I made my choice by first choosing myself.
While I wish I could say that the warning signs weren’t visible from the start, that would be untrue. In truth, I can recall the exact moment I first recognized them; they emerged almost immediately. It’s a natural question: how did I endure nine years in a situation I knew was unhealthy? The answer lies in a relentless cycle. If you’ve grown up surrounded by turmoil, infidelity, and abuse, then experiencing it yourself feels oddly familiar. This chaos becomes your “normal,” your warped understanding of love.
I am both a daughter and a mother, a follower and a leader. I’ve spent a lifetime treading paths shaped by the footsteps of those before me, trails that have deepened with each generation. I don’t take pride in my past, but I also refuse to feel shame. I could have continued down this path of madness until a particular day changed everything.
It was an ordinary day, far removed from our most explosive arguments, yet it had one pivotal difference. For nine years, I believed I had managed to shield my children from the emotional turmoil. On that day, I realized my pain wasn’t hidden; it was painfully visible. I learned that my own struggles with anxiety and sadness had seeped into their lives as well. Nobody spoke of it. I had cried countless tears in private but always composed myself before facing the world. Unbeknownst to me, I was inadvertently teaching them to suppress their own feelings, to hide their hurt behind a mask of normalcy.
That day, as tensions escalated and our plans unraveled, he hurled insults that once pierced my heart. Over time, I had grown numb to his words. Instead of breaking, I questioned how he could speak to me in such a way. His response still haunts me: “Because that’s the way I talk to you!” Those words cut deeply, and in that moment, I crumbled. He left for a bar, and I lay beside my sleeping son, aching to scream but knowing my two older daughters had company. I fought to maintain my composure, completely unaware that it was too late; they had heard everything.
Moments later, my 13-year-old daughter came to me, lying against my chest, and asked if I was alright. I attempted to reassure her, but my facade crumbled. She broke down, questioning if she was to blame. Her heart-wrenching sobs shook me to my core. I held her tightly, assuring her it wasn’t her fault, but the damage was already done. I told her that her happiness was the only thing that could lift my spirits, but I knew it wouldn’t last.
I gave myself until morning to decide, but that’s where my lack of healthy boundaries muddied my judgment. He is a man who has committed terrible acts yet is capable of love. He has offered me compliments only to retract them with harsh words. He embodies both my desires and my weaknesses. I felt utterly lost. Hours of prayer yielded no answers, and as morning approached, I remained indecisive.
You don’t leave someone you love—especially when you believe that love is reciprocated. I wandered through the day in a fog, aware that my children were watching closely, eager to see how I would handle the verbal abuse. Amid the chaos, clarity emerged. I envisioned my daughters, my precious girls, being belittled and made to feel inadequate. I imagined them crying alone, questioning their worth. The thought of them following in my footsteps filled me with resolve to alter our course.
We turned off life’s GPS. While it might have been easier to follow the familiar route, that was no longer our path.
I had always masked my sadness from them, but I needed to be honest about our family’s separation. I wanted them to understand clearly—love should never hurt like this. We cried together, and I made them promise that the cycle would end with us.
For years, I had convinced myself that leaving would devastate their lives, avoiding the truth that staying would cause far greater harm. Perhaps I feared the pain of leaving more than I feared hurting them. When I finally found the strength to confront my reality, the answer was undeniable. To prioritize their happiness, I first had to prioritize my own. I chose them by choosing me.
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Summary
In her candid narrative, Sarah Brooks recounts her journey of recognizing the signs of emotional abuse in her marriage. Through a pivotal moment of clarity, she confronts the impact of her relationship on her children and ultimately chooses to prioritize her happiness for their sake. This decision marks the beginning of breaking a damaging cycle, emphasizing the importance of love that uplifts rather than harms.
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