Diminished

Summary

The author reflects on their past marriage, acknowledging the emotional abuse they endured, their journey towards self-worth, and the eventual realization that they deserved better.

Abstract

The author shares a deeply personal account of their marriage to someone who consistently devalued and abused them emotionally. Despite the passage of fifteen years, they grapple with lingering anger and resentment, recognizing the shame and self-doubt that came from aligning with an abusive partner. The narrative includes a poignant moment of clarity during a health scare, where the author saw themselves as a victim covering for their abuser. The process of healing and recognizing self-worth has been gradual, with the author expressing gratitude for the lessons learned, even wishing their former partner well.

Opinions

The author feels they married someone who did not value them and took opportunities to belittle them.
They acknowledge holding onto anger and resentment for a long time, which they see as a sign of their unhealed emotional state.
The author expresses shame for having been in a relationship with someone who lacked depth and was driven by rage and a damaged self-identity.
A significant moment of self-realization occurred during a hospital visit for a panic attack, where the author recognized their own role in enabling the abuse.
The author has come to understand that their marriage was never based on love and has taken years to accept this truth and to start valuing themselves.
They are actively working on self-improvement and have taken ownership of their negative self-perceptions as a step towards healing.
The author extends a genuine wish for their former partner's well-being, indicating a practice of compassion despite their past.

Diminished

White paper thought bubbles lay upon a pink sheet of paper.

I can’t believe I allowed myself to marry someone who valued me so little.

They continue their ruminating cycle within my mind despite how fervently I feel they’re unworthy of being any part of me now. I feel no sense of remorse regarding our former relationship except for the fact that it happened at all. It’s unevolved of me to feel this, yet that acknowledgement helps me to realize just how much anger and resentment I continue to cling to even after fifteen years. This recognition perhaps can free me of the seeded violation — and the notion that I deserved to be violated.

I married someone who took regular opportunity to berate and degrade me, then paraded it to their friends as dominance, control and triumph. I was so taken in, coming from a crumbled frame of mind of neglect, so ready to accept any show of any emotion that wasn’t blatant hatred. We get what we feel we deserve and our mirrors are just as healthy or destructive as we are. You can bet I was one hot mess fifteen years ago.

Once I asked them what more there was to them — inquiring about the depths of their character, their dreams, their ambitions, their general hope for their life. The answer was quick and simple: “There is no more.” Nothing beyond an uncontrollable rage at the ready and a festering self-identity. There was only what remained of a person who had gotten all of the sweetness and compassion subsequently beaten out of them.

I’m still pretty ashamed of what this says about me for aligning with them, compassionate nature or no.

Then there was the time of having a panic attack so horrifically in the middle of work that I, along with all of my coworkers, was certain I was having a heart attack. I was ferried to the hospital where I had to tell the triage nurse that I’d spent the previous night crying until I couldn’t breathe due to a cyclical verbal argument with my intoxicated partner. The way that nurse looked at me became a lifetime memory. Her eyes burned into me with a “Say it. Just please say it.” In that moment, I realized I was one of those people, those women, and I watched myself be just as evasive as any textbook definition of a person covering for their abusive partner. I couldn’t believe hearing my own words of dismissal for their actions, the blowing off of my suffering, my strangling the need to escape. I was as disgusted with myself as I had ever been. And I had a dislocated rib to show for it.

It’s quite a thing to recognize when a marriage is not — and was never — about love at all.

Even though I moved out on the apropos July 4th, it took me years to acknowledge that I was actually gone. After that, it took me another decade to awaken to the concept of being worthy. I’m still working on it, yet I know now that the negative self-mixtape in my head is solely my property and that’s a huge step forward. It takes work to improve. It takes work to want to improve.

Thank you to this person for being such an excellent teacher in my compassion practice. I wish them well in their life, wherever they are.

And I mean it.