What It Meant to Accept I was Emotionally Abused

Contending with my trauma meant accepting that it happened in the first place.

“Uh oh,” I said. “I think I left the router at my parents’ house.”

“Really?” he asked, his voice suggesting that he didn’t quite believe me.

“Yeah,” I frowned, distressed. “I’m really sorry.”

“Well, you’re just worthless.” It was clear from his tone that he wasn’t joking.

At the moment, I was too stunned to say anything. In all the time we’d been together, I’d never heard him say such a hateful and hurtful thing to me. However, I brushed it off, because it wasn’t worth fighting over and besides, he’d calm down later. He might even offer an apology (though that wasn’t a guarantee by any means).

As it turns out, he didn’t.

Some time later, we’d bought some Swiss cheese from the Amish, and I hadn’t wrapped it properly, so a bit of it got dried out.

“How can you be so stupid?” he snapped at me. Once again, it was abundantly clear that he wasn’t joking, not even a little. And, once again, there was that insult, cutting me in exactly my most vulnerable place. Had I made a mistake? Sure, but I didn’t (and don’t) think that it was so egregious that it warranted…