A Mom, Wife, Sister, Daughter & Woman…Overcoming Domestic Abuse With God

I wish I was wrong.  I wish I could wake up tomorrow and be back in that warm, fuzzy, denial ridden but deeply-in-love place that was cocooned around me 16 months ago.  That place where I felt I had finally met the man of my dreams…my soulmate.  The one who made all those who came before him look like amateurs.

The totality of this situation hits me a little more each day.  It’s over.  3 years of work and worry and heartbreak and compromise and hopes dashed (all of those mine) seemingly for nothing.  It feels like a death and I guess it should be mourned as such.  The death of my hope that things could get better, the death of thinking that he would eventually see how much he was hurting me (wounding me actually) and that he would understand that marriage was about compromise and love and sharing. 

What a joke!  It’s his way or the highway and has always been.  He’s just calmly and patiently waiting for me to “come back to my senses” and see him for the Lord of his Domain that he has always been.  What his narcissistic mind can’t wrap itself around is that I’ve changed.  And I am going to continue to change.  I am angry and this second stage of grief feels GOOD.  I’m not putting up with his shit (or his son’s) anymore and I won’t be a doormat any longer.

So while I continue to wish in one hand – I have mentally shaken the shit out of my other hand.  Now, I just need to tell him.

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