Taking My Power Back: On Cutting Off My Emotionally Abusive Father

First off, I just want to say this has been a long time coming now. I've felt silenced since I was a child and I felt like I didn't have a voice. I've been anticipating this day since I was young and it's finally here. I'm now 21 years old and part of me still feels like that, but I'm doing a brave thing today. I made a promise to myself a long time ago that someday I would come out about all that I've endured when I get a platform, and this blog has given me just that. I want to start off by saying I know some of my family members may not believe me, they may be in denial, they may not take this as seriously, they may disagree with me speaking out about this, and they may want me to take this down. That's okay. And I know my father may even deny that some—or any—of this ever happened. That's okay too. I know I may have people tell me I'm being "too sensitive", guilt trip me into reconciliation, or refuse to believe that I was ever abused. That's okay as well. After thinking long and hard about this, I have acknowledged all the possible negative responses that I could receive. They could overwhelm me, they could put me in a bad place mentally and emotionally, and they could even potentially re-trigger my trauma. I'm prepared for all of this.

I'm doing it anyway. And I'm doing it unapologetically at that.

After being silenced for so long, people are finally going to know about what happened behind closed doors for years. People will finally know exactly who my father is behind the facade and exactly how he treated me.

I don't care what anybody says at this point because I'm doing this for me and my healing. I'm also doing this for all the people I could help who are being emotionally abused; some people may not even know they're being abused—like me—because it's not talked about or recognized as abuse as much.

This is MY story.

Also, if this may be triggering for you, please proceed with caution. If you're not able to get through the whole thing, that's completely okay. However, please know that you're not alone and hopefully knowing that and reading everything I'm about to say—if you do decide to continue—can help and empower you. That truly is the one thing I hope any survivors take away from my post if you are a survivor and you decide to read on.

About My Upbringing

Looking back as a young adult, I was—and still am—constantly told how close me and my father where when I was a little girl. Which I won't deny. It's true. My dad would be nice and playful sometimes. Sometimes he would play with me and my dolls, sometimes he would be nice and give me hugs and kisses and what not, all that father-daughter stuff. But I also remember sometimes he was mean. Like he would get so angry. And those are often the only words that a little girl knows how to use to explain what's happening to her, even if she doesn't fully understand it. But the truth is, children being emotionally abused often fly under the radar because when they're trying to explain what's happening to them in simple words because they don't yet understand what's really going on, what do all the adults in their life say?

"He's just parenting."

And this is how so many abusive adults fly under the radar. They're just parenting. And this is EXACTLY why children—who may really be onto something about abuse, because I'd actually argue children have the strongest intuition—don't question it anymore. And that's why I didn't question it anymore. For now. Because I was told, that's what parents do. Sometimes they yell at you and say things like that because they love you and it's just parenting. Which is why our relationship was fine at the time, because I no longer investigated the way he treated me since I was told it was normal. So I accepted that until I couldn't anymore. And that didn't happen until years later.

But looking back, I remember my dad would always condescend me because I was a child. "You're just a kid, you don't know about all that yet," he would say. And some people may argue that's not condescending or abusive, which may be fair, until that's what you were constantly told when you would try to express your thoughts and feelings. And this actually makes me mad just thinking about it, because even as a child, there were so many things that my intuition was right about—and he just shut me down about it because he had the power to do so.

But I wasn't "just a child", I was smart. And I was right.

I would be so confused as a child because he had such a temper. He would get so angry. So angry at me about such small things, and I never understood why. Yelling at me over the smallest things as a child, that if an adult did, it would actually be no big deal. Telling me he would "tear my ass up" because I accidentally spilled a tiny drop of bleach on the floor, yelling at me because I put soap in my hair when I was little and didn't know any better, yanking my arm and yelling at me to "pay attention" because I accidentally said his phone number wrong when he asked me to recite it back to him. Asking me if I was afraid of him, and when I said yes, he said "good, you should be."

As much as I didn't like it, I had to deal with it because I was a child—and I was powerless. I did find comfort in reading though; I loved to read because atleast reading could provide me with an escape. Some of my favorite books of all time to read as a child (definitely check them out if you get a chance) was A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket because they made me feel so validated. If you've never read the books, it was about three brilliant orphaned children who stayed with an abusive guardian that just wanted their fortune because their rich parents "died" in a fire. In every book, the plot basically revolved around how he would try to take them from their new guardian so he could steal their fortune, but every time the children would try to tell an adult what was happening, the adults did not listen and did not believe them.

The whole message of the books is how no one would listen to the children until it was too late, and I appreciated so much how the author perfectly captured how frustrating it is as a child to feel completely powerless when you know something is not right but the adults will not take you seriously. Even if I felt like no one saw me, I felt like at least the author did—even as a 21-year old, I can still see myself in these kids. I found so much comfort in these books because they made me feel seen; they made me feel like I was not the only child who felt I could not go to the adults around me because they wouldn't listen.

They just wouldn't understand.

When I was a little bit older—around 12 or 13—I didn't read as much as I had liked to anymore, but that was okay because I found comfort in friends as well. I know when I had gotten to this age, my relationship dynamic with my father changed a little bit because I got to the age where everything was changing physically and psychologically for me. So because my needs started to change more, I clashed with my dad a lot more too. There were different things I needed from him at this age that I did not need from him when I was a child. However, he did not give those things to me because he did not believe in mutual respect. He did not—and does not—believe parents should respect their children, but that children should only respect their parents.

When I was around this age, I was starting to become more social like everyone does in early adolescence—i.e. texting, hanging out with friends, etc. One thing I was starting to need more of at this age was privacy. However, I did not get that from my father because he believed privacy was synonymous with secrecy. Privacy was not a right for me growing up. He would routinely tell me to give him my phone so he could read all my texts, I had to have my location sharing on at all times, he would not knock on my door before entering my room (or if he would knock he would just knock and invite himself in), and of course as a growing girl, I did not like this. When I tried to voice this, however, his response was always the same:

"We don't keep secrets in this house."

However, he clearly meant we weren't allowed to keep secrets from him. He was always so paranoid that someone in the house was keeping secrets, and he suffocated me for that. What I also think is interesting to point out here is that it's always the most paranoid people who accusing everyone around them of keeping secrets who are actually keeping the most secrets. And this actually ended up being the case. Keep in mind that everyone in the house had to have their location sharing on at all times except him. For some reason, he was the only one in the house who did not have to have his location sharing on ever. When I would be sleeping, I would sometimes wake up to the sound of the garage opening and him reversing from the driveway. I would text him and ask him where he was going, and he would say "to the gas station" or "to the grocery store". At 2 in the morning, doing God knows what. All I can tell you is that it was a lie—and he was keeping the biggest secret in the house.

As for what the secret actually was, I will not reveal because it's not my place. But just be aware that he was a hypocrite for that—which he always was anyway.

When It All Started to Fall Apart: The Events Leading Up to My Decision

When I was in high school is where things between me and my dad got really bad because that "secret" actually changed the household forever. If he had explosive anger then, I hadn't seen anything yet. My high school years, I would actually argue, is when the verbal abuse was was bad—but the emotional abuse was the worst.

I kid you not, my life was a living hell. He made my life absolutely miserable.

I was in my high school marching band, which inevitably consumed much of my time because it was a dedication of about 20+ hours a week. Although sometimes it seemed like a lot of work, I was happy because it meant that I could be around my friends and I didn't have to go home to my dad—and he resented that. He would talk trash about my friends, the way they looked, their weight, just anything that was out of their control. He would try to isolate me emotionally from my friends by saying things like, "Your friends are temporary, but your dad is the one who's here for you forever. They won't be there for you in the long run, but I always will." Now looking back at it, I think it came from a place of jealousy because I created such happy, healthy relationships with my friends and me and my dad just.. didn't have that because of him. It was very toxic and unhealthy. Also, when I would tell my friends about what I endured under his roof, he would get angry and tell me "my friends didn't need to be knowing all my business about what's going on at home." If I couldn't tell my friends, who else was I supposed to talk to since he would constantly shut me down?

I'll never forget a few (of the many) incidents that happened in high school that really stood out to me; the thing about being abused is your abuser forgets these things, but you remember it like it was yesterday. One time during my junior year, he was dropping me off at school and he notices this girl dressed in all black and says, "Ew, is she like goth or something?" and I was frustrated by this and said, "You don't even know her. You shouldn't judge people by the way they look. That's stupid." And I got out the car to go hang out with my friends.

Five minutes later, I got a call from him and I answered, and I just hear, "Apologize. Apologize RIGHT NOW." And I was like, "For what?" And he said, "You called me stupid."

"I didn't say you were stupid, I said it's stupid to judge people before you even get to meet them."

"It doesn't matter. Apologize to me RIGHT NOW or I will turn this car around."

"Why are you doing all this? I have an exam today—"

"I don't care. I will literally come up to your school, call you out of class, hold you in the office, and embarrass you in front of everyone. I'll make you apologize."

"Okay fine. I'm sorry."

I wasn't.

I just didn't want to deal with his anger issues when I was trying to focus on an APUSH exam, which he clearly didn't seem to care about on top of some issue—where I was right anyway—that could have waited until school was over. And looking back at how absurd this situation was like most of the stuff he blew up over, I regret absolutely NOTHING. I remember coming home that day and my dad being so proud of himself for calling me and threatening me at school. He told me that night, "Did you like the call I gave you at school today?" And I said no, and he responded with, "That's right. You better stay in line."

I also remember another thing that happened where I was literally minding my business. My dad was the one who came up to me trying to say things that he knew was going to make me angry. He admitted to me that he tries to provoke me on purpose because "negative attention from me is better than no attention at all". Anyway, he was saying things that he knew was going to make me angry. And I was already exhausted from school and backed up with homework so I said, "Honestly, I'm not in the mood to fight with you and engage with you right now." And his response was to this was to provoke me even further because he wanted me to fight him. Putting me under mental and emotional distress was entertaining for him, almost like a game. "Speak your mind!" he said, egging me on, "You're not a coward!" And after he wouldn't leave me alone, I did exactly what he told me to do. I spoke my mind.

Shortly after that, my door violently flung open and he stormed in my room and snatched my phone. He began to yell at me. "You're a spoiled little girl. You're SPOILED. You have it so good because you didn't have to grow up the way I did. You have NO IDEA what it's like to suffer!" He also insisted that I should be grateful that he's a good dad to me because "he's never beat me and he provides for me". He then locked himself in his room with my phone and began to read my texts. He was angry at me that he found out I was texting my friends about the way I was being treated behind closed doors as well. After that, I began to cry and my mother and my sister comforted me, telling me that "he can just be mean sometimes."

And the hardest part was that after these blow-ups, he would literally talk to me like NOTHING HAPPENED. And I wasn't having it. Rightfully, I was still angry because parent or not, you're NOT just going to talk to me like that and think everything is fine after. And because I wouldn't forgive him right away, he would gaslight me and make me the bad guy. He would tell me I was being "too sensitive", I was "overreacting", or he would even say "you women can be so hormonal". He would also say "Unforgiveness is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies" in moments where I wouldn't forgive him right away. What's the funniest part is how he would consistently condescend me and say, "I'M the parent, YOU'RE the child. There's a hierarchy there" like it was his personality trait. However, when it came to forgiveness, then I was supposed to be the adult and forgive him right away. The burden of being the bigger person always fell on ME.

It was a vicious cycle; he would constantly blow up on me, act like nothing happened, and then accuse me of being "unforgiving" or "too sensitive" when I did not forgive him for all the hurtful things and behaviors he engaged in right away. And he would constantly apologize and demand I forgive him right away. He would manipulate me into forgiveness, just so he could abuse me again. Sometimes, he would even engage in love-bombing—or showering a person with excessive affection in order to gain control—to make me forgive him quicker. There were usually times when right after an explosive argument, he would send me a direct deposit to my bank account and text me, "Did you get the money?" Other times, he would send me texts about how much he loves me, sometimes it was candy, just any gifts that he could.

The hardest part was that I could NOT name what was happening to me, but I just knew it wasn't right. I started researching, learning everything I could. Then I found a word on Google that I had never heard before:

Emotional Abuse.

I didn't even know what it was until I was 16! I didn't even know it was a thing! But after reading about it, I started to put two and two together. I was going through that the whole time and I didn't even know it! My dad said physical abuse was all that mattered, so I just never questioned it. And since he never really layed a hand on me—aside from spankings and such when I was younger—he took emotional and verbal abuse and RAN with it. He also never let me forget that he "wasn't abusive" because he never physically beat me. Since I was now aware of the signs, symptoms, and effects, I tried to talk to my dad about how he was making me feel.

I tried to communicate, I tried so hard. But it's not easy to reason with an unreasonable person. I would try to tearfully explain to him that I didn't like the way he would treat me and how it would make me feel. And you know what he would do during this? He would roll his eyes, make his hand into a chattering mouth to symbol to me that "I talk too much", and he would LAUGH IN MY FACE. And I would ask, "Why are you doing this to me?" And he would respond, "That's just how I am. You have to deal with it." There would eventually be times where I would feel fed up and tell him I couldn't do this anymore, and that's where he would really try to say anything he could to pull me back in.

"But I'm your dad, family has to stick together!"

"Every little girl needs her dad!"

"But I love you."

"Give me another chance!"

"You need me, and I need you in my life!"

And when I would forgive him again, he would abuse me again. Like clockwork. I knew I couldn't take much more of this, despite trying to reconcile with him over and over in hopes of him respecting me—I desperately hoped for the healthy father-daughter relationship I had always wanted. But he would never fail to show me that, just like with physical abusers, there will ALWAYS be a next time. And there always was with him. Eventually, I'd had enough.

The Breaking Point

I remember this like it was yesterday. I had just finished my first year at UCLA and I had been home for about 3 days on summer break. I remember I was just minding my business watching a TV show because I was really struggling during the Spring quarter and I desperately needed a break from school. However, my dad came up to me and just started criticizing me saying I needed to be productive since all I was doing was watching TV.. when I had just finished my spring quarter of college and I had just come home for summer break. He just started criticizing me and yelling at me out of nowhere. He said, "You're in MY house," which is ironic because he was actually kicked out of the house, he was just allowed to visit, but that's a grandiose sense of self-entitlement for you. Anyway, he said, "YOU listen to ME. I'M the parent and YOU'RE the child." Keep in mind, I was already 18—soon to be 19 at this point—and for the first time ever, I thought to myself: why should I have to sit here and listen to him disrespect me like this? I'm not obligated to listen to someone who's trying to go out of their way to yell at me over nothing. So I got up and said "Okay, I'm leaving." And what he said next I think is definitely one of the most manipulative, controlling things he's ever said to me:

"Well, I hope you're walking to wherever you're going, because that car you have outside is in my name. I bought you that."

If there's one thing I hate, it's when parents hang the things they do for their child out of "love" over their child's head as leverage in an argument. That car was supposed to be a 16th birthday gift that was given out of "love", yet he used it against me to manipulate me into staying and putting up with his abuse. To this day, I no longer accept gifts from him because I will never put myself in a position of debt to him where he can turn around and use a gift I've accepted against me. Also, he wanted me to walk to my aunt's house, which was 35 miles away? Putting his need to manipulate and control me over my safety? Sarcastic or not, this just shows how sometimes parents do things for the sake of abusing their power and controlling you rather than because they want to do what's best for you.

After that, I went upstairs and packed my things. I grabbed clothes to prepare to spend the night—maybe even a couple nights—at my aunt's house. That's where I would always retreat to when I would have issues with my dad. While I was driving on the freeway, I began to cry because I felt very scared, but also so proud of myself that I took the initiative to remove myself from an abusive situation. The first thing I did was I called my boyfriend, Oliver, who I had actually only been dating for about 3 months at the time. He had been back home for summer break already because his school was on the semester system, so he went back in May. He answered my tearful phone call—

"Hello? Baby, are you crying? What's wrong??"

"I think I'm done."

"What do you mean, love, what's wrong? Talk to me."

"My dad. I think I'm finished. I've had enough."

"Is everything okay? Tell me what happened."

So I explained to him everything that happened, and he had even offered to drive down there—a 6-hour drive—and pick me up. But I told him not to worry because I had figured out a system. I had mainly been staying at my aunt's house for a while, even if it meant me going over to her house whenever he came by and going back to my house when he left.

The Reassurance I Needed

Fast forward one year, I was a Pre-Psychology major and Gender Studies minor at UCLA in my Spring quarter of my sophomore year. I did not have student housing in the dorms, so I actually commuted 50 miles to and from UCLA. Since I was commuting, that meant that I was still avoiding my dad; I would have to either lock myself in my room when my dad showed up to our house or I would have to leave anywhere until he was gone. Everything was going fine and the most I had to worry about was school and my assignments, until about week 4 into my Spring quarter.

I got a knock on my bedroom door and it was my mom. "Hi sweetie," she said, "I just wanted to let you know your dad had a stroke last night and he's currently in the hospital."

This had me seriously conflicted.

Those few days were a constant internal battle of "Do I talk to him?" or "Do I not?" I wanted to talk to him because I knew there was a possibility that it could be the last time I ever talk to him, and I wondered if I should get "closure". But on the other hand, I knew he was unpredictable—and he could even end up resurfacing the trauma I worked so hard to heal from. I called friends, I talked to my boyfriend, just getting all the advice I could. And yet, I still couldn't figure out what to do and what was the right thing for me.

After a few days, I had actually received word from my mom that he had discharged himself—against medical advice—from the hospital. She told me he wanted to drive himself to Las Vegas, which is about a 3-hour drive from California. And she said she would actually feel safer driving him to Vegas, so she told me that she and my sister would be gone for that day and part of the next. This meant it would just be me and Oliver at the house until they got back, so he wanted us to watch something fun to try and cheer me up because the past few days had been so mentally draining for me.

And then I told Oliver after talking with a family member, "I think I will try to talk to him. But I worry this won't go very well." So I tried to call my mom—because I had him blocked—and asked if I could speak to him because I wanted to tell him he should probably go back to the hospital. My mom proceeded to tell my dad what I said, but I heard my dad through the other line tell my mom, "I don't want to talk to her. I can't do that right now."

Now, this made me furious. I felt like I couldn't believe what I was hearing. After all I had endured from him, I was the one reaching out to him, and HE didn't want to talk to ME? I asked if she could ask again, and even though my mom was trying to convince my dad to talk to me, he still responded the same way. This time I said, "I'm offering one last time. If he declines again, then that will be the last time because I'm not making this offer again. I didn't have to go out of my way to do this." She told him exactly what I said.

He still declined.

Keep in mind it had been about a year where I opted to have no contact with him for my sake—while the whole duration of the year, I was constantly receiving calls, texts, emails, from him, all from random numbers. The fact that he was doing all this to reach out to me the whole year, and then I went out of my way to talk to him like he wanted—he DECLINED. I was really having trouble processing that. Because that's EXACTLY what I was trying to avoid. Putting myself in another situation where I extend an olive branch to him, and he disappoints me with no consideration towards how hard it took me to reach out and be the bigger person yet again. It reminded me of the constant "push and pull" of our relationship, the "I love you, go away", that I was all too familiar with.

But you know what? I don't regret it.

Why?

Because it gave me the reassurance I needed.

It showed me that no matter what, he's always going to be that way. It showed me exactly where his priorities lie. There is a possibility that my whole family acknowledged—including him, I believe—that he could have died. And he would have been willing to die not talking to his own daughter in that moment, whom he emotionally and verbally abused, and she reached out to him because she was willing to talk to him in spite of all that. And he declined. I won't lie, that resurfaced a lot of my trauma because it was a lot to wrap my head around. But I just decided to sleep on it.

The next morning was actually Easter morning, and Oliver decided to take me out to an Easter lunch. Not just because it was a special occasion, but also because what happened shook me pretty bad and he wanted to make me feel better. He took me to Mimi's Cafe, and we were sitting in the waiting room for quite some time. We were laughing and talking together, and all of a sudden, I see I'm getting a call on my phone for a random number. I ask Oliver if he could answer it, and sure enough, he tells me what I didn't want to hear—

"Babe, it's your dad."

He told me my dad was asking if he could talk to me and telling me that he couldn't talk yesterday because he "wasn't feeling well". Yes, I know he had a stroke, but I still wasn't buying it. He was clearly feeling well enough to discharge himself from the hospital and drive himself 3 HOURS to Vegas, but not well enough to set aside a couple minutes to talk to his own daughter? I couldn't accept that excuse. Not after what he put me through and expected me to put aside. The fact that he declined to talk to me after the years of what I endured felt like the ultimate disrespect. I was somewhat getting over what happened last night, but him calling back made me angry all over again. And that's the thing with him because I said it would be the last time I'd offer to talk to him; he heard that, and still declined to hear from me. Now he's calling me back the next morning with a completely different attitude? This is exactly what I was talking about with the "push and pull", and I wasn't having it—I WASN'T doing this again. AHT AHT.

He clearly has no respect for me and my time—at my big age! I said it would be his last chance, he acknowledged that, and still tried to call me the next day. What he didn't expect was that I meant what I said. It's typical abuser behavior: they don't respect what you say, because they assume they can manipulate you into getting what they want when the time comes anyway. I told Oliver to tell him that I did not want to talk to him at ALL. Oliver told him what I said, and then he told me, "He said he really needs to talk to you" and I told him I didn't care because he had his chance, and he missed it. So Oliver told me he said he loved me, and to be honest—that really had no effect on me whatsoever. As soon as he hung up, I took the phone and blocked that number too.

And it may not have been the closure I wanted, but that was ALL the closure I needed. I was DONE.

This was the reassurance I needed that no matter what were to happen to my dad, no matter how bad I ever feel for him, he will always treat me this way. He will never have respect for me. And I've already done everything I could've to try and make things better, but you really can't reason with the unreasonable.

This is the reassurance that I needed to let go, and move on without him. This was the reassurance to not take the initiative to reach out again, no matter what. And to move on without me feeling guilty that I could've done more, because I already did everything I could've and it still didn't work.

So I won't feel guilty anymore because this is no longer my problem. It's his. He's beyond my help.

I don't have to give him the power to disappoint me anymore. And I can sleep peacefully at night with that.

Making Peace with My Decision: What I've Come to Realize in the Process of Healing

There are a couple things I've learned over the past couple years—and even the past couple days—that have helped me and even empowered me to feel ready to come out about my story.

I think one of the most important terms that I have learned over the past couple days is trauma bonding. Until a few days ago, I thought that meant you were bonding with another person over common trauma. Once I found out what it actually meant, I was able to identify what happened to me. And it helped me come to one of the most important realizations about my abuse.

Trauma bonding is actually when your abuser is abusive to you (physically, emotionally, verbally, etc.), but also follows up the abuse with periods of "love"—i.e. love-bombing, saying and doing nice things, etc. This is one of the most important forms of manipulation because it represents the "push and pull" that I hated so much. They push you out with abuse, but they pull you back in with "love"—making you that much more psychologically dependent on them and connected to them. But it happens in a pattern, so it becomes a vicious cycle of emotional abuse. It makes you bond to your abuser through the trauma they cause you.

TRAUMA BONDING.

When I found out this term, my mind was just BLOWN. I had found a real name for something that had affected me—and still affects me—for so long. It's part of what even makes me feel guilty about putting this out because the trauma bond I have with my father is so deep. And the most insidious thing that trauma bonding does, is it makes you associate the abuse you receive with love. It would be so confusing for me. My dad would blow up on me like the ticking time-bomb he was, and then I would get upset. And then the part that would frustrate me the most is that he would be intentionally obtuse, like "what's wrong?" or "are you okay?" after he would hurt me. It was so confusing because it's like, why do you abuse me and then dry my tears after? It was so bizarre, it was like he had a SWITCH. It makes you think, "well, he can be mean to me sometimes, but he still shows me he loves me." And you want to know the kicker?

This psychological long-term manipulation is exactly why people stay in abusive relationships for so long.

That's why I did too! I was like, "well.. he manipulates me, is excessively controlling, blows up on me, gaslights me, but.. he still is nice to me from time to time." And THAT'S why people stay. In hopes that those few little nice times and short periods of "love" become permanent. And abusers know that. That's exactly how they maintain power over their victims.

And that's what I told myself, that in spite of all those horrible things he did, there were still "good" times—also it's what other people told me—when I knew deep down I hated the way he made me feel. I was suffocated. I was miserable. I used to try to fight back, but that drained the crap out of me because I was still trapped. I would defend myself, even when my voice would tremble, even when I would cry—but it was useless because he would use intimidation and terror tactics to back me into a corner and scare me into silence.

Every time.

Over time, I just stopped trying. It wasn't worth the little energy I had left. That energy, I had to use for myself to keep pushing on and letting everyone else think I was okay. I felt like I didn't have a choice because I did not have the power to fight back anymore. I had tried to fight when I had some fight in me left, but it seemed like he had me in his grasp. Fighting back felt useless—because he abused his power and he would set up these mind games that he would always win.

I was powerless. And he would never let me forget it. Because he made sure I knew that.

I think it was learned helplessness on my part as well; I felt like since I couldn't change or escape my abusive situation, at least I could psychologically condition myself into being okay with it as a coping mechanism because it would let me make the best of it.

But the reality of it was that it really messed me up.

And even through all this, I would sometimes feel bad for him to the point that I would defend him. Until a quote that I heard a couple days ago from Black feminist, bell hooks. Until a quote that empowered me to finally free myself from the guilt and sympathy I had for him.

"Love and abuse cannot coexist."

Love and abuse cannot coexist.

LOVE AND ABUSE CANNOT COEXIST.

I had to say it to myself over and over again when I had first heard it because it might have just been the most powerful thing I'd ever heard. This is what awakened me to the vicious cycle of trauma bonding I was stuck in. I was the one that felt guilty because he pushed me to the point that I could no longer talk to him anymore for my own sake. Because of the nice things he would say and do for me after his abusive rampages. Then I had realized something that I had never realized before:

His love for me was conditional.

Now that I think about it, him showing his love for me was only upon the condition that he was happy. That his life was good. But when things were going bad for him, they had to go bad for me. When he was miserable, he made me miserable. And it took me a long time to learn that that is NEVER okay.

It's NOT normal to feel like you have to walk on eggshells around someone because you're afraid they'll blow up on you out of nowhere. It's NOT fair when someone is showering you in love, and the next minute, they're treating you as a scapegoat for their own problems and as a dumping ground for their own emotional baggage. It's NOT fair that someone takes out their problems on you and blames you for their failures because they refuse to hold themselves accountable. It's NOT fair that someone resorts to controlling you as their little puppet when their own life has spiraled out of control because of the things they've done.

I realize our relationship was never a relationship. It was a dictatorship. It was an ownership. He never saw me as my own person with my own thoughts and feelings, but rather as his property and as an extension of himself. Something he felt entitled to treat how he wanted whenever he was upset with his miserable life. He felt when he was angry, he had a right to express his anger however he wanted—even if it meant taking it all out on me with no consideration on how it would affect me both physically and psychologically. And when he was no longer angry, he would be calm again and act like it never happened and always expected me to do the same.

I couldn't do this anymore. It just wasn't healthy. And it had taken too much of a physical and psychological toll on me. The bridges had to be burned. He hurt me too much.

I could no longer heal in the way that others wanted me to and made others happy. I finally decided to do what made ME happy—for the first time.

So, now—to discuss the decisions I made for my healing.

Will I forgive him?

No.

And that's okay. Often times people try to pressure survivors—I know I was definitely pressured into it by him and others—into forgiving their abusers because "it's the right thing to do" and "forgiveness is for you, not the person who hurt you" or "it's the only way to heal, it doesn't mean you have to reconnect", which can be true for some people. But it's not true for everyone; people tell survivors this as a one-size-fits-all, without actually considering that it may not be the right thing for each individual survivor. I cannot bring myself to forgive him because it was me being pressured into forgiveness against my will that allowed me to continue being abused in the first place. My father would constantly manipulate me into forgiveness, and I have learned to associate forgiveness towards him with trauma and abuse—because that's always what would follow. He always took advantage of my forgiveness to abuse me even further. And there is power in me saying NO. NEVER AGAIN.

Because everyone wanted to push me to forgive, but when there was a "next time"—which there always was—no one wanted to help me because if he did something to betray my forgiveness again, it was my problem and I always had to deal with the betrayal and trust issues alone. Why should I have to forgive him if I know he would do what I'm forgiving him for again? I learned that forgiveness is NOT a mandatory step to healing, and I want survivors to know that. If you decide to forgive, it should be YOUR choice and YOUR choice only. Not something you were manipulated, pressured, or coerced into. And honestly, me having agency in my decision to not forgive him does not make me bitter. In fact, it's what gives me peace and makes me feel that I can finally move on. So I'll never let someone make me feel guilty about that ever again.

Will I consider repairing my relationship with him someday?

Honestly, I've thought about this one for such a long time. And after thinking long and hard about it, I've finally reached a decision.

No.

There is a common misconception about being obligated to have a lifelong relationship with your family members, regardless of how toxic they are. There is a quote that many of us are familiar with:

"Blood is thicker than water."

We typically believe that means that family is your blood, and you have to stick with family through thick and thin, no matter how they treat you. But I'm going to tell you something that may give you a little insight about my decision: that popular quote has long been misquoted, and that's not how the saying actually goes.

The real saying is:

"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."

Now this is important, because this means the exact opposite of the quote that everybody knows. What this means, is that the bonds you form by choice—like friends—can be far more important and substantial than the bonds you have no say in—like family.

This matter so much because my father—like many abusers in family—would often tell me that the bonds I formed with my friends would be temporary, but the bond I had with him would be forever. He believed family always had an obligation to form lifelong relationships to one another, no matter how toxic it was. And this is also what allowed him to abuse me—the fact that he thought I had to be stuck with him for life. And I'm here to tell anyone today who is a survivor of abuse from family, in case no one has ever told you this:

You are NOT obligated to put up with abuse just because it's coming from a family member. Abuse is abuse, no matter who it is.

With that being said, this is the realization I've come to.

The truth about our relationship is that it was always me bending over backwards when he wouldn't lift a finger for me. I was doing all this mental gymnastics to forgive him like he wanted me to—even if it meant suppressing my trauma, and he couldn't even manage to treat me with basic respect. I've learned that if I gave him an inch, he would make it a mile. Whenever I would give him another chance like he would beg for, he would abuse me again. Whenever I let him back in, he would constantly disappoint me. He consistently showed me that he has no respect for me and he never will.

Removing him from my life was the best decision I ever made because I finally felt like there was a weight lifted off my shoulders. I didn't have to be miserable anymore, and I could actually have happy, healthy relationships in my life. If I removed a problem from my life—after dealing with that problem so long—why would I go out of my way to invite it back in? Why would I go out of my way to do something that will guarantee my unhappiness since he's shown me that he isn't capable of changing, just so he could be happy?

No. I've been silent and unhappy for too long. Now, it's my turn for the happiness I deserve.

I just want to say that everyone has a different happy ending, and this is mine. Not all happy endings need to end with reconciliation, and I know that now. Because the truth is, when I tried to reconcile with him, I was never happy. The "push and pull" that he gave me was not true love. I had to constantly beg him for the basic respect that he refused to give me, and no one deserves that. My happy ending actually ended up being me finding the strength to take my power back from my abuser after years of silence and pain. It ended up being me finding the courage to speak out about what was happening for so long, because it was killing me inside.

My happy ending was not him.

My happy ending was ME. And I'm all I need.

I know that in speaking out about this, not everyone will believe me, not everyone will understand the gravity of emotional abuse, and not everyone will support me. That's perfectly okay. Because this isn't about them. It's about me. And although writing this was such a rollercoaster because I felt so many emotions and resurfaced trauma in the process of doing so, most of all—it felt therapeutic. And even though it's scary to put something out there since I've been quiet for so long and I know how people blame survivors for "not coming out when it happened", I know I waited until the time was right for me. Even though I'm afraid, knowing there are people out there who are going through the same things I did is what gave me the courage to speak out about this.

There are people who were brave enough to come out with their stories who helped me. Now I want to share my story to help anyone who is going through the same thing.

If you are a survivor of abuse, this is for you. You will heal. You will overcome. Despite all the people who don't believe you, never forget that you have an army of supporters RIGHT behind you. You know your truth, and so do all of us.

You are SEEN. You are VALID.

I believe you.

This has been MY story.

Thank you for listening, and thank you to all who supported me. I truly couldn't have done this without you.

If you're suffering from emotional abuse, you're not alone. Here are some resources that could potentially help you identify what's happening to you and potential resources for healing.

7 Warning Signs of Emotional Abuse

11 Warning Signs of Emotional Abuse

https://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/relationships/a32490679/emotional-abuse-signs/

You're Not Crazy, but Emotional Abuse Can Make You Think You Are

https://www.betterhelp.com/advice/abuse/youre-not-crazy-but-emotional-abuse-can-make-you-think-you-are/

All About Love by bell hooks

http://wtf.tw/ref/hooks.pdf