Isn’t it funny how one little article can bring up emotions that just yesterday seemed dead and gone for good (finally)?

Isn’t it funny how things that happened years ago can be recalled with more clarity than they were lived?

It takes more courage than people realize for a person to admit they were abused. A person will do anything she can to avoid saying those words, “I let someone treat me like their own personal pet.” Because we know, we don’t doubt for a minute, that we let it happen. We blame ourselves, because a person with any conscience at all just can’t fathom that anyone would treat someone so poorly with no provocation whatsoever. I must have done something to earn this, we think. Abusers don’t go after people who refuse to internalize other people’s bullshit.

Did I let it happen? Maybe. Was it my fault? No. I’m so far past that internal conflict. I don’t worry about what it says about me that I let someone walk all over me for three years and then discard me when I was starving myself to death, insane with grief and guilt. There’s an entire story behind the guilt I bore that doesn’t belong right here, right now, but it’s pertinent to say that the guilt I bore was not without grounds.

What haunts me is the memories, because while I lived those moments I was so far removed from my own self that I didn’t really feel it. I have tried to forget a lot of it. But, one little article and the stinging rebuke I received when I was wrestling with whether or not my marriage could be saved, from the pastor that performed the wedding with my ex, comes rushing back. The article is right: if a person is in an abusive relationship, they don’t need couples counseling; they need healing from the abuse. Couples counseling will only reinforce the message they get loud and clear from their spouse: my feelings matter; you’re just as guilty; I’m just trying to make this work. And of course the pastor who performed the wedding was a pastor of my ex’s, quick to defend him and even more quick to dismiss my concerns as an attempt to blameshift. “Remember your vow,” he told me as I sat in the car I had to finance since my ex drove off with ours, tears streaming down my face and absolute terror coming over me as I contemplated a future with the person who had done things to me that I can’t even talk about.

But the memories are clear now, and I don’t want to forget that I spent three years sleeping with my hands clenched in fists so tight that I woke up with nail imprints in my palms every morning. I don’t want to forget that I dreaded weekends. I don’t want to forget that I rehomed, not one, but two pets (one whom I loved dearly since I was twelve) because I believed they deserved a better home — but I didn’t believe I deserved as much as I was willing to give those animals.

. . .

I have a puppy now, and I look at him and know that I’ll never doubt if he has a good enough home. I will never doubt that my children have enough love. I may face hardship and Love and I may disagree or have dry spells, but I can look into his eyes and know that I will never have terror or dread at the thought of a future with him. That may not sound like much, but when I remember those years I’d like to forget it sounds pretty amazing to me that I’ll never doubt my puppy has a good home.