Some people make the decision early on, and for others, it takes years to reach this point. What’s important to understand is that choosing to step out of pain and darkness, to clear the fog and reclaim yourself, does not come easily. Recognizing the patterns of abuse that never change, and taking the courageous steps to separate yourself from them often comes in waves of self-preservation.
Whether you are a wife with no children or one with one, three, or six, the decision to leave or stay will always impact the lives involved. Staying in an unhealthy environment is a choice with consequences, just as much as leaving is. And this is where your judgment can feel clouded weighing the "what ifs." If I leave, will they be too young to understand? If I stay, what will they endure? There’s no way to predict exactly what our children will carry with them. But one truth remains, the best thing we can offer them is the healthiest version of ourselves.
You’re likely juggling more than anyone even knows, working full-time, managing a household, tending to the emotional needs of everyone around you, all while taking on extra tasks at a moment’s notice. And while it may look like you're managing it all effortlessly, deep down, you are tired.
Not tired from doing too much but tired from doing it alone.
Let’s say this out loud. Trying to keep the peace with someone who doesn’t care is not noble, it’s draining. You keep thinking, If I stay calm enough, soft enough, forgiving enough, maybe he’ll finally show up for you. But no matter how much you give, it’s never enough to make him give back. That’s a kind of exhaustion no nap can fix. It creeps in slowly, until one day even hope feels heavy.
You stop speaking about what hurts, not because the hurt is gone, but because you’re tired of being called dramatic. You stop asking for more, not because you don’t need it, but because you already know the answer.
You’ve endured his disappearances when things got hard, the shifting moods that kept you on edge, the blame games, the lies. You stayed calm, you tried to hold your dignity, even when he called your boundaries “cold.” But that “coldness” that was your peace returning. That was self-respect.
Because love, real love, was never meant to drain us. It was designed to be a sanctuary, a place of safety. But somewhere along the way, you were taught that survival was love that pain and endurance meant loyalty. And now, “safe” feels like a fantasy.
But here's the truth you need to hold onto; you are not alone, and you are not wrong for wanting more. More peace. More joy. More love, the real kind.
Add comment
Comments
Testing