Thank You To The Stranger Who Changed My Perspective

27/04/24

I find my mind repeatedly going back to an article I read while seeking knowledge and understanding around emotional abuse.

I’m so cross with myself for not bookmarking it. I’m damned if I can find it and, given the impact the author has had on me, it’s quite disgraceful that I don’t have their name.

Anyway, the piece was written by a guy who used to be (non physically) abusive in his intimate relationships.

At some point he realised what he was doing, sought therapy, worked bloody hard at said therapy, and stayed out of relationships for quite some time.

He now does his very best to educate young people about what is and is not acceptable in relationships.

He also offers an immense amount of support to people like me through the article I read. He is brutally self aware and willing to take ownership of, and responsibility for, his past behaviour.

The whole article was eye opening. I found myself recognising so many of the scenarios and interactions being described. Hearing what had been going on in the author’s mind at those times shone a very different light on what I’d experienced throughout my marriage.

The part that was the catalyst to me having a massive leap forward in healing was this (and I paraphrase):

You can be certain that you have something they want but don’t have. If they can’t take it from you and have it, they’ll take it from you and destroy it. They can’t allow you to be ‘superior’.

My thoughts instantly leapt to when we first met, and EH came into my house, eyes wide, full of admiration, telling me that my house was, “Amazing, with interesting things everywhere you look“.

He then moved in and gradually proceeded to strip every inch of that character out of the place, making it look like something out of a mail order catalogue.

I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that particular look, but it didn’t reflect me and my tastes.

My carefully collected and curated, lovingly executed, choice of interior design was gradually eradicated.

There was one time, about two months into living together, when I came home from work and discovered he’d “cleared out the junk from under the stairs“.

Without consultation, he’d thrown away boxes of things I’d been collecting for intended projects, representing years of seeking parts and pieces according to the vision in my head.

He’d thrown away power tools.

He’d thrown away my son’s paints and art bobbins.

He just threw our stuff away, because he deemed it junk.

I raised a protest – extraordinarily mildly, given the circumstances – more confused than angry.

EH responded defensively, saying that he lived here too now, so he ought to get to make decisions about things.

My appeasing side told me he had a point, and made me be quiet, telling me I had no choice but to accept what he’d done.

I went on, and on, accepting what he did, as little by little my confidence and identity were taken from me.

When we first met EH said he loved my self-confidence and willingness to express myself through hair, clothes and home.

At that time my hair was pillar-box red, my clothes an eclectic mix of vintage charity shop finds, customised things, and cheap ‘n’ cheerful basics.

I had a pierced tongue, pierced navel and was planning to get my nose done. I was toying with tattoo design ideas.

I freely indulged my love of shoes and had used a ridiculously large salary (at the time) to build a collection of 59 pairs of boots and shoes. Which made me very happy.

EH seriously lacked self confidence, had no individual style, and didn’t have a creative cell in his body. By his own admission, and the evidence presented over two decades. I’m not just being gratuitously horrid.

While I did my best to boost his confidence, to gently encourage him to explore outside of his ‘norms’ in clothing, hair and so on, he did the exact opposite with me.

If I wore striped trousers, I ‘looked like a deck chair’.

EH was disgusted by the idea of a nose piercing – they really gross him out. He probably wouldn’t be able to kiss me any more if I did it.

If I had bigger tits the top would look better….

My creative writing was a weird, pointless use of time.

My desire to ‘juzz up’ everything, from food to furniture, by adding personal touches was not a skill nor a talent. It was irritating. Why couldn’t I just buy something and be happy with it?

By the time he left, I had zero self-confidence and rarely expressed myself creatively, primarily because I had no access to ‘myself’.

All my piercings had been removed, and any plans for more long since cancelled.

Ditto any thoughts of tattoos.

My wardrobe consisted of work uniform, jeans/t-shirt/baggy sweatshirt, and pyjamas. Oh, and chuck in some extremely non-me, ‘middle aged’ trouser and blouse combos.

My shoe collection was reduced to six pairs. I no longer wore high heels.

I did, oddly, stubbornly, cling to a pair of bright red, velvety ankle boots, with gorgeous, black cuff and button detailing, and an insanely high heel. I never wore them, but I couldn’t bring myself to bin this last vestige of the collection, no matter how disparaging EH was about me keeping them. That little spark is what will become the roaring flame.

I didn’t express myself through music choices, film choices, food choices, clothing choices, home décor, talking about my interests, sharing knowledge, choosing places to go…

I just didn’t express myself, because I’d let him strip me of all the things that made me, me. And that process had started with chipping away at my confidence.

In the final year or two of the marriage I had started to get my hair coloured again, and was making moves on addressing my lack of clothing style.

Sadly, at that time, it was more about trying to be a person EH would be attracted to, rather than rediscovering and expressing my real self.

I’m not saying EH did all of this to me on purpose – setting out with a deliberate and twisted plan to break me down.

I’m not saying he didn’t either.

Some people are like that.

It’s actually not particularly relevant to me and this healing process right now.

The fact is, I had something he wanted but didn’t have.

He couldn’t take my confidence and have it for himself, so he took it and destroyed it.

No matter which way you twist it, there’s no love in that.

I’ve spent some twenty years looking for love in a place it didn’t exist.

It stops now.

I’m not saying I can stop all feelings around EH instantly; that’s still a process in progress. But I can instantly cease letting him be privy to any of my emotions. I can stop seeking anything from him.

The love I need has to come from within first and foremost.

Fuck knows that seeking it from external sources has, to date, been an unmitigated disaster.

And I’d really like to be one of those secure people, who might appreciate external validation but doesn’t damn well need it.

I’d also like to send out some love – to the wonderful person who wrote the article I’ve discussed here. It finally made me see that it wasn’t my supposed faults and flaws that made EH treat me the way he did, it was my strengths.

Now that I see it, perhaps I can start to find myself again.

Actually, correct that: I already had started to find myself again.

By redefining my space, exploring my tastes across all the senses, making changes to my appearance and self care routines, I’ve been getting to know who my real self actually is.

Reading this article, seeing the truth, has been like take a big bounce from an emotionally healing trampoline: – massively uplifting and creating a great degree of forward propulsion.

JP