Most of the time I spent in my long-term abusive relationship feels fuzzy to me now. When I try to think back to certain moments, it's like I'm peering into my life through a snow globe that I can hold in the palm of my hand. I see a figure that looks like me, but she isn't me, and the life she's imagining for herself has nothing to do with who I am today.
The moments that do feel more vivid are the ones I spent away from during that time — with family and friends who somehow retained a vision of me they knew to be true. I can recall when my sister, frustrated, begged me throughout one birthday dinner celebration to see that the person who was supposed to be my partner and my equal was putting me down, belittling me, and making me feel small. (I was unconvinced, gradually separating my life with my ex from my family — save for the fight-or-flight moments when I felt I had no other option than to call for help.
) I also see my best friend looking at me with a genuine mix of surprise, fear, and disappointment in her eyes when I told her for the millionth time, "We made up after our last fight" and "He's committed to going to couples therapy." When I read about emotional and verbal abuse and what it entails by definition, I feel as though I'm paraphrasing a textbook written about that snow globe of a life. "Abusers often tell women they are worthless, unlovable, unattractive, etc.
, as a way to control them and make them scared that no one else will want them if they leave," S.
