The verbal abuse started on the very first day of my honeymoon. I was stunned — confused and overwhelmed. I had experienced emotional neglect and abuse before, but this was something different. This was an entirely new beast, and I was completely unprepared.

For months after we said “I do”, I sat in silence — frozen. Held hostage by the weight of his rage. Sometimes it lasted hours. Other times, days. If I dared to interject or offer a thought in hopes of calming things down, it only made it worse. My words were fuel to his fire.

Eventually, I got angry. Really angry. I wanted a voice. I hated being silenced. I had been passive long enough, and I was determined to stand up and speak out — even if it meant going toe to toe. But when I did, it turned physical. Fast.

And afterward? I felt broken. Horrified. I had never even raised my voice at another human being, and now I was acting in ways I didn’t recognize. I was becoming someone I didn’t want to be — someone I swore I never would be.

That realization scared me more than the abuse itself. It was time to change tactics.

When You Decide to Fight for Peace

I threw myself into research. I read every book I could find. I went to therapy. I joined a women’s Bible study on personal growth. I wasn’t just trying to save my marriage — I was trying to save myself.

One of the most transformative resources I found was The Hear Process by Deborah Moncrief. It laid out what healthy communication looks like through a biblical lens. I memorized entire sections. It became my foundation for healing.

Here’s what I learned — and still believe:

Healthy communication has two roles: a speaker and a listener.

The speaker shares thoughts with respect and vulnerability, often using “I” statements:

• “I feel unheard and scared to share my thoughts, but I want to reconnect.”

• “When you speak unkindly about my family, it deeply hurts me. I need that to stop.”

• “When you raise your voice, I feel overwhelmed. I need us to talk kindly to one another.”

The listener, if they are emotionally healthy, will:

• Thank you for being vulnerable.

• Ask clarifying questions with curiosity.

• Offer sincere apologies rooted in accountability.

• Share a plan for how they’ll do better moving forward.

What they won’t do? Blame, deflect, bring up their own issues in that moment, or minimize your experience.

If someone responds that way consistently, it’s not healthy communication — it’s manipulation.

When Communication Fails, Boundaries Begin

Equipped with this new understanding, I was ready to transform our dynamic with better communication. That’s what love does, right? It forgives, it persists, it hopes.

But it didn’t work.

So I moved to boundaries.

I had no idea what I was doing. I just knew I couldn’t keep sitting through the abuse, and I couldn’t keep reacting either. I needed a new plan.

My first attempt was clumsy but clear:

“If you can’t speak to me respectfully, I will leave the room until you can.”

Seems simple, right? But when someone has no ability — or desire — for respectful communication, it’s not that simple.

What followed was chaos. I found myself literally running — nine months pregnant — out of cars, into public spaces, behind locked doors. I began stockpiling snacks and water in my unborn son’s nursery, planning for the days I’d be trapped again.

Eventually, I realized something: The only real boundary that would keep me safe… was leaving.

When the Only Way Out Is Through

I didn’t have the words for it at first, but I knew I couldn’t stay and still be the person I was created to be. I couldn’t keep compromising my character, reacting to rage, and living in survival mode.

After my son was born, I found the courage to say it: I needed a divorce.

It was terrifying. I was walking away from a beautiful home, a nursery I’d lovingly prepared — into uncertainty. Into homelessness. Into single motherhood. But I also walked into peace. And peace was priceless.

My therapist once said:

“When someone pushes you off a cliff, they don’t get to judge how you fall.”

But abusers do judge it. They poke and provoke until you crack — and then call you crazy for the mess.

That was the end for me. I was done cracking.

The Abuse Doesn’t End — But You Can Still Heal

People with Cluster B personality disorders — like narcissistic, borderline, histrionic, or antisocial traits — don’t change after divorce. The abuse morphs, but it doesn’t disappear. And if you have kids together, they’re still in your life.

That’s why one of the greatest gifts I gave myself was this:

We only communicate in writing.
It’s in our final orders. And it has saved my sanity.

It created space. Space to think. To breathe. To not respond right away. And when I did respond, I gave only facts. Never emotion.

He’d send pages of insults and accusations. I’d reply:

• “See you at 6.”

• “Clothes will be at pickup.”
  If it wasn’t about our son’s care, I didn’t engage.

Over time, I learned to detach emotionally. I stopped trying to make him see, understand, or change. I focused on what mattered — my healing and my child.

You Are Not Powerless

The biggest shift came when I realized: He doesn’t get to define who I am.

I decided:

• I would not match his chaos.

• I would not let him steal my peace.

• I would not let him shape my identity.

Instead, I got up. I made meals. I built a beautiful home. I laughed with my son. I danced in the kitchen. I baked cookies. I chose joy.

And I kept my boundaries firm.

When he erupts, I imagine I’m in customer service. He’s the angry customer. I remain calm, professional, and emotionally detached. I provide the basic information he needs — and then return to my life.

Your Peace Is Worth Fighting For

You may still be in the storm, but hear me clearly: You can heal.
You can take back your voice, your peace, your dignity.
You don’t have to convince him of anything anymore.
You don’t need his validation. You don’t need his change.
You need space. Safety. And truth.

So don’t spend your precious energy trying to fix someone who refuses to take responsibility.
Spend it on you. On becoming all you were created to be.

You are a daughter of the Most High God.
You are not broken — you’re becoming.
You are not lost — you’re finding your way.
You are not alone — you are held.

And you are walking through the fire — clothed in strength and dignity — without fear of the future.

💬 Let’s Stay Connected

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