Learning to Live Again After Narcissistic Abuse
Discovering Life after Death
He is gone now, but his shadow remains. I never knew it was abuse. He never hit me. I only had a bruise that one time, but he grabbed me so hard because I talked back. I always made excuses for him. He was tired, I made him angry, I shouldn’t have said that.
Why couldn’t I be a good wife? A good mother? A good housekeeper? Everything I did was wrong. I was a failure at all things. Always a disappointment. Always his source of chaos. He just wanted peace. Why couldn’t I give it to him?
I can still remember the dagger that sliced through my heart when he looked me in the eye and said I was f — d in the head. I believed him. I fell apart. Why wouldn’t I believe it when I had been such a failure to him for years? Maybe I was mentally ill. Why couldn’t I do the simple things he asked of me?
I was always afraid of his temper. I walked on eggshells every day. When he was in a rage, he loved to throw things. Many dishes and cups met their demise at his hand. Sometimes the wall would make a good punching bag. Or maybe he’d get in my face with his accusatory finger and poke me hard in my chest over and over and over.
Perhaps there was more than once he left a mark on me.
The times he’d scream at the kids, I used to pray and pray hard. “God, bring Your peace. Send Your angels. Holy Spirit, I need You!” The children were so young, 6, 7, 8… what did they know about properly vacuuming a carpet? Or properly loading a dishwasher? Instead of coming alongside and teaching them how, he would quip “What’s the matter with you?” to our children. I watched in real time as he single-handedly destroyed their self-esteem, then wondered why they needed counselors as self-harming teens. I cannot count how many times I’ve had to mop up his mess in the hearts of my kids.
I was too scared to leave. I had no job. I had no experience. No money. No plan. He knew it too and did as he pleased. I opened my own bank account without his knowledge, however. I was able to tuck away some cash here and there. Not enough to leave, but enough to know he couldn’t touch it and had no knowledge of it. This empowered me in a way. I knew I had a means to leave should I need it, a way to have money he had no access to.
After his “diagnosis” of my mental health, I turned fully to God. No one else could help me. No one else knew the whole story.
“Lord, turn me into the woman of Proverbs 31.”
Looking back now, I believe with all my heart He has answered, and is still answering, that prayer, although not in the way I thought He would. This woman of Scripture is not afraid. She is shrewd, wise, and discerning. She knows how to handle money. She clothes her family. She looks to God. He is her source of strength and for that, she is to be praised.
I read more Scripture, I prayed more in earnest, I repented of my sins and became a true Christian, not merely one in name only. I dedicated my life to Jesus. He became my one balm through it all, the only lifeline I had. My knowledge of doctrine and of His Word gave me wisdom and courage. God led me to learn about narcissists and I discovered for the first time his true face.
My power came when I realized I might lose him, but I would never lose Christ. So let him yell and throw dishes and leave the house in a raging tantrum. I have Christ, and He is enough.
Somewhere along the way, he recognized this power-shift. I was no longer cowering to him. No longer promising to do better, to be better. I wasn’t afraid to sass, I challenged him all the time. I stood up to him when he screamed at the children. I had found a church family. I was getting regular prayer. I had built a life for myself apart from him.
One day he finally confronted me to tell him plainly where he stood in my life. So I did. He wasn’t a believer. He claimed to be a Christian when we married, but he eventually apostatized. He couldn’t “repent” because he didn’t believe. Neither did he know how to give me grace, of which I asked of him. If he wouldn’t repent or give me any grace, we couldn’t move forward. I was willing to stay, but our marriage would always be broken.
He wanted me to be the one to say the words. He was a coward. He knew he’d have more power in the divorce if he made me say it first. “What do you want? Tell me what you want.” Over and over again. I was absolutely manipulated. But you know what? I didn’t care. I knew I was being manipulated, and this was my way out. God had parted the Red Sea and I was going to walk right on through. I gave him over to God and said, “I want a divorce.”
Nine days later, he had a girlfriend. Before the end of the month, they were intimate. I shouldn’t have been surprised, taken aback, cut to the quick, disgusted, or horrified, but I was. “We haven’t been together for ten years,” was his excuse, insinuating our marriage had already been “over” for a decade. No. That’s not the reason. He blamed my ten years as a Christian as the problem. The real problem was he needed new supply. He couldn’t control me anymore. And with that, our twenty-five year marriage fell apart.
There is no more exquisite pain than to realize you were never truly loved. Not once. Not even when he seemed sincere, during tender moments, anniversary trips, you name it. I was a filler. Nothing more than a warm body. Anyone could have done the job. Might as well have been a cardboard cutout. How do I know? The girlfriend. There was no weeping on his end. No mourning at all. He masked it with the excitement of a new woman and once again I was left mopping up the mess.
Praise God, I am now in a much better place. No longer do I hear his hateful and demeaning words. No longer do I walk on eggshells. But his shadow remains. His mark is still on me. I hide all the time. I shrink back, pull away, run at every opportunity.
I’ve had to learn how to live on my own. I had gone from my father’s house to my husband’s house. I had no idea how to fend for myself and make my own living. But God led me out of my abusive marriage and was likewise merciful to hand me the best job in the world.
I have always loved writing. I’ve written my whole life, ever since I could hold a pen. Poems, short stories, novels, Bible studies, even a book of Christian devotionals that made its rounds at my church. With no other experience to my name, I became a freelance writer which evolved into becoming a professional copywriter. I am beyond blessed and free in every way. You might say I am free indeed.
But I’m not out of the woods. Twenty-five years of abuse cannot be erased in a few short months of freedom. Christ is at work in my heart, I know. Some days are easy and full of joy; others are heavy and overcast with gloom. It is difficult not to hear his narrative in my head that I’m a failure when something doesn’t go right. It is hard to believe that I am capable to be loved by a true and honest Christian man.
These days I’m on a journey to discover who I am apart from him and his gaslighting. Who am I as a woman? I get to define me, no one else does, except for maybe Jesus. I’ve deferred to his wants and his desires for so long while suppressing my own that I find I sometimes don’t even know what I like.
God grew me in my toxic marriage to become a wise and discerning woman. Now that I’m out of it, in many ways I feel as if I’m starting over from square one, like a newborn fawn emerging into the sunlight. I know nothing, and I’m terrified someone will take advantage of me. But I know God is with me. He is my hiding place, my refuge, and my very-present help in times of trouble. He did not bring me this far only to leave me behind. He has a plan, there is a way, and I trust His leading.
The end of my marriage was absolutely a death. But I am living proof there is life after death. I may not yet be the woman of Proverbs 31, but she is my goal until Glory.
Proverbs 31:28 says, “Her children rise up and call her blessed;” — Yes, my children know it all and each and every one of them are devoted to their Mama. But this verse goes on to say, “…her husband also, and he praises her.”
May it be the Lord’s will to one day gift me to a man who praises rather than punishes. If the Lord Jesus Christ pulled me from the briar, then He can certainly transplant me into the garden.
This is my prayer, Lord, in Jesus’ name.
Amen.
