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During my high school years, I found myself in an abusive relationship that was marked by some of the most harrowing experiences imaginable: cheating, manipulation, control, emotional abuse and sexual coercion. The heart becomes confused when it’s constantly told “I love you” by the same person who destroys it. I had seen these things occur in movies and the media and had even heard about them in school, but I never imagined that these things would hit so close to home. To this day, it is still embarrassing to admit. I blame myself in a lot of ways. I don’t consider myself a victim, but I also don’t revel in being a survivor. I don’t find any glory in what happened to me. But it did indeed happen. I don’t write this to evoke pity or garner attention. I write this because maybe someone will read this and realize they aren’t alone; maybe I can help them not feel as isolated as I felt. I wish I had had someone to tell me everything was going to be okay. I don’t understand why it happened to me, but I refuse to let it become a part of my identity or alter my strength.
To this day, I believe that my abusive relationship reshaped how I view myself and how I allow others to perceive me, leading to a long struggle with my identity. Before that relationship, I considered myself somewhat naive and innocent, often romanticizing love. However, the consequences of that experience forced me to confront reality and make a promise to myself: I would never allow anyone to take advantage of me again. Although I may come across as shy, I’ve always been outspoken and unafraid to stand my ground, contributing to perceptions of myself as physically intimidating. My commitment to sports like soccer, water polo, softball and rugby further cemented this reputation, earning me respect for my toughness and resilience. Yet beneath this tough exterior lies a softer side that I often hesitate to reveal, fearing it may be seen as a weakness. This conflict between my resilience and vulnerability continues to shape my understanding of self in a world where perceptions often clash with reality. I suppressed much of who I truly am to become the woman he might love, unaware that he was enamored with a version of me that never truly existed.
I was no stranger to the phrase “boys will be boys.” In middle school, I stood up for myself by punching a boy who touched me inappropriately. In high school, I slapped another boy who refused to respect my boundaries. I was confident in my ability to defend myself and didn’t let these minor incidents tarnish my identity or self-esteem. Yet, despite these moments of strength, I allowed a boyfriend to inflict deep, lasting harm on both my physical and emotional well-being. Even four years later, I am haunted by lingering questions: Why was I unable to recognize his true nature? Why did I tolerate the abuse? And why was I so unkind to myself?
The abuse didn’t happen overnight, and I certainly didn’t change overnight. Throughout the months, I became someone I didn’t recognize and had always resented in other women: a submissive partner. My strength was diminished because I feared him and what he would do to me if I said the wrong thing. I stopped doing things I loved and suppressed my personality because he insisted I become more like the girls his friends were dating. His narcissism and manipulation made me believe that my worth was attached to his words and that I needed to change who I was to deserve love. I was told repeatedly I was crazy and in turn, I became the crazed jealous girlfriend that he manifested. He fed off the toxicity he created and made me into a villain. The gaslighting and coercion made it hard to believe what was real and what wasn’t. I didn’t trust him, but he controlled me in a way where I felt like I was going to die if I left him. It was like drowning in muffled screams. Concurrently, the abuse occurred during a pivotal time in my life when I was finally receiving a diagnosis for my anxiety, which also mingled with my ongoing identity crisis. I had been grappling with panic attacks and an overwhelming fear of failure since elementary school, and this turbulent period only intensified my struggles.
At 17, I was defiant and arrogantly independent, so I didn’t want to believe my parents when they told me I should break up with him. They sensed the toxicity of our relationship, but I couldn’t share the full extent of his behavior. My dad’s warning echoed in my mind: “Once emotional abuse starts, physical abuse will follow.” I dismissed it, convinced my partner would never hurt me. Yet, the very next day, after a trivial argument, he slapped me. I didn’t cry or even notice the pain; all I felt was heartache. He quickly apologized, wrapping me in an embrace that left me confused. I forgave him, and it felt like a dark confirmation of my dad’s words. As time passed, the abuse escalated. He threw a glass bottle at me during another fight, leaving a scar on my scalp. I won’t detail everything, but I struggled to leave, often returning to him. I wasn’t afraid of the violence — I feared losing him more. This tumultuous relationship deepened my identity crisis, leaving me to question my worth and reality.
I wasn’t perfect, and while I didn’t deserve the abuse, I’m not proud of who I was during that time. I wish I could say “everything happens for a reason” or that I emerged stronger, but that’s not my reality. I wish I could say I left the first time or that I was so strong I defended myself against his harm. What I can tell you is that it brought out a different kind of strength in me; resilience. I can now identify toxic traits in potential partners that I once overlooked. After four years, I am beginning to reclaim parts of myself that my relationship suppressed. It’s surprising to realize I even forgot my favorite music, movies and books. I’m still on a journey to rediscover those lost facets of myself that had been locked away for too long. My identity is ever evolving, and I’m gradually learning to love the aspects I had forgotten. This process of rediscovery has taught me the importance of self-compassion, and I now look forward to embracing the woman I’m becoming — whole, empowered and unapologetically me.