My Abusive Relationship

Preface

This is a personal essay that I wrote in the summer of 2020 during a difficult and crucially transitional time in my life.

My Abusive Relationship

I was in an abusive relationship.

I have never said that to myself or anyone else, out loud or on paper, until now. That was harder to admit than I thought it would be.

I was bound to this relationship for years, trying my best to make it work, because I knew harm wasn’t truly meant. And besides, things didn’t start out all that bad.

In the beginning, we actually got along really well. Things were good between us. Our relationship started out respectful and loving. Gradually, though, things changed.

It started with a side comment here or there.

“You’re really going to eat more?”

“That task was so easy; how did you mess it up?”

Then, side comments became more direct.

“You don’t look as good as you used to; you’ve gained weight.”

“That was pretty stupid of you.”

I knew no real harm was intended. Sometimes I would cry about it, then pick myself up off the floor and move on with my day.

Most of the time, I just nodded and said, “You’re right.”

I thought the worst was over and that our relationship was finally on an upswing. But the words became more biting.

“You’re disgustingly fat.”

“You’re f*cking stupid.”

“Ugly. Worthless. Nothing.”

“Why can’t you do anything right?”

“You will fail no matter what you do.”

“You will never be anything in life.”

“Everything you do is sh*t.”

And I would say, “You’re right.”

Then, one day it dawned on me. This wasn’t how a relationship was supposed to be. Relationships were supposed to be loving and compassionate and respectful and joyful and exciting.

When I realized that this relationship that I had was abusive, do you think I did something about it?

The answer is no.

I thought I could handle it. I thought things would change. I clung to the relationship so hard that my knuckles were white, and I had nothing of myself to give to anything else. This was all I knew. All I had. How could I possibly let that go?

“Things can change,” I told myself. “Things will change.”

But after waiting for change, nothing happened. Why? Why couldn’t things be different?

The fact is… things could be different. But things don’t just change on their own. If I did nothing but wish for change, change would never happen.

I only had a few options – some of them not so good, all of them scary.

I chose a head-on approach.

“We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Us.”

“What about us?”

The walls just went up.

“Please, just hear me out.”

“I’m listening, geez.”

“I don’t like the way you treat me.”

“Since when?”

Deep breath.

“Just listen.”

“I am!”

“You used to be kind to me. You used to love and respect me, but something changed. You changed.”

“I haven’t changed.”

“Yes, you have. The change was slow, so slow that you may not have even noticed it. I know you have been through a lot, and I’m sorry that you had to go through it.”

“You don’t know anything.”

Anger has come out – the best defense against painful topics.

“Is this really the person you want to be? Angry and hateful and bitter?”

“I’m not angry, hateful, or bitter!”

“I don’t think it is who you want to be,” I continue. “I think you are full of love, more love than you know what to do with most of the time. I think you are too kind for your own good sometimes. But the thing is: you are kind to the whole world, but you aren’t kind to me. Do you even know why that is?”

“Because you deserve it!”

“I don’t think you truly believe that. I think you treat me like this because I’m always here and you don’t know what to do with your emotions.”

Silence. A chip in the wall.

“You would never treat anyone else the way you treat me. And I think you know that relationships aren’t supposed to be this way. I think that it’s misplaced anger about things that were beyond your control.”

The posture sinks a little. Another chip in the wall.

“Do you realize that if we fix this, your life could be filled with more love than you could have ever imagined? And isn’t that what you – just like everyone else – truly want? To feel wanted and loved? Well, I love you; I really do. And deep down, I know you love me. But we have to change things right now. I can’t fix this alone; you have to want to change too.”

Tears fall. The wall just crumbled to the ground.

The person staring back at me is broken and vulnerable.

“You and I are in this for the long haul, and I don’t think you want things to be this way between us.”

Barely a whisper. “I don’t know how to be any other way.”

“Then, work on it. The person you are to everyone else – the friendly, loving, kind, compassionate person you are to everyone else – be that to me. You tell other people you love them; tell me you love me! You tell other people that they are worthy of anything and everything good in life; tell me I’m worthy! Find something nice to say about me every time you see me. These little things, over time, can and will make a difference for us.”

“I’ll try.”

I shake my head. “‘I’ll try’ isn’t good enough this time. You have to put one hundred and ten percent into changing because I will not accept any more abuse from you.”

Eyes meet in the mirror.

“Okay.”

It was in that conversation with myself in the bathroom mirror that I had finally stood up for myself, to myself, and said, “I’ve had enough. I deserve better than this.” And for the first time, I actually believed that I deserved better from myself.

I wish I could say that this epiphany happened all on my own, but it didn’t. Nothing happens without a catalyst for change.

It occurred as the result of a fight I had with my parents when I was in college over something completely unrelated.

One of the most painful things that I saw after the fight was how my self-abuse had been holding me back in life. Instead of walking in a straight line, I was constantly running in place. I would start something with passion and excitement, so much so that I would become completely consumed by it.

And then, the negative self-talk would start.

“You’re going to fail, no matter what you do.”

“Why even bother trying?”

“You’re a failure.”

“You’re not good enough.”

“Your dreams don’t matter. You don’t matter.”

It was like having a devil version of myself sitting on my shoulder, screaming into my ear so I had to hear it, with no angel me on the other shoulder to mediate. The devil had killed the angel years ago, and I hadn’t even noticed.

Along with this negative self-talk came self-sabotage. I would think why even finish this if it’s not good enough? No one will like it anyway, so I might as well quit before anyone can tell me how bad it is. I can’t fail if I don’t try.

I saw this cycle the most clearly in my writing career or lack thereof.

Before the abusive relationship with myself started, I wrote what I felt like writing and didn’t really care about what anyone thought of it; I wrote for the sake of getting the beautiful, colorful, swirling thoughts out of my head and onto paper for others to enjoy someday.

However, as my relationship with myself became more and more toxic, my writing began to suffer. Not so much in the quality of the writing, but what I was writing for. I was no longer writing for the sake of getting my thoughts onto paper for others to see; I had no intention of letting others read my writing. I saw no value, no beauty in the words I wrote, so how could anyone else? At that point, I truly believed that (among many other negative misconceptions) I was a terrible writer because that’s what I had been telling myself for years. And if I heard it all the time from myself, it had to be true, right?

Maybe not.

Maybe I was wrong about being a terrible writer.

Maybe I was wrong about everything I had been telling myself.

The morning after fighting with my parents, I was still angry when I woke up. I got my coffee, put in my headphones blasting music loud enough that I’ll probably be deaf by the time I’m thirty, and I thought about all that was said during that fight. For some reason, I really focused on what I had thought and said.

One after another, realizations began to dawn on me:

I’m not very nice to myself.

I said some awful things about myself.

And the thoughts I had about myself that I didn’t say were far worse.

I would never talk to or about other people the way I talk to or about myself. I would never accept someone talking to me the way I talk to myself.

And that’s when it hit me like a punch to the gut.

I was in an abusive relationship. With myself.

When I realized what my relationship with myself was like, my first instinct was to point my finger at my past, but this gave me no satisfaction or comfort. Deep down, I knew there was no one to blame for my treatment of myself except me. I was the one thinking and saying awful things about myself. I was the one that had created this toxic inner dialogue. And while my past had contributed to some of it, I was the one that had allowed it to continue.

Thinking back, there were times when the inner dialogue came to the surface in conversation with other people. I would insult or devalue myself, thinking that everyone else in my life saw me in the same way I saw myself. Immediately, the other person would tell me I was wrong, but I wouldn’t hear them, not really. I was too stuck in my beliefs about myself to think there was even a slight possibility that I was wrong because let’s face it, who wants to admit that they were wrong?

This moment of acceptance and placing the blame in the appropriate place lead me to ask a daunting question: What now? How do I change the relationship that I have had with myself for so long? It was all I knew. I couldn’t even remember the last kind thing I said to myself. I couldn’t leave the abusive relationship I was in (quite literally), but there had to be something I could change.

So, what could I change?

I could change the conversation that occurred in my mind. I could talk to myself differently. I would talk to myself differently. Like I told the me in the mirror, I would not tolerate any more abuse from within.

I understood then that mending the abusive relationship that I have had with myself for a third of my life would be no easy feat, but I knew that it had to be done. The only person that I would wake up every day with was myself; and if there was no love, or even just a healthy respect, it would be a never-ending cycle of abuse that came from within and I would remain trapped by myself in my situation forever.

Author Note

Since writing this essay, I have grown a lot and dealt with my relationship with myself, which has improved many other aspects of my life. What I learned was I had to love and appreciate myself to truly love and appreciate others. I had to be kind to myself to truly be kind to others. And I had to be happy and comfortable with myself to be happy and comfortable with my life.

These lessons have been instrumental to the direction my life has gone since. I hope to share that with others through this essay.

Thank you for reading!

Savannah Watson