Life goes by

  I’ve been with my partner for almost three and a half weeks now. There have been so many good moments, the kind that make you think maybe this time it’s real, maybe this time it lasts. But Sunday hit differently. We had a fight that almost ended everything. And while he can shut things off and walk away when he feels disrespected, I can’t. My emotions don’t have an off switch. They stay loud, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore. I ended up on the floor, crying so hard my body gave out on me. Alone. And in that moment, all I could think was—how can someone just walk away like that? How can it be so easy for them when I feel like I’m breaking? It makes me question everything about myself. Like maybe I’m too much. Or not enough. He did come back. It took begging. It took promises. And now I have until Saturday to prove that we can work, that I can do better. So I’m trying. I’m taking my meds regularly. I’m holding myself accountable. I’m doing everything I can t...

 There’s a narrative being written about me right now—and for once, it’s not mine. My mom has taken to social media, threatening to expose deeply personal trauma if I don’t stay silent. She calls it “defending herself.” I call it what it is: intimidation. Control. Another attempt to force me back into a version of myself that only exists to make her comfortable. For weeks, it hasn’t stopped. Platform to platform, post after post—picking me apart, twisting my words, questioning my reality. I did what I needed to do to protect myself. I filed harassment charges. Not out of spite, not out of anger—but because there comes a point where protecting your peace isn’t optional anymore. And still, I’m told I’m the problem. I’m told I’m slandering her. I’m told I’m ungrateful. I’m told I don’t love her. But here’s the truth no one seems to want to hear:   Feeling unloved is not the same as saying someone never loved you. I have never denied the things she’s done for me. I have never eras...

 There’s a kind of quiet that only comes after chaos. Not the kind that feels empty—but the kind that feels like finally setting something heavy down. That’s where I am right now. We’re back to not talking. And this time, it isn’t confusion or waiting or hoping—it’s a choice. I chose peace. While I’m stepping away, he’s stepping louder—another dramatic reveal, another version of the story where he’s the victim and I’m painted as something I’m not. It used to shake me. It used to make me question myself. Now it just… confirms everything I needed to see. Because the truth is, things were already falling apart again. For a little while, it felt like maybe things had changed. Like maybe he had healed. But looking back now, I can see it for what it was—a honeymoon phase, not growth. One good month followed by another that felt all too familiar. Tension. Arguments. That slow, creeping feeling of losing myself again. And I stayed longer than I should have. Two extra months I gave back to ...

  When someone survives an abusive relationship, people around them often step in with strong opinions about what should happen next. Sometimes those opinions come from love. Sometimes they come from fear. Sometimes they come from anger toward the person who caused the harm. All of those emotions are understandable. But there is a line that often gets crossed — the line between supporting a survivor and trying to control their choices. Support sounds like this: “I’m worried about you.” “I’ll be here if you need help.” “I trust you to make decisions, but please stay safe.” “Tell me what kind of support you need.” Support leaves space for the survivor to still have ownership over their life. Control sounds different. Control demands proof. Control demands compliance. Control insists there is only one acceptable outcome. It can sound like: “You’re making a mistake.” “You’ll understand eventually.” “Prove they’ve changed.” “If you don’t do what I think you ...

  There’s a conversation people love to have about survivors, but rarely with them. It usually sounds something like this: “If you go back, you’re trauma bonded.” “You just haven’t realized how dangerous they still are.” “You’ll see eventually.” The strange thing about those statements is that they are usually spoken by people who aren’t living inside the situation. They’re standing outside it, trying to explain someone else’s reality back to them. I understand where some of that concern comes from. Abuse is real. Trauma bonds are real. People absolutely should be cautious when someone reconnects with a partner who has hurt them in the past. But the truth that almost never gets acknowledged is this: Survivors are still the ones living their own lives. For me personally, the outside voices have been loud lately. Especially from family. My mom has been screaming left and right that I’m just trauma bonded. That I need to get away from him. That someday I’ll see it her w...