Dating an emotionally abused man
Knowing my behavior was considered to be a form of abuse, I was terrified at the prospect of being a monster. It had always taken a lot to make me see red, and yet, regardless of my efforts to maintain control, I was throwing more and more glasses against walls.It had to stop; and so, to avoid the slightest hint of conflict, I made sure to back down early and often. The only halfway legitimate version of an abusive wife I could conceive was that of a 400-pound woman squashing her rail-thin, hen-pecked husband because he forgot to bring home the extra side of gravy she wanted from KFC—fodder for I knew who my baby mama was, and I didn’t need a paternity test to prove that the three boys born during eight years of matrimony were mine. I had been an all-state athlete, an Infantry Captain, and an accomplished corporate executive—positions that required strength and mental toughness.
For almost a year, I agreed to cut off contact with them.
Instead, she claimed that I would only resent her as the reason behind giving up my dream.