sure all three kids are fed, bathed, and quietly tucked into their beds, so when he walks into the house, it’s a quiet stress-free environment. And this week, I’ll try to remember when it’s garbage day and bring the bins up from the curb because he “shouldn’t have to do that after a long day at work.” And, if only I could remember not to talk to any school parents (ie: dads he doesn’t like) at the next Open House because last time a fight ensued over nothing. And don’t forget, he feels slighted if I’m too busy to check in with him during the day, so, set a reminder to call him or that infraction against me will go on his scorecard. And, the big one, I will be sure to initiate sex. That’s my job. This assures him that he is still wanted and, it keeps the stories he tells himself at bay. 

These are just some of the things I’d habitually do (or try to remember to do) in order to prevent a storm from escalating in my 22-year marriage (28 years total together). 

You see, the thing about emotional abuse is, it starts out slowly. A snarky comment. Subtle shunning. Projecting some insecurity. An irrational overreaction. All random at first. Spaced apart. In the beginning, it all felt small and bearable, like little drops of water splashed my way. But over time, the drops became bigger and more frequent.

Somedays, I would get a huge dumping of water, feeling soaked for days. Then, I would find myself in mild weather again for several days— even months sometimes! I didn’t know why. And I didn’t care. I received these moments of reprieve with gratitude. I loved this steady, calm weather. I was able to breath again! But I was naive. I didn’t realize the weather would turn again (and again, and again…). And when it did, I was somehow blindsided by another wave. I would try to gain my footing and stand my ground in the shifting sand. I did sometimes, or so I thought. Just enough to convince myself that I got through to him, that I was heard, and certainly, I wouldn’t get that kind of soaking again. 

To prove this to me, in the aftermath, the barometric pressure shifted. I never questioned it, I merely welcomed the mild weather. Maybe he was taking it out on people at work, hence, all the long hours in the office. I didn’t know and I didn’t care. I was just happy the storm was not around me or the kids, for now. 

Family vacations brought storm clouds on even the sunniest of days. Out of nowhere, I’d be shunned. In front of the other families, friends, he would act normal. And I’d lap it up like a grateful pup. But when no one was around, it was an ice storm. Nothing would come my way. No words, no smile, no touch, no look.  To make matters worse, another dynamic was introduced: gaslighting.

“That didn’t happen!” 

“I’ve been fine, it’s you who has been a bitch to me all day. I tried to talk to you but you weren’t speaking to me!”

“Why are you turning this on me? You’ve been pissed at me all day!”

Then I’d find myself in a tornado, swirling through this nonsensical atmosphere created especially for me to keep me vulnerable, confused, and even remorseful. 

I would then question myself:

Was I a bitch all day? (No, I was laughing with the kids— enjoying myself.) 

Was I not speaking to him? (No, I did speak to him on several occasions, or at least I tried, he ignored me.)

Was I pissed all day? (No…well yes, because he was ignoring me…so I was pissed all day. Oh my god, so this was me! It is my fault, shit.)

And there it happened. That voice inside me, my voice, got smaller and smaller. My spirit had been hijacked and I didn’t even know it. 

Then suddenly (yet not so suddenly) time had gotten away from me. From decades of weathering so many storms, and dodging and bracing for the next catastrophic jarring shift of nature, I became water logged.  Constantly treading water, just happy enough if my head stayed above the water line. Because through the years, I had unknowingly lowered my standards. I didn’t see any other choice. I had to in order to withstand the intermittent beatings. I convinced myself that I was doing this for our family. 

To make matters worse, because this was all emotional abuse and because I chose to roll with it— essentially accepting it and hiding it from the outside world— I was left behind the white picket fence holding the shame card. Not something I set out to do decades ago, but nonetheless, it was mine. And, if I was to leak out and share to outsiders the storm I’d been enduring known as my life, then my leakage would’ve been judged by him and another storm would ensue. I was caught in a trap built for me, one I willingly entered and stayed in. The thing about emotional abuse is that all my scars were on the inside. No one would ever believe me so, disappearing felt easier. And I was disappearing.

My body was sounding out in ways to get my attention. I sought out specialists for my extreme weight loss, on three separate occasions. I dropped to a scary 87 pounds while consuming a normal diet. I was debilitated with the crippling pain of fibromyalgia for years. I was prescribed anti-depressants, anti-anxiety and ADD medications. I was treated for adrenal fatigue, hyperthyroidism, insomnia, PTSD, nerve entrapment, TMJ, and sciatica. I went to Al-Anon. I sought out alternative/spiritual practices: Ayurvedic, Reiki, yoga, naturopath, nutritionist, numerology, astrology, medical intuitive, and psychics. I tried therapy: Couples, Past Life Regression, Cognitive Behaviorial, Ro-Hun, and Hakomi. I was desperate to find out what was wrong with me!

Therapy shed light on the fact that I had choices. I could choose to play meteorologist all my life; knowing that my best chance of survival would be by predicting a storm and taking precautions to protect myself and my kids from the assumed calamity that would follow. Or, I could recognize that I’m dealing with unpredictability. The winds will shift, the tides will turn, earthquakes will surprise me, lightning will strike, thunder will sound, mudslides will bury me, tornadoes will form with magnetic vortexes, droughts will leave me thirsty, ice storms will leave me frozen, floods will wash me away and leave me drowning; but these are all external factors I was allowing in. So, rather than hold my breath for the next wave to hit, I had to recognize: I couldn’t control the weather.  

One day, I “gave up” (as he calls it).  And, surprise, surprise, he made the separation and divorce HELL. 

In the end, it took a Category 5 to bring me to my knees and hold me there until I threw in my hat as Chief Meteorologist. This forced me to admit that I was worth fighting for, and that I deserved to receive as much love as I gave. Sadly, it wasn’t until I was flat on my back— frail and weak from years of emotional abuse— that I surrendered. I surrendered to me and for me. And ultimately for my children, as an example of what they deserve and should expect of themselves and a future partner. And also, because they deserved a mother more loving of herself. I know now that I am worthy and deserving of so much more than what I accepted for myself. 

My only bit of advice is:

Don’t wait until you’re flat on your back and too weak to fight (because there will be a fight when you leave someone like this). Burn the picket fence and start waving the white flag now— surrendering to you. Turn your back on the storm and face yourself head on with what you deserve.