What ‘s the deal with emotional abuse? Is it that painful? What does it look like?
It pierces the heart into little pieces and only the recipient of the abuse feels it.
I hated his actions. Why did he not listen? Traveling and sleeping in the same room with her and not married screamed boundary violation. Even after I said, “NO sleeping in the same room.” It was like the man stabbed me deep in my heart with a five-inch knife blade. I wrenched, bled in betrayal. I escaped and screamed outside in the dark, and collapsed on the lawn.
The agony of being ignored, again, ricocheted through my body. Emotional abuse slaughtered my heart. The chronic abuse of being ignored over and over, deceived, manipulated, criticized, and controlled was taking its toll. I didn’t know how much longer I could live in this pretense. The pit of hopelessness was beckoning me to bow. I needed to act.
Emotional abuse denies oneself to live and to become fully themselves, as another human being controls them. It cuts to the core to be ignored day after day after day, and year after year after year. It wounds deeply, like none other. The wicked evil marks and remarks are there, but hidden in the heart and on the heart, yet there are cues and clues a person is being abused.
Where do you turn when life catches up with you?
For me, God was and is my constant companion.
Before the foundation of the world, Jesus knew your days and mine. He hardwired you and me with the exact raw talents we need to endure our life stories.
One of my talents is discipline. Thank you, Lord.
The next morning after the stabbing of my heart, I did what I normally did and do, I met Jesus on the pages of my Bible. Trust in Him at all times, O people; Pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us. Psalm 62:8 look it up.
Tears plopped and I tipped and poured my heart out to God in prayer. Next, I got up and jumped on my treadmill. As I clicked off the miles I knew hatred wanted to replace the knife that was still lodged in my heart. Yet, I knew if I allowed the hatred in, I would be worse off. I chose to act. I spit out the hatred on the basement tile. Again, I spit.
The hatred from his actions was not going to defeat me and fashion me into a bitter woman. I chose to pour out my heart before God. Will you?
And then I sought counseling as scripture is clear, exposé evil and darkness.
Are you being emotionally abused?
Who do you need to tell so you can get support?
