Losing Myself

by Tammy*

Once upon a time, I met a charming man who swept me off my feet. Romantic words poured from his lips, and I felt like a princess. After six months of dating and a Valentine’s Day trip to Disney World, I knew he was “the one.” I became his fiancée, seemingly living out my favorite childhood fairy tale.

In reality, it would be a short-lived, abusive marriage.

The engagement was a five-star event. A shopping trip to Dallas, a new dress and shoes, the Adolphus Hotel, a Parisian dinner and the surprise three-karat diamond ring set in platinum.

He promised to take care of me forever.

How it all began

Looking back, the signs began to appear a month before the wedding. A secret unveiled revealed that he had lied about his past. There was the episode in the car when he locked all the doors and sped down a curvy highway demanding his way on a decision. Of course, these were red flags. However, like many women in love with abusive men, I ignored the warnings.

Slowly my independence vanished. I had no say in where we would live or what we would do. Some days would be blissful. Other days, I would hear, “It’s my way or the highway.” Once, I tried breaking up with him, but he cried, exclaiming he would be lost without me. I felt the need to rescue him and hold him. No other man had ever put me in such a predicament.

I found myself on my wedding day, oddly not wanting to let go of my dad’s arm. Perhaps deep inside I knew it was the wrong thing. However, I loved my intended and couldn’t hurt him. I was the only one who could help him. He would change once we settled down.

Held captive by fear and isolation

Today, I am still amazed by the connection I felt to him; the desire not to hurt him overcame me. It was bigger than my own ideas of happiness; it was more important than my self, in fact it was everything.

During the eight months of my marriage, I questioned my values. I distanced myself from the family to whom I had always been close. I clung to the puppy my husband gave me for Christmas. She was my hope. I hugged her and cried with her. He became obsessively jealous of her.

One day, he unleashed the scorecard he had been tallying. He brought up all that he had done for me and began reciting his list of gifts to me versus the lamp I had given to him on his birthday. I was mortified. Keeping track of what you do for others was a foreign concept to me. But I allowed myself to fall for it. I felt guilty and indebted to him.

It got worse. I remember once rolling my eyes at him, as a child would to a parent. Glaring at me, he declared, “If you ever look at me like that again, I will (expletive) kill you.” I walked slowly into my bathroom and quietly locked the door. This was not right. My parents never did this. I felt as though I were dreaming — a nightmare. It seemed unreal.

I’ve read that every verbal assault can trigger a response in the victim's body and mind as if physical danger were imminent. I began fearing for my safety. I was devastated to discover that I was afraid of my charming prince. I gathered the courage to ask him to go to counseling with me — or else. He laughed and said, “We don’t need counseling.”

From then on, I had no voice. I began to isolate myself. My lack of energy and participation in the marriage only served to fuel his complaints and insults, and I became withdrawn. My best friend of 17 years didn’t even recognize my voice. When she called, she told me she wanted her friend back.

I had lost myself. As I sank into my bathtub one night, I cried out to God, asking Him to take over. Sadly, I had forgotten Him. But lovingly, He was waiting for me when I was too afraid and ashamed to turn to anyone else. I was so regretful for letting life happen to me instead of holding on to God for dear life. He forgave me and took me just as I was, in the tub, naked, alone, with nothing to give.

The next night, there was an argument over the dog. When my husband remarked, “I’ll get rid of the dog,” I replied, “You don’t mean that.” Immediately, I found myself shoved against the wall with a tight grip around my neck. I will never forget the anger in his eyes — a look of pure hatred. That look hurt more than any grip could ever wound. Moments afterwards, miraculously, my sister called. A frightening escape out the back door with phone in hand and a surreal last glance later, I left with my dog and never looked back.

Warning signs and red flags

Some counselors say that emotional abuse is far more insidious, lingering and therefore more harmful, than physical abuse. I agree. Having studied abuse in the years since my marriage, I clearly see the red flags that were in front of me long before the end.

He had no father figure. He could not accept authority. He was always better than any other man. He never praised anyone other than himself — particularly, financially successful men.

There were other warning signs. He was degrading toward my family and me. He hurt my loved ones, including my pet. His father had abused and abandoned his mother. He refused to talk. He stomped out, walked away and sulked. His anger drove him to hit things and kick things (usually my dog). He drove recklessly. Most painful was his withdrawal of affection.

In retrospect

Hindsight is a double-edged sword. I received clarity and explanations, but I also experienced guilt, shame and embarrassment. I stepped outside myself and looked back at someone I didn’t like, much less admire. I was broken. What a weakling! I didn’t like talking about it. My desire to care for others was deadly.

I also went through a period of re-living him; his harsh words and his fearful facial expressions etched in my mind ... the soul-deep abuse that haunted me. Poet Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote:


There are a hundred places where I fear
To go — so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.


On the other hand, looking back gave me an understanding of his personality and the background characteristics that led to the abuse. It became an opportunity to explore my own internal make-up and in the process, learn more about my strengths and weaknesses. I became transparent with myself.

Finding hope, help and healing

Four years after my divorce, with the help of family and friends, I have reclaimed more of who I am. Family members cried with me and protected me when he tried to win me back, and friends encouraged me to attend a divorce care group at church.

Ironically, the most authentic healing has occurred as I build friendships with other women who have experienced abuse, shame, or guilt, or who have lost their own fairy tale. Together, we form a community of love, understanding, and validation. We support each other and learn from one another’s experiences.

I believe healing is possible for all abused women. It comes first by naming the emotional abuse and acknowledging its effects, and lastly, for me, by identifying ways I try to protect myself from emotional abuse.

Initially, stabilizing myself was paramount to safety. I was fortunate to have a loving, protective family, but today I occasionally hide behind fear. Sometimes I fear trusting men in relationships. I do not want to be adored, then criticized and critiqued after I give myself to someone.

Lately, I’ve been realizing that I may subconsciously fall for men I know are not right for me or are not interested in me. Maybe I sabotage relationships that could be right for me, thus never risking losing myself again. I’m working on handing this doubt and fear over to my best friend, my perfect, wise Father who has always been there for me — my God.

I believe I relinquished control to God that night in the tub. Now, when people begin to take too much of me, I recognize it. I must stop and draw boundaries or lose what I have gained. I depend on God to give me strength. I can feel His guidance and protection. He is my rock.

I am still reconnecting with my voice, my intuition, and most of all, with God. Christian writer Oswald Chambers once said, “Go out through your convictions, creeds, or experiences until you come to the point in your faith where there is nothing between yourself and God.”

I have found that the more I get to know the One who created me, the closer I get to finding myself. I will surely blossom into the person I was meant to be.

*Note: Author’s last name withheld upon request.

Copyright © 2003. All rights reserved. Used by permission.