We were perfect for each other. Or so I thought. His love for children, our incredible chemistry, he seemed to know how I was thinking, what I liked, he made me feel like I had “come home.”

I had no idea that this was his usual MO, like a game, for him to figure out what he could get from me and how he could get it. How he had to act to win my trust. By the time I had fallen in love with who I thought he was and after a year of knowing him, I agreed to move in together, completely trusting him with my child.

The first time he yelled at me viciously, I was stunned, I had planned a surprise birthday party for him and avoided telling him who I was talking to on the phone, trying to keep it secret. He blew up like a volcano, spewing profanities at me. Then he left, slamming the door. No one had ever treated me like that before. In my Swedish family, we’d talk things over calmly. I only heard my dad yell once in my whole life.

A short while later he returned, ashamed, flowers in his hand, tears in his eyes, begging me for forgiveness

A short while later, he returned, ashamed, with flowers in his hand and tears in his eyes, begging me for forgiveness. He was profoundly sorry and blamed stress at work. I forgave him.

It happened again and again more and more often; I wanted to believe in our relationship so badly that after a while, I was the one making excuses for him. Looking back at those times, I realize he actually got a kick out of it. Playing a game with me while I was desperate to hold on to those glorious, loving first few months.

Around the time I got pregnant, the abuse became physical. I was ashamed of how I was treated and didn’t tell my family or friends. I started to avoid them and their questions. How could I have picked someone to love who treated me this way? I blamed myself.

I never knew which husband would walk through the door: the charming, sweet, fun man I fell in love with, who I barely ever saw anymore, or the angry, abusive attacker, who I needed to stay away from.

Those days he would spew a swap-meet of emotions over me, whatever he’d built up inside during the day cascaded out in nasty words and false accusations. I had to make him see the truth, explain myself, and that’s how he drew me into his duel of anger. A joust he had perfected, but I hated and didn’t want to do. He would say and do anything to make me angry, so I’d yell at him, then he would have an excuse to demolish me.

The first few times, I was drawn in, but it destroyed me. With all his practice, his sharp tongue and angry gleam in his eyes I didn’t stand a chance. He’d sharpened the edge of his sword to draw blood while I only tried to defend myself.

I felt like he needed to slash me to pieces to make himself feel better. So different from the man I had fallen in love with. I realized I had to protect myself. I changed tactics, and no matter what he tried to do to provoke me, I’d tell him I was removing myself from the situation, and we could talk when he calmed down. This always made him angrier. I’d walk away while he would yell the nastiest, most derogatory comments and names after me. It was exhausting, but at least we didn’t have devastating fights because I refused to.

After a few years of feeling isolated, taking care of kids and home while constantly walking on eggshells. I needed a break. I told my husband I was thinking about going back to work. He angrily snapped at me: “If you get a new job, you’ll have to look for a new husband!”

I felt so stuck, like my life was over even though I had two amazing kids, I was scared, lonely and blamed myself for everything that had happened and did happen.

A friend of mine was a masseuse, she used to give us both massages. One day as she left, she gave me a book and told me I HAD to read it. The book was “Trapped in the Mirror: Adult Children of Narcissists in their struggle for self,” by Elan Golomb.

I was surprised, I’d never really talked about my marriage with her and my parents weren’t narcissists, in fact I didn’t even know what the word meant. But my friend was observant.

After reading the first few chapters, a wave of relief washed over me.

I had been gaslit

I am not crazy! I finally realized it wasn’t me… he was sick… a wound inside himself so deep and painful that he couldn’t love me, his children, not even himself. It’s not my fault. I had been manipulated to believe I was responsible for everything going wrong, not only in our marriage but his success in life, his anger, disappointments… sleeplessness… I had been gaslit.

Thinking he was sick, I set about trying to help because I was still under the spell. When I suggested we’d go to couples’ therapy, he yelled at me: “I don’t need no fucking therapist.”  And kicked a chair so hard it flew across the room and smashed into the wall, making a huge hole.

He forbade me to go by myself because he didn’t want me to talk about him, about us. I went to therapy anyway. After seeing Michael, my therapist, for six months, he told me: “I’m a family therapist, my job is to help keep families together; however, I don’t think your marriage will last. Your husband will never change, and you are getting too strong to put up with him. I think it’s a matter of time, and I’m here to help you.”

I knew it as well. I felt it inside, but it still took me a couple of years to leave. I was too scared of my husband and what he would do, not only to me, but to the kids. What would happen if I wasn’t in the house to protect them to take the brunt of his anger?

I’m not sure what would have happened if I hadn’t read that book, which spurred me to seek help, even if I had to do so in secret. Working with my therapist to help find the power that I had given away so easily… was the beginning of a new, happier life.

Guest Post Disclaimer: Any and all information shared in this guest blog post is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing in this blog post, nor any content on CPTSDfoundation.org, is a supplement for or supersedes the relationship and direction of your medical or mental health providers. Thoughts, ideas, or opinions expressed by the writer of this guest blog post do not necessarily reflect those of CPTSD Foundation. For more information, see our Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer.

Share on Facebook

Tweet

Save

Lena Pousette

Award winning writer/ producer Lena Pousette specializes in high concept action adventures, thrillers and Sci-fi. She began as an actor on stage, film, and TV. Her curiosity brought her to the interactive world where she became a pioneer in interactive design, writing, producing, and directing. She worked as Director of Development for Time Warner Interactive and Philips POV as well as Creative Director for Mass Media. Lena is currently writing and producing linear films and serial TV and has several projects in development.

As one of the founding members in the Toastmasters group Success Masters, she has written many speeches on attaining success, self-improvement, personal growth, and healing. After receiving comments that these essays could be helpful to other communities, she decided to post them to more accessible blogsites.