Written by me in February, never posted anywhere. Commented on by me today.

Married almost nine years, and my ex told me he’d never really been attracted to me. We were married when we were young and still part of conservative Christianity, so apparently he married me for my character. The honeymoon was rough. We had waited until we were married to have sex, and I ended up experiencing vaginismus — where the vagina closes up and penetration is impossible. This happens sometimes as a result of sexual trauma, but can also happen as a result of conservative upbringing. After being told for so long that sex is wrong, and dirty, and something to be kept secret and not talked about, it’s difficult to suddenly switch to it being good and “holy” and required. Even though I wanted sex so badly — had literally been dreaming of it — it was impossible for a good portion of our honeymoon. And at the time, I had no idea why. I didn’t find out what that was until just last year. It was a rough way to start a marriage.

The sex was never great. There were a few times that were decent, but I believe my ex when he says he wasn’t attracted to me — he never wanted to see me naked, and I put so much effort into grooming and looks and costumes — anything to make him want me — sex became a huge ordeal for me. I still wanted it, but I could never just relax and enjoy it. And my sex drive was definitely higher than his, at least in the beginning. My expectations of married life were shattered.

At one point, I think on our first anniversary, he tried to convince me I’d had an orgasm (I hadn’t) because it hurt his pride that I hadn’t had one (with him, or, if I’m honest, ever.) Never mind that he did nothing to try to bring it about — intercourse was supposed to be enough (intercourse with basically no foreplay.) (I eventually learned to take care of myself.)

However, for the most part, we were good companions. He’s an ISTJ, (oh, I’m a little into the MBTI, sorrynotsorry) so we balanced each other in a lot of ways. We had fun, we had inside jokes, we had traditions. There was still a lot of love. We got each other through some hard times.

I still do this. I defend him, I make sure everyone (everyone = the few people in my life I’ve told about the abuse) knows that it wasn’t all bad. And it is true — it wasn’t. I just wish I didn’t still have this compulsive need to protect his image.

There was more than just bad sex though. He was emotionally abusive — something else I didn’t realize until after we split. It got worse over the years. He belittled my opinions until I learned to just give up and accept his as my own. After I worked while he went back to school for the career he really wanted, I figured it was my turn, but he told me I didn’t need a career — just a random job somewhere to supplement his income. He told me that if we’d had sex before we were married, he wouldn’t have gone through with it. He told me that if he was with someone else, he probably would want kids. He was very critical of my appearance, mannerisms, even the way I smelled. Over time, my natural personality became trampled and dulled, and I was a shadow of who I used to be. Still, I kept going, I kept trying, because I was raised that divorce isn’t an option. Even though I’d changed my views on so many things, that stuck with me. So I kept going.

I still find myself apologizing for the little things I do, or the way I do things. Normal, everyday people things.

I realized later that he did to me what his mother had done to him, and still does to his dad. I don’t excuse the way he treated me, but I realize he’s a victim too.

At the beginning of last year, things had reached a point where I cried and begged that we keep talking and communicating, because the people who got divorced were the ones who stopped talking. I could feel it hovering, but I had no idea at that point of the many, many factors leading to it. I developed panic disorder. I sometimes had multiple attacks a day. Sometimes it felt like I spent the whole day in that state. I felt completely broken.

In a way, it freed me. I couldn’t pretend I was strong any more. For a long time, I’d thought I was an ENTP, (here it is again, kids) and I regularly hid and suppressed my emotions, cause “that wasn’t me.” After the panic attacks left me shattered and searching, I came to embrace who I really am — the passion, the artistic nature, the overwhelming emotions. My old personality started to resurge, and my ex didn’t like it.

He thought the panic attacks were just me being weak. (He actually called me “Jekyll and Hyde” at one point.) And he didn’t like me growing and becoming myself again — he requested I go back to how I used to be. The fact that he wanted to hold me down and keep me from growing crushed me.

In late June, he asked to split. (I found out later that he’d signed up on a dating site about a month before.) Honestly, the first things I felt were release and relief. I was out from under him. I no longer had to try to conform physically and emotionally to who he wanted me to be.

It was such a rush — that feeling of freedom. I’m glad I didn’t know then how hard and long this recovery would be. Yes, I no longer have to conform to who he wants me to be — but now I’m left with the question of “Who am I?”