Why…How…When

So I’ve been asked several times, “Why didn’t you just leave?” I’ve also had people in abusive situations ask me, “How do you leave?” This subject has been researched in so many ways. There is trauma bonding, Stockholm syndrome, and a few other nuances that make it difficult for someone to leave their perpetrator. I was in an emotionally abusive relationship for 18 years. I know those who have been following this blog know that, but I want to explain why it took me so long to leave — not to defend myself, but to maybe help someone who might be going through something similar.

Let me first describe the intricacies of our connection. We were 18 years old and lustful. Our attraction was immediate. I thought he was so handsome. He had such prominent features, exuded powerful confidence, and had a beautiful physical composition. I can only imagine what he was attracted to, but I imagine it was my own hourglass physique. I’m sure you can relate — physical attraction builds sexual tension, especially if you don’t have control of your emotions like an 18-year-old. We couldn’t get enough of each other and always sought a deeper connection. We were addicted to each other, to say the least. He would show me his addiction by calling me several times a day. If I didn’t answer, he would call me back-to-back, sometimes 5–6 times in succession. I thought this and the fact that he would go out of his way to see me was proof of his love for me. He would go to the ends of the earth to rescue me if I showed any signs of distress. I remember one time being sick with a nasty stomach virus — disgusting liquid coming out of both ends — and he sat there with me. He held me, wouldn’t leave my side unless it was to get me water or some soup. He knew there was a high possibility he would get sick too, but he didn’t care. I was in agony and he wanted to take my pain away. That is how we were. He showed me so much love in the beginning, there was no way he would do anything to hurt me — physically or emotionally. I felt safe. I felt adventurous, excited, transcendent when I was with him. I felt like I could do anything with him by my side. Our connection was understatedly undeniable. Knowing what I know now, behavior like that scares me.

An emotionally abusive relationship can be undetectable at first. It starts off as a disagreement, and you think that you can work through whatever it is because you are so connected you have a shared existence. You think, “This is hard, but the relationships that last the longest are those that require hard work.” “The most beautiful relationships go through some of the toughest times.” That is a lie. Hard work doesn’t look like feeling devalued, trapped, lonely, or isolated. Hard work doesn’t feel like fighting for your voice to be heard or being told that the problem is your point of view. Emotionally abusive relationships are hard to identify because there is no physical proof. You can’t see the mental breakdown. You can’t see your own thoughts drift from your own to your partner’s. You can’t see the downshift of mental health. When you start to feel like something might not be right, you question yourself. Your reasoning cracks — “He isn’t physically abusing me, so I can stay and work through this.” Or, “If I can just tell him how he is hurting me, he will understand because I know he loves me… he can change his behaviors toward me.” I started to think like that before we were married, and it continued on for many years after we were married.

Sad but interesting fact — this isn’t a new concept, and many women go through this kind of thought process. When you develop a deep connection with someone and then they start to harm you physically and/or emotionally, it’s hard to separate your love from logic. Lenore Walker, PhD, wrote about this in her award-winning 1979 book, The Battered Woman. She talks about trauma bonding. To summarize, this is what happens:

Tension building
Incident
Reconciliation (“honeymoon phase”)
Calm

This is the cycle of abuse. Key word — CYCLE. In my experience, this is how you get trapped without any warning. There is no early-onset detection. The cycle starts slowly and quietly. The Cleveland Clinic has an article that describes this well: https://health.clevelandclinic.org/cycle-of-abuse

You can see the scary part now, right? The “I will do anything for you” act isn’t real. It’s a facade that feels so real and beautiful. It makes you feel seen. And that feeling is so addictive that you want to protect it at all costs. You will even protect it from yourself. That is where self-doubt creeps in and opens the door to delusion and shame.

So yes, I lived in a never-ending cycle of walking on eggshells, then an explosive fight, some form of poetic and intimate resolution, and then calm. The calm is what I craved. I kept chasing that stability. I had dangerous hope. I loved him deeply because of the intermittent bouts of affection and intimacy. It hurt when he took his love away, but I fought to get it back, and that is what made it worth it to stay — or so I would tell myself.

What also happens the longer you stay in an abusive relationship of any kind is that you become addicted to the abuse. Sounds crazy, but it’s very real. Therapy has taught me that our minds seek safety in what is known. We adapt to the chaos because we have survived it so many times, so there is some form of safety in knowing what the cycle looks like. There is this book titled Unf**k Your Brain that explains this concept. It doesn’t just apply to abusive relationships. Sometimes we are just addicted to chaos because of childhood trauma. I experienced so much chaos as a child that I thought what I was going through was, in some convoluted way, normal.

So, how did I get out? Well, I started to see my escape route when I started caring for myself. I got tired of feeling trapped. I think I realized that I was tired of feeling trapped when I was on a business trip. I remember sitting at the bar with my laptop, catching up on work, with my AirPods in. I heard for the first time “Breaking Point” by Leon Thomas. I wasn’t paying much attention to the lyrics, but the melodic flow of his voice held so much pain. It was like the song was exposing my own pain. That same trip was when I proved to myself that I could do things he would normally handle, as the protector I so often coined him. Completing simple tasks like getting my own rental car and exploring a city I had never been to planted a seed of a different type of confidence. I started to look at the world a little differently. I started remembering when I was fearless as a teenager. Of course, as we age, life experiences present the concept of fearlessness as something that looks a lot safer than what we would pursue as teenagers or 20-somethings, but I wanted to be fearless again. I made the choice to face the unknown on June 2nd, 2023, and in September of 2023 we were divorced. It was a pivotal moment. A decisive moment.

I got there by accepting that I can still love him and not want to be with him. I no longer liked him. I didn’t like how he treated me and our kids. I didn’t want to be scared anymore. My feet started stomping on those eggshells well before June of 2023. I stopped washing his clothes. I stopped fighting for his attention. I would do things I wanted to do without concern for the consequences. That compilation led to that decisive moment. I was breaking the cycle. I wasn’t afraid to tell him that I wouldn’t accept my life as it was anymore.

Here is what I told myself:

1. This is going to be hard. If I want to leave and stay gone, I’m going to have to be comfortable with those big and strong emotions that pull me back. You can do hard things. You’ve been doing them for 18 years.
2. I have to stand firm. He will beg, he will love bomb, but that is a pattern you are already familiar with, and he has proven that it will never last. Don’t negotiate.
3. Remember the things he has said. Write down at least 10 reasons why you want to leave and keep that somewhere you can read it privately to help you stay confident in your decision.
4. Staying isn’t helping the kids. It’s showing them you will always succumb to manipulation, and you can’t protect them if you can’t protect yourself. They will see your strength when you leave, even if not right away.
5. Don’t tell everyone you want to leave because they will ask you why, and you will start to doubt yourself again. Shame will knock and you will answer, and it will invite you back to the place you don’t want to be.

When I became decisive, I started laying out a new life plan. I knew I was going to drop my last name and not take my maiden name back. I am DevRene’ Nicole. I always have been, and that is who I want to be. I belong to no man. Every day I felt stronger. Every day I saw his pleas for what they were — lies. His affection had a short shelf life. No stability.

I knew my healing wasn’t going to be immediate. I knew it was going to be both ethereal and deathlike. I was ready though. I always knew that every experience is just that. I had already begun living on the principle that you cannot enjoy light without darkness. I fell in love with the idea of a calamitous thunderstorm in the spring and in the midst of the after math, smelling fresh life when the sky wakes again and the sun gently whispers on the wet leaves.

I’ve used my pain to create what I think is a positive platform. I want to, and will continue to, hold this space for those who need help to get out of a deep, dark well of hurt. The dankness won’t always wrinkle your fingertips and toes. You can get out. No one can decide for you. You can be definitive on your own. Your pain can be the very thing that helps you escape. The cycle can be broken. The patterns are recognizable. You aren’t the only one who has ever overcome anything this hard. You are underestimating your strength. The unknown is terrifying, but also beautiful. You will travel beyond the place you are now and won’t look back. You can get out and begin to appreciate all the good things life has to offer.

You can become whole again. Trust me.