This is an extra guest blog for this week. Thanks to a very brave lady for writing this. She has requested to remain anonymous.
My Social Worker
With tears in my eyes and a kind of pain that shakes you from the inside I asked you for a hug; to hold me because I was slipping, on the verge of falling apart. I felt comforted for the first time in years; I had no fear or reservations when you embraced me. My pain melted away as you patted my back and relief echoed in my mind when you encouraged the tears; encouraged me to feel my emotions. I felt accepted. I realized at that very moment I have not felt accepted since getting married. That I was once a mountain on the edge of the ocean that has been worn down to nothing more than grains of sand.
All these years I thought it was in my head. He is not abusive, that is just my depression talking. But today, you validated me. I was left speechless and confused. What do you mean it’s true? I asked you.
You saw our relationship for the truth of what it was. That my children and I were the victims of emotional, mental, and physical abuse.
The rational and logical part of my mind and heart knew he was abusing us. I knew he was a narcissist without the ability to have compassion or empathy. But again, I thought it was all in my head. That it was my fault he flew into rages. My depression made him mad; I wore my heart on my sleeve. I thought every word out of his mouth was a jab disguised as a joke; my sense of humor was flawed. I was too defensive when it came to my husband and I needed to lighten up.
But you, not just as a professional, but a compassionate human being saw it all for what it was. You said I needed time to heal and that with time I, too, would see the truth for what it was. That I would not be lost in his fog forever.
I asked you why I let you hug me. I hate being touched by people and that that was half my problem with my husband; I hated it when he touched me. You said it was because I felt safe with you.
I had to pull away to evaluate how I felt about that statement. It was true. My God, what had I done by allowing this to go on for so long?
You made fun of me today. You make fun of me everyday. Don’t even try to hug me after laughing at me. But I let you anyway, because you forced the hug. I felt my body stiffen, I was hurt and did not get the joke. Why am I the subject of all your jokes? You make me feel bad; you make me feel ugly and worthless.
This is when the rationalization starts. You were bullied your entire life. By your father, kids at school; by everyone all the time. Maybe your bitterness has made you the bully? I can help you overcome that, I can fix you. I got this. So then I relax, forgive, and let you hug me.
Your tactics are hard to recognize unless you know what you’re looking for. To the outside world your chill and relaxed, a laid back, endearing nerdy type person. But when our front door closes you can be a monster.
You target my oldest son like your father targeted your brother. You are so mean to him. Always making fun of him, riding his ass like he’s a small country that needs your dictatorship to rule over. You constantly pick on him, call everything he does “stupid”, or worse “retarded”. You use everything against him and are always looking for ammunition.
I tried telling you about generational curses and you were becoming like your father. That is when you get mad and fly into a rage saying I was stupid and didn’t have a degree so I had no idea what I was talking about. But husband, I’m no idiot. Life and experience does not require a degree.
Toady, my son exploded. I tried to break up the fight but you were both too strong so I got the smaller kids out of the room. My son bloodied your lip and you blacked his eye. But my son is a fifteen year old child and you are a thirty year old man. What you have just done is abuse.
You told me how close you came to snapping his neck. That scared me so, so badly. I was afraid of you and so was my son. The day my son pulled the knife on you was because he remembered the fight where you had him in a headlock and later said you almost broke his neck. He heard all of that.
You called the cops when my son pulled the knife. Told people YOU did not feel safe in the home. You wanted a divorce because YOU were being abused. You said that you never hit me or my child with a closed fist. That all the holes in the walls and doors were from my son, not you. But it was all a lie! You lied through your teeth! All because of your career and if the truth came out you would be brought up on charges!
I’m glad you called the cops. Now, people know. The truth is out. Nobody is playing your game, they see right through you. In our session with the social worker, I’m glad you lied. I saw you for who you really are. I’m no longer blinded by my co dependency or my need to save everyone. There is no saving some people. I gave you six years, I poured my soul into you trying to help you overcome your own demons. But some truths are too big for some people; and some people are just too weak to overcome those truths.
My Social Worker
As you held me in your comforting embrace I asked you how come everyone in my life ends up hurting me? I asked you what is so wrong with me that I have been the victim of abuse so many times?
The look of compassion in your eyes brought out more tears as you told me that it was because it was all I knew. It was familiar. To be treated with love and respect was foreign to me and I did not know how to handle it so I pushed genuine people away, traded them in for the familiar.
That ends right now. No more silence.
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