*This piece contains detailed accounts of emotional and physical abuse, trauma, and victim-blaming. It may be triggering for survivors. Please read with care. If you are in danger or need support, help is available.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones” is the worst idiom we teach children. It shaped my upbringing, my worldview, my silence. It taught me that broken skin mattered more than a broken spirit. That unless I bled, I wasn’t really hurt.

Bluntly, the emotional abuse was worse. Bruises heal. But words echo. They take on a life of their own, commanding attention, nesting in corners of my mind, repeating like a cruel soundtrack. They show up when they’re needed most, just to tear me down.

Reiterated. Reframed. Reshaped. Until I resigned myself to them. They became my personal hell. A reflection of insecurity, childhood trauma, and shame. The mirror doesn’t just show my face. It strangles me with your words. Ties me down. Leaves me gasping. Drowning in my own self-disgust.

Much like you strangled me on November 22nd, 2024.

That moment led to your indictment, conviction, and sentence. But that only lasted seconds. The damage, this trauma, will haunt me forever. It will haunt our kids. I can’t shield them from it. You did this. Not me. I’m the one picking up the pieces. Reteaching them. Rebuilding them. Replacing you in their eyes. Trying to stop the harvest from seeds you sowed.

I’ve asked myself why. I’ve asked if I made you this way. But that question is just another way of avoiding the truth. You chose this. You hurt me, and I kept making excuses. Blamed your mental illness. Blamed the stress. Told myself it wasn’t who you really were.

But it was. And it was your responsibility to fix it.

You’re an adult. But you have no regulation. No empathy. No remorse. Just need. Just control. You didn’t care about me. Or them. Only what we could do for you. You rewrote the story. Told everyone I was the abuser. Said I hit you. While the bruises on me were still fresh. While the pain still lingered in the air.

And they believed you. The church believed you. Because women don’t abuse men, right?

But I know better. God knows better.

You weren’t the victim. You broke us. Long before the cops came. The way you hurt me will echo through the rest of my life.

Narcissist.

Read the Poems

Psalm 139