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'They said I was wrong.'
Being told that he cannot let anyone new close, and that he needs to keep me at arms length. Being told I am intense. Being told that sending too many messages made him feel bad when he didn’t respond. They always said it was my fault.
From being threatened that I would be hit below the knees (I was behaving badly – a good girl wouldn’t need to be threatened), to being hit by objects because I didn’t move out of the way quickly enough. When the blow landed, there were tears, hugs and sorrow, but a careful explanation of why I had brought it on myself.
When I was thrown out, it was because I spoke up for her and didn’t keep quiet. When his nickname for me taunted my weight, it was because I shouldn’t eat so much. When I was made to sit there and finish every sickening mouthful, it was because it was disrespectful of me to leave any. Always my fault. Tender love could turn on a dime, and become rage and violence. I had said the wrong thing, had the wrong facial expression, was not allowed to be a full human with a full range of reactions. My anger bubbled underneath, but it was dangerous to let it show.
For her, I wore the wrong things, made myself stand out. She was sorry I was attacked. She was sorry he was cutting me off, but perhaps it would be best for me to go and stay with a friend as there was nothing she could do. Could I perhaps try to tone myself down and not invite the problems? She remained hands off, loving me from a safe distance. When I was forgiven and came home, he told me that I had made it all up, nothing had happened. I had clearly decided to move away – my decision, my fault. She held the truth quietly with me until she died.
It was a legacy that came from the trauma they had experienced. And so I forgave, and tried to move on. Movie-style closure could not happen as reality had been reassigned by him to memories of a perfect past. But I’m happy that I forgave; our relationship never became easy but love came back at the end. I learned that to forgive does not mean that we have to negate the impact it has had.
Love did not come into my life often. I didn’t see the signals when they were there – for who could love someone as wrong as I was? When love came into my life it turned bad. And it was my fault. I was too critical. If I could just modify my tone. If I could be less successful and stop showing him up. If I could be less lively and more normal.
He said that I wanted to be abused.
He was wrong. I longed to feel safe and nurtured. But there was something in the words that was adjacent to the truth. It was familiar, and I didn’t know how to be loved. Affection in my experience came with the threat of violence. So I chose understated – the slightly cold, but even keel. I soon learned it only meant that the rage was more deeply hidden.
It was hard to move on. Harder to try again. Mostly, I don’t. Occasionally, I’ve let my guard down. They disguise themselves well. Vulnerable, warm and attentive before going cold and pushing me away. I saw the red flags, but that push and pull was so compelling. This was what I recognised as love.
I sought help to understand my patterns. I wove a blanket made of the varied strands of love provided by friends. I started to learn what love might look like when I was celebrated for who I was. The next step is to learn to celebrate who I am and find myself truly acceptable. I may sometimes be wrong, but to be wrong is to be human. I am allowed to be flawed, and it does not negate all that is good in me.
And now again, someone has told me that it was my fault. That their mood was my fault and my responsibility. But I did not try to change myself this time. I did not turn into the water around the unyielding rock. I did turn to water, but it flowed away from the blockage and found its new current and route.
They always said it was my fault, and sometimes they still try to tell me that. But I no longer believe them.
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