This year I was a married man for a grand total of three months of my life, from January to March. The actual act of it is in the top three most traumatic moments I’ve had to experience in my life, which is pretty impressive because I’ve experienced some shit! This isn’t normally the kind of thing I’d just talk about out in the open. For a better part after those three months, I was absolutely riddled with shame, and disappointed that I “allowed” myself to be battered in an abusive relationship for so long. I felt like I had let myself, my family, and my friends down, after wasting time and resources and energy on something that fundamentally broke me as a person. I’m in a much better place now, but that specter of shame can still hang over me at times, coaxing me into self-doubt and negativity that’s completely unfounded. Luckily I have an excellent therapist that’s helped work me though it and head that sort of thing off. A big part of that help has been convincing me to open up to the people who care about me and tell them what happened. This may come as a shock to you, but it turns out when you’ve been victimized in an abusive relationship, your friends will actually be quite supportive and understanding! And that leads me to what you’re reading right now. I consider it the next step of healing, a broader examination for a broader audience. If I can write this and share it with the world, I can continue to shrug off that unfounded shame, and potentially help others who have been in a similar situation. Another thing that may come as a shock to you: I am also not the first person who’s ever been in an abusive relationship! So without further ado, let me talk about pain and the Pendulum of Grief. --- ## Pain There is not much that can prepare you for the trauma of an abusive relationship. It kind of just sneaks up on you after all is said and done. A big reason that was the case for me specifically is that I didn’t realize that I was in one for most of it anyways! I didn’t think I was the type of person who would fall into one: I’m loud and opinionated and extremely independent. But the idea that I didn’t fit the “profile” clashed against my own understanding of abuse, which was, quite frankly, skewed towards what women experience. That makes sense, it’s something that I worry about and statistically the more likely outcome. But it also led to a blindspot about who *else* it can happen to. On top of that, I was blinded by what I thought was going to be a partnership. If you’re simply lied to about what your relationship is and will be, it’s kind of hard to see the train about to hit you before it’s too late. What I experienced systemically broke me down piece by piece, to replace me with the ideal that my former partner expected — demanded, even. Day by day, there was a slow, insidious shift from feeling loved to being forced to constantly prove my own love, at the cost of my own health and sanity. Acts of love became tests: “do you really care about me if you don’t get me flowers and chocolate every day like my mother keeps telling me?” Plans we made together became a series of increasingly scaled concessions: Do you really love me if you don’t accept the new, un-agreed upon terms for our future? Once the relationship was solidified, nothing I did became good enough. And once one compromise was made, more were expected. Everything from the kids we planned to have to the place we agreed to live was completely shifted. A brief bout of LDR was pulled out from under me like a rug: just kidding! We’ll meet in seven years instead. If you don’t agree to it, then “I guess that’s all our relationship means to you, and it’s your choice. 👍” And the worst part of it was that I had been trained, conditioned so thoroughly after methodically being broken down to accept whatever came my way for the sake of the relationship, that I thought I was okay with it! I accepted things that I didn’t actually want because I had been taught to believe that I was a bad husband if I didn’t. This is the kind of thing that completely upends you once you’ve broken out of it. My good nature — or people-pleasing nature, depending on how self-critical I’m feeling on a given day — was used against me. Our partnership was lopsided, focused on my need to constantly reassure her that I would be good and that she was perfect. And my need to be a better partner than the terrible ones I’d been exposed to before caused me to not recognize that my own partner was one of those terrible people. The amount of trust you lose in a situation like this is another thing I wasn’t prepared for. You’re left continuing to doubt yourself. “Maybe I was just a terrible partner. Maybe I deserved what happened to me.” But beyond that, you also lose trust in a future relationship. What’s the point in trying again if you’re put in another situation like this? Does the person I’m talking to actually care about me, or am I being taken advantage of again? It felt like every path I took and decision I made was the wrong one for this person, and I didn’t want it to happen again. All roads led to the same outcome: passive aggression → angry outbursts → my promise to be better → the next cycle. It also led me to worry about things I didn’t even know I had to worry about! My previous partner and her family were terrible to my loved ones, attempted to extort me, and tried to divide us against each other. I promise you as dramatic as it sounds that all of these things are true. Again, I didn’t know these were things I’d ever have to worry about! Beyond warping my perception of what’s expected in a relationship in my culture, it was also just deeply strange. I think being normal and cordial is honestly a pretty easy thing to do. So seeing it be so difficult once my marriage began in earnest was exhausting. There are so many stories I could tell — too many for one post, and not the focus of this one — but there truly is a fear of something this traumatic happening again that I’ve had to spend the majority of this year unpacking. The final brick thrown at my head was when I finally broke out of the cycle of abuse and decided to end the relationship. I was ghosted pretty much instantaneously. In about 48 hours it felt like I had never been in the relationship at all, let alone married. I have yet to hear back from my former partner. Luckily we had yet to officiate the marriage in the US — just Qatar, where we had first tied the knot.[^1] And “luck” is kind of the running theme in what I experienced. I’m lucky for that. I’m lucky I didn’t have any children with this person, and that I didn’t let the abuse continue any longer. I’m lucky I have the support system that I do, and that I can walk away from this situation relatively intact. But “relatively” is the operative word here. With pain comes: --- ## Grief There isn’t much that can prepare you for the feeling of grief that comes with the aftermath of a failed relationship that was meant to be the last one you ever have, either. I didn’t have the word to describe it that way, until my therapist gave it to me. It truly does feel like losing something that you’ll never get back. I’ve come to grieve the time that could have been put into something healthier, and the loss of what I thought I’d have with my former partner. I grieve the person I was before, who feels lost to me now, after my sense of safety and trust has been irrevocably altered. It hits me in waves, emotionally and sometimes even physically. I’ve been told that I’m experiencing the “stages of grief,” but I’ve come to realize that this isn’t an accurate explanation for what happens in the grieving process. At least not for me. My path to healing has not been linear. Hence, the pendulum. Grief has swung from end to end since this traumatic event first happened. The weight would slowly settle, and I’d think I’m okay again. Some days I’d feel like I was completely through the worst of it — and I would be! But then I’d get triggered by anything: a Hello Kitty meme, a build-a-bear plushie, the name of a character in **Chrono Cross**. And suddenly the pendulum was struck again, and I’d be emotionally crashing out. This makes it sound like I haven’t, or never will, get better, which is untrue. Understanding grief in this way has in and of itself helped! Each time the pendulum of grief settles, it gets harder and harder to kick back up. It understand that my ability to cope with the grief I’m working through varies by the day, and that helps me be kinder to myself. Each moment spent with my friends and family keeps the pendulum from swinging all the way to one of its two ends of sorrow or anger. --- It’s funny. I thought this would be harder to write. But once I started, it actually wasn’t too bad. Where once there was shame, I now feel…something. A mixture of peace, I suppose, and acceptance. The more I speak to my experience, the easier it is to recognize that my shame is unfounded, and my grief and pain are reasonable. And I can move forward as a result. I’m much healthier than I've been in years. I’ve made tons of progress in my creative endeavors. I’ve submerged myself in a wonderful support system. I’m even dating again, and it’s going pretty well! That said, how do you end a post like this, lmao? I guess with the hope that this type of love never finds you. And if it has: I hope your own pendulum slows its swing too. [^1]: This may shock you, but I don’t want or plan to get married there again LMFAO. The annulment process is happening, but it’s long and weary and unspoken in accordance with my lawyer’s consul. Boy what did I get myself into huh?