"You Were Abused"

"You were abused."

I know, I know. News flash, right? It's not like this is some sort of shocking revelation or anything. I know this. If you read this blog, you probably know this too. I've suffered the abuse for years, so it's not like this is a new development either. And yet somehow it still caught me completely off guard.

I've spent so many years being gaslit that I still have a hard time coming to terms with the fact that this all actually happened. I still constantly second guess myself and question my own sanity (abusers just love doing this and they're usually pretty awesome at it). Hearing those words out loud - you were abused - is still a shock to my system. And hearing them from my therapist hit me even harder. Even though I've said the words before, I guess it never seemed real before.

For some reason, when there aren't any really impressive scars or bruises or broken bones, people don't seem to believe there could be abuse. It makes it easier for victims to live in denial, and it makes it harder for victims of abuse to get help and support. Physical abuse doesn't always leave scars and emotional abuse is every bit as damaging as physical - often more so.

I think that bears repeating - physical abuse doesn't always leave bruises or scars. Sometimes it doesn't involve the person actually touching you at all. Of course everyone knows that hitting, kicking, punching, etc are all physically abusive. But some forms of physical abuse aren't as obvious and are often minimized. Throwing things, driving intentionally recklessly to scare you, slamming doors, breaking things, blocking doorways so you can't leave, pinning you down - these are all examples of abuse. These are all things that don't leave physical marks. These are all things that have been part of my life to one degree or another over the past handful of years. It's abuse. It just is. It doesn't have to leave marks.

"Oh, it was just emotional abuse? At least it wasn't real abuse..." If I had just one thing to say to people who say this, it would be, "Bless your heart..." For those of you not familiar, that's basically the southern version of "Go fuck yourself." Okay, so maybe that's a little harsh, but it drives me mad when people perpetuate the lie that physical abuse is the only "real" kind of abuse. It's attitudes like this that keep people in toxic relationships - a lot of them don't even realize they're being abused until they're in so deep they can't see a way out. Screaming and yelling, name calling, insults, threatening suicide, telling you that nobody else would want you, accusations of cheating, telling you that you're crazy, lying, threatening violence, pressuring you for sex, insulting your friends, accusing you of abusing them or your kids, threatening to take the kids away - this is all abusive too and every bit as damaging as the physical abuse. Trust me. Very, very damaging.

People struggling through verbal and emotional abuse are often seen as just being overly dramatic. At least that's certainly how I felt. That's why it took so long for me to realize that it wasn't my fault and that I didn't deserve it. I never deserved it. I never deserved to be called a worthless piece of shit or a dumb fuck or any of the other colorful little gems he came up with. I never deserved to be accused of beating my children. I never deserved to be accused of cheating - even through all of the abuse, I was never once unfaithful. I didn't deserve to be screamed and yelled at. I didn't deserve to be told that he'd put me through a wall. I never ever deserved to live in fear in my own home. Nobody ever deserves that.

I kick myself for taking so long to realize how unhealthy it was. But I guess the important thing is that I did realize it eventually. What matters is that I took the steps I needed to take to make myself "okay" enough to break away, even when I wasn't sure I'd ever actually be able to do it. There have been lots of people that have made it possible, but ultimately, I did it. I took those steps myself - those tentative, scared first steps on the road to freedom.

I don't consider myself a strong person. Actually, quite the contrary. I'm the first to see all of my flaws and failures and the last to see my own strengths. I was chatting last night with someone who made a comment about how strong I am. Not that I don't appreciate the compliment, but I don't see it. All I've done over the past several years is survive. Nothing more, nothing less. Survival isn't glamorous or beautiful or strong. Survival is just being too damn stubborn and hard-headed to give up. Survival is being weak sometimes - and being okay with it. I may not be strong, but I'm a survivor and I'm pretty proud of that.