Recovering from emotional/verbal abuse is not as easy as it sounds and some days makes you feel a little more crazy than a lot sane. There are times I literally have to tell me that "you're not crazy. This is a normal reaction. You will get past this. And hey - you handled it better than last time!" I know for a fact that there are some of you out there reading this that are nodding your heads and saying to yourselves, "oh I do that too!" But for those of you that don't understand, let me try to explain.
Everyone understands that when you are physically abused; struck, hit or kicked, that all it takes is for the person to raise their hand and the victim will shrink back, duck, cower or in other ways try to lessen the blow. Emotional abuse is a little different. When you get told you are stupid, fat, lazy, worthless, or deficient in any way the attacker can strike out at you that day, you learn other ways to lessen the blow. Everyone reacts differently. Some try to prove the attacker wrong by changing hairstyles, working out, learning more, putting on makeup, etc... Others shrink into themselves and hide themselves more. I was the latter. And I tried to tell myself that I was okay with the way I was. I tried to convince myself it was okay because I was "happy" with the way I was. It didn't work. And it grew into self loathing.
For many reasons. One being that I would have hated the person I became as an adult. When I was younger I was *cough* opinionated. (Trying to be nice to my formal self here.) I was an avid woman's right advocate and a feminist. I believed in the strong female role model who put up with no crap. I hated weak characters in books or movies and I could never imagine myself shrinking away into a corner. And oh - I talked a good talk around my friends and family even as an adult. But I didn't live the life I portrayed. I let myself get beaten down. And it continued.
Sometimes I did stand up for myself, or tried. But I got very good over the years at taking the blame for things I didn't do, half the time not even knowing what I supposedly did. Apologizing for causing problems I didn't cause, saying sorry for being me, and doing anything I could to deflect name calling, verbal attacks and my personal favorite, the cold shoulder. I got to the point where I begged them to talk to me, begged for forgiveness, but had they asked me what I did wrong? I wouldn't have been able to give an answer. I was a straight A student, an honors graduate from high school and university who became fully convinced I was an idiot and lucky that anyone cared enough to put up with me so I had better do everything I could to keep that person in my life or I would be forever alone.
And along came therapy. And Frank. I know that those of you who read my blog probably think that this Frank person sits on a pedestal somewhere with a glow around him and a scepter in his hand granting wishes. He would get a great kick out of that image, don't tell him I wrote that. But really, he was my savior. And not in the way most people think of therapy. It wasn't like I imagined it anyway. A lot of the time we didn't even talk about my "problems". We would talk about my teaching, my horses, my kids, and sometimes it would get deep and I would cry and he would ask me why I felt like a failure. Why did I ask more of myself than others? Why did I expect perfection? He helped me see that I was doing an okay job. In fact, I was downright good at some things. And he helped me to see that being alone was better than being beaten down.
I have a lot to thank Frank for. But I digress from the title of the blog. I have even more to thank Tim for. When I finally got up the courage and self worth to decide to be on my own, I vowed to never let myself get hurt or sucked into a destructive relationship again. Which is a good thing. But in vowing to protect myself, I also veered a little too far to the overprotective. Not getting hurt meant not getting attached. Not allowing anyone to get close. Not putting up with any "crap". And there was a lot of crap I worried about. So Frank cautioned me against closing myself off. And I looked at him skeptically, but along came Tim and well, you all know the rest of that story.
Except, I still flinch. And poor Tim gets the brunt of it. I try really hard not to and I get mad at myself for doing it, but I flinch. If he's upset about anything, I assume it's my fault. If he is tired and quiet, he must be mad at me and I sit and stew over what he could be possibly mad at me for. And then I imagine things and worse "decide" on them. Let me give you an example.
Tim comes home because from work. Which for Tim is getting up at 4:00am to milk, doing his teaching gig, reffing some sport and then walking in the door anytime from 8-10 at night. So say Tim gets home and he's quiet. Say he brings in the mail and there is a delivery from Amazon (CURSE YOU AMAZON!) And he says, "what'd ya get?" And I say a book, or headphones, or a shirt or whatever. And he doesn't say much and goes and sits down and is quiet. Because, you know, he's TIRED. But my mind says, "he's mad that I bought something." Now the old me would beg for forgiveness. But remember, I'm not putting up with any crap ever again. So I get defensive, and I tell myself I deserve what I buy for myself and God damn it, I'm not going to apologize. And I get quiet. And I go to the old tactics used against me and give him the cold shoulder. Oh, I may be really diplomatic and offer him one chance, "Is everything okay?" But even if he says, "Yeah, I'm just tired." My little brain can't wrap around the fact that it might not actually be MY fault.
But Tim, is his ever patient self, always manage to talk through it and get to the other side. He puts up with my flinching (and this is just one example). While I didn't "need" someone else to fix me, and I was ready to fix myself, I can't thank Tim enough for doing all he does to help me get past my old demons and move past my, well past. He's my rock, my guide, my best friend and my husband. Something he doesn't get nearly enough credit for. And yes, he is my lobster. (Cue Friends theme music.)
*Published without proofreading because the kid is waiting on me. Apologies for typos and grammatical errors.
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