I Never Thought I Could Heal From My Worst Romantic Trauma…But I Was Wrong

And I promise, you will heal from yours, too…

It’s been almost exactly two years since I stared into those dead blue eyes on a video call I will likely never forget, and heard that dispassionate voice tell me it was over. The anniversary of the beginning of our relationship, a few months ago, hit me hard. I worried this breakup anniversary would feel similarly.

But I’ve been working incredibly hard on this in therapy. I’ve made strides in this department in just the last few weeks that I didn’t expect.

And as it turns out, I’m easing into this breakup anniversary with barely a twitch. I realized the other day that it’s harder to face the anniversary of our “firsts” — those are days I mourn (read that: regret). But I can’t mourn the day he left. On the contrary, I almost feel like celebrating his two-year absence this week. Losing him was one of the greatest blessings of my life.

Even a month ago, I didn’t think I could access this level of peace about a situation that has (still) changed me forever. Yet here I am.

So for the sake of all the people out there who are hurting from similar situations, I’m going to share my story so you’ll know it’s possible. That even if we can only progress in baby steps, we can, indeed, move forward.

It’s hard to know where to start with this story. The beginning never feels quite right. He sidled into my world so subtly, it’s hard to even identify the beginning.

Somehow, it feels more appropriate to start this story in July 2023…a full year after our last conversation.

At some point in July, I began flashing back to the previous year, shocked by the stark contrast. In fact, I realized I was deeply depressed the previous summer and hadn’t really noticed until it was followed by a summer that was filled with joy.

And why was I depressed last summer? Because I received information that had only been hinted at during the breakup conversation in December 2021. I discovered the man I fell in love with hadn’t existed. Only — and this is the important part — I wasn’t able to fully process or understand that for a very long time. Hence, the dissociative depression.

I think that summer, I knew deep down what had happened…but I couldn’t admit it to myself. I couldn’t accept it. It was simply too painful.

With every passing month, the knowing became louder. It’s pretty hard to ignore the sustained silence and absence of the person who said they wanted to marry you and who promised you that if things didn’t work out, they respected you too much not to at least remain friends.

Major life events passed — life events he had promised to be present for, again, at least as my friend. And still, silence.

My “protector parts,” as my therapist calls them, worked so hard to come up with alternative explanations, to keep me dissociated from what was actually happening, but there’s only so long you can deny reality.

Eventually, you have to reckon with the truth other people show you.

The awakening to truth was a tumultuous, year-long process. The details of it aren’t particularly relevant here, but I can say this: I have a whole new understanding of the Sleeping Beauty fairy tale.

During this time, I also made an important decision in therapy that I believe has been pivotal to my ability to pull myself out of this darkness.

I decided to focus on the original wound.

Now, do not make the mistake of stopping to praise me here for taking responsibility for what happened to me. I do not and will not take responsibility for the abuse that has been inflicted upon me.

Our culture’s pervasive insistence that abuse victims — women, in particular — are at fault for what happened because they manifested it, invited it, tolerated it, condoned it, stayed for it, etc. is actual abuse.

I’m not going to sit here and say I’m responsible for the way Sam exploited and abused me. Nor will I take responsibility for the original abuse that made Sam’s abuse feel kinda like home. We are responsible for the abuse we inflict upon others and ourselves — not for the abuse we have endured.

Nevertheless, considering our abusive society and my own history, I want to get better at both recognizing abuse and learning what healthy relationships (of all sorts) look and feel like. Which means going back to childhood and relearning everything.

And even then, there will still be challenges. Recognizing and responding to abuse is a constantly moving goal post. For instance, I’d never experienced lovebombing until Sam. I had no idea that is an abuse tactic. With every situation, we’re presented with something new.

But after spending months trying to analyze the breakup in therapy, I realized that what I really needed was to learn how to validate my own inner knowing. I knew from the first time I talked to Sam that he was not someone I wanted in my life. I tried to cool things down and back things off dozens of times during those early days, when he was running 50 paces ahead of me at breakneck speed, dragging me behind him.

Every time I look back, that’s what stands out the most: I knew everything. But I didn’t trust myself because of the abuse in my past.

That’s what I needed to heal.

I don’t know where this road will lead. No one does. And if we’re honest, we have to recognize that there’s really no end destination when it comes to healing.

The amount of trauma I experienced because of my “relationship” with Sam is overwhelming. But it’s also the product of cumulative abuse. He isn’t responsible for it all, but he is the man who took things to a whole new level. I bounced back after every relationship I’ve had before — but I haven’t been able to this time, and I don’t see any possibility of intimate relationships with men in my future because of the cherry he chose to place on top of this sundae.

In other words — I either still have a really long way to go, or this is just my new normal.

But I have some hope of forward motion, thanks to how far I’ve already come this year. In fact, even the past six weeks have seen me take leaps.

For one thing, I’m finding my voice again. I’ve been so terrified of this man and what he might do to me if I spoke about this relationship. At some point over the summer, I realized I was no longer afraid of him. He didn’t hold that level of power over me anymore.

I’m currently reckoning with what that means — and not just with him, but in the face of all the abuses of power I’ve witnessed and have experienced in my life. This is not the first man who strategically gained access to vulnerable women in ways that I can’t reveal here. This is a systemic issue and I’m currently wrestling with how to speak up about these abuses of power.

I am determined to hone my voice on that matter.

Further, I have learned to believe the story people tell you. I spent more than a year certain that Sam was sorry for hurting me, but just had a hard time expressing himself.

But what he told me was that he couldn’t say he was sorry because it felt “too rote.” And that was the truth. If it feels too rote, that implies he’s done this to a lot of women, and, more importantly, that means he isn’t sorry. How I wish I had believed him the moment he said those words and never wasted another second on trying to make peace with him.

Most importantly, I have learned to separate what happened to me with who I am — a major lesson in healing from abuse. Sam chose every option that he knew would hurt me the most. He chose to inflict maximum damage. And when someone does that, it’s for a reason. They want to bring you down as low as possible.

It’s hard not to believe them. It’s hard not to feel like garbage when someone throws you in a Dumpster.

But I am working hard to recover my sense of worth, and I understand with an increasing clarity that his inability to treat the woman he said he loved with even a shred of human dignity says nothing about me and everything about him.

It is possible. Healing is possible. That word is immensely complicated and impossible to truly define or pin down, but let’s just think of it as forward motion and the capacity for inner peace.

A year ago, I felt stuck in the mud, and overwhelmed with the chaos of a shattered heart and soul. Today, I feel so much more peace and I even sense a touch of joy.

I don’t ask myself “Why?” anymore. I longed for his explanation more than anything else — I wanted so badly to understand what had happened. To have any sense of closure, at all.

I have no such desire anymore. I have finally accepted what he told me — that he is not sorry — and any explanation after that admission of emotional treachery is of no interest to me.

The closure that I enjoy now is the closure I have given to myself. To make room for the blessing in this situation: that his manufactured persona broke down only weeks into our relationship, preventing him from wasting even more of my time and love. That he decided using me was ultimately too much effort and so removed himself from the situation early on.

Yes, he left an unholy mess in his absence that I have had to clean up. But what a gift that he is gone. I am free and he can never hurt me — or deceive me — again.

We can do this, friends. We can heal. In little ways. In big ways. Even when it seems absolutely impossible.

I never dreamed I would escape the darkness Sam left me in…but look at how far I’ve come.

© Y.L. Wolfe 2023

Y.L. Wolfe is a gender-curious, solosexual, perimenopausal, childless crone-in-training, exploring these experiences through writing, photography, and art. You can find more of her work at yaelwolfe.com. If you love her writing, leave her a tip over at Ko-fi.

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