He stood outside my house and called my name. Not in the romantic way where he was trying to win me back and prove to me that he was the love of my life and that I needed him. No. He stood outside the open windows and screamed my name over and over. He yelled, he cursed me, he called me horrible names and the only thing I could do was pray that he would eventually leave. He threatened to break down the door, he threatened to hurt me, and I just tried not to move. I stood with my back against the wall, trying to still my breathe and pretending that this wasn’t happening to me. Finally, I heard him shut his car door and leave, it was over. Right? I laid back in bed, shaking, crying, and in fear of what could have happened if I would have opened the door.
I knew the red flags. I had seen them all before. I should have known better and I beat myself up over the fact that I was a social worker and I was a victim. I never wanted to play the victim card. I never wanted to seem as though I needed to voice what I was dealing with and going through because I wanted to be strong. I wanted to believe that I could make it through anything and that I did not need anyone on my side. I needed to be strong, I needed to feel empowered, and I needed to never settle for less than what I deserved.
Things always start out slow, it's never violent right away. There are the jealously issues around working with guys, shaming the choices that I made in the past, and accusing me of being unfaithful every time I left the home. Looking back, I thought that he had my best interest in mind, he wanted me to be the best me that I could be. But then he put his hands around my throat, grabbed me by the arms, and made me feel worthless. I found that the more bruises that I had to hide, the more that I wanted to continue to isolate myself and sink further in the space where it was just him and I. No one needed to know, no one knew that I was going through hell, and I figured that it would be easier to completely surround myself in him. I was ashamed, I was embarrassed and all I wanted was to leave. But then I felt weak, I felt like me wanting to leave was a sign of betrayal. I wanted freedom but I also thought I wanted him.
Freedom came with walking away. Freedom came when I took a leap of faith and told someone what was going on. Freedom came when I could see the end of the dark road that I was on and I knew that in a way, I was saved. Freedom is terrifying when the place and person that is supposed to protect me, I needed freedom from.
I guess you could say that the “men” that I have chosen historically have been nothing shy of works of art. I don’t mean this in a way to where they were the most beautiful things on this planet and that I had never imagined my life without them. No. I mean this as they had everyone else fooled, and that I was continuing to fool myself in thinking that I could be the one that fixed them. I was nothing but someone who was trying to put pieces back together that were never supposed to fit in the first place. I was trying to mend these broken men and was praying that in return, that they would no longer break pieces of me. But that is not what happened. This is not the case, and now, I have taken a considerable amount of time deep diving into my own life to try and figure out what I was doing wrong to continue to pick men who were no longer deserving of my life and energy.
I still hold my breathe when someone knocks at my door unannounced, I freeze hearing certain sounds and smelling scents that bring me back, I am reminded daily of the world I once knew and the life that I have chose to live. I have learned to breathe and find peace within myself, that my version of hell is over. But what I find, is the more that I work with youth, I am not the only one that lived in hell, and I am sure not going to be the last. I know that my experiences shape me, the carve out specific pieces that make me beautiful and all the broken glass has allowed for my to glue it back together and be the most stunning version of me. A new version.
People are going to assume one side of the story, they are going to believe their friends, family, people who are considered to know better than me. I know what happened to me, I know the way that the violence impacted me and the way that it shaped me into someone new. I do not have hatred in my heart anymore for those who call me a liar, I simply wish them the best and hope that they are not treated the way that I was.
I read somewhere that we are not the moments that define us, we are the way that we handle these moments. I can sit here with girls that are dealing with the same issues and work with them towards empowering them to be stronger, to have faith that things will get better, and that we are going to have to continue to grow and learn. I am nowhere near healed from the trauma that I experienced and trying to mend to the broken and bruised pieces of my heart and soul.
I am happy, I am able to look back and admire the growth that I was forced to take due to the people who I allowed to be in my life. I don’t hold hatred in my heart, I don’t hold anger anymore or resent the lessons that I learned. The bruises have faded and are no longer visible on my body anymore. The memories are tucked away in a place to where I am not triggered and when I am ready to address them, that I can start taking them out one by one and work them individually. I have separated myself from the world that I was part of, people who were linked to memories and hardships.
I have learned what love looks like and have started to see the red flags in the toxic relationships around me. I am thankful for the love and support that I found throughout being lost and trying to figure out who I am again. I have never felt so encouraged to seek out the love that I so rightly deserve.