Admitting the truth

In a few hours, it will have been exactly one week since I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was time to separate. My decision was easy to implement because you had been gone all day drinking at your sister’s house. It was easy to tell my parents and family the next day, because you were still drinking. I think it was Friday morning before you were finally sober enough to begin to realize what was going on.
That is when the real hell began. To you, it was the same as before. You would F*^* up and I would threaten to finally be done. Only difference is, this time I wasn’t bluffing anymore.

I had finally seen my situation for what it was. I wasn’t married to a nice guy who drank too much sometimes. I was married to an alcoholic.
I wasn’t married to a guy who was an amazing husband 90% of the time and then a straight up asshole 10% of the time. I was in an abusive relationship. I.Was.In.An.Abusive.Relationship.

That is probably the hardest thing I will ever have to admit in my entire life. I was abused. Not by physical violence, which I would have recognized, but by its evil twin; verbal and emotional abuse.

That kind of stuff just doesn’t happen to me. I’m the person who is always telling everyone else to leave when their significant other is mean or controlling. Being single is much better than being in a miserable marriage. Stress kills. You only live once. These are all things I truly believed.  Talk about trying to get a splinter out of someone’s eye while having a 2×4 in your own.

Thank goodness I was finally able to swallow that huge pill called humility and admit defeat. Getting out was the best decision I have ever made. I wish every woman was capable and had the AMAZING amount of support that I do.
Right now I just need to bask in that, and not worry about if he is actually going to change or if change is even possible.  Because guess what? It’s not my problem anymore. It never actually was.