Written February 2020
My heart weighs heavy as I have recently discovered that my ex-boyfriend has become a preacher at his church.
Don’t get me wrong, I love God and am incredibly thankful for my salvation—but my heart hurts with this news.
See, my ex-boyfriend was abusive. Not the kind of abuse where he was hitting me, but the abuse that essentially brain-washed me.
Nothing I said was ever good enough.
Ever.
I was always made out to be the bad person.
Always.
He was always right.
Always.
If I wanted to hang out with my friends, he didn’t approve.
If I wanted to stay in to work on homework, he didn’t approve.
If I wanted to go to the gym alone, he didn’t approve.
If I wanted to cook dinner instead of eating out, he didn’t approve.
He made me feel bad If I didn’t want to hug him.
So I hugged him.
He made me feel bad if I didn’t want to kiss him.
So I kissed him.
He made me feel bad if I didn’t want to have sex with him.
So I laid there.
When I asked for my key back, he took it off his key ring and threw it at me.
I told him we were over, he forced his way back into my room and told me that wasn’t happening.
At this point, I was already seeing a counselor on campus for the onset of depression, an increase in anxiety, and self-harm. I told him that I was seeing a counselor and the look on his face will forever be engraved in my mind. He told me I was worthless and a counselor would never be able to help me. This is when my self-harm moved from just my arms to also my stomach and thighs.
My self-harm started to become visible to others, so cardigans and concealer were my bffs. It hurt to wear my jeans. It hurt when my t-shirt brushed my stomach. I cried every time I cut myself (mainly because I was embarrassed), but the pain distracted me from him.
When he noticed the scars and fresh wounds on my thighs, he would purposely put pressure on them with his hands. In bed. On the couch. In the car. Any chance he had to let me know he was in control, I felt his wrath.
My depression and lack of willingness or motivation to do anything led to me failing my graduate classes during that semester. I am a perfectionist and selfish when it comes to seeing myself succeed. I had been given a wonderful opportunity for the next semester and wouldn’t be able to accept that position if I medically withdrew from my current courses. I convinced myself I was superwoman and could bounce back in my online courses. Unfortunately, I was wrong. I went from an exceptional 4.0 graduate student to a complete failure of the semester.
Still believing I had superpowers, I willed through the beginning of summer and had new plans for the next semester. In the process of moving my belongings from one location on campus to another, I literally fell apart. In front of my parents and my ex, I broke. In mid-move, I bawled my eyes out and told them things didn’t feel right. I told them that I didn’t want to live there. I told them I wanted to go home. After a lot of “I don’t understand” and “what” and “why” and “where is this coming from,” my parents finally gave in and started loading my things back into our vehicles instead of up the stairs. I felt the anger everyone had in that moment, especially from my ex…
Looking back now, I realize this was the moment my flight-or-fight response finally kicked itself into high gear. This was my escape. This was my release. This was my way of coping with what I didn’t even realize was happening to me.
He and I kept in contact over the summer, which included a trip to Lake Erie and Cedar Point with a couple of his friends. My great-grandmother fell and fractured her neck on his birthday, which led to an extensive stay in rehab for her. On the day she was able to come home, she ended up in the emergency room. I remember my mom rushing into the living room telling us to get ready so we could go to the hospital. The words that followed still haunt me: “Something is wrong with Ma.” All I could do was scream/screech/cry “what?!” I can’t explain the sound that left my mouth. I set on the edge of my seat, hyperventilating on the verge of a panic attack, clenching my fists. I couldn’t move. I fought so hard to not start punching myself in the legs so my parents couldn’t see that I hurt myself when I’m mad and sad. It was at this moment, though, when I think my parents were scared for me.
After Ma passed away, I expected support from him. I received everything but compassion. I made an excuse, as usual, as to why he was acting that way.
The month after Ma’s passing is when I finally gained enough courage to cut ties with him. I couldn’t bring myself to call him because I knew he would manipulate my words, so I texted him explaining that I didn’t love him anymore and didn’t want to continue our relationship. After a few hours of silence from his end, I received a response that confirmed he wasn’t an honest person or a real man. His response was so delicately written, grammatically correct, and passionate that I knew after the first few lines HE HAD NOT WRITTEN IT BY HIMSELF. How could I know this from over 100 miles away? I used to help him write his undergraduate essays and had texted him for over a year and a half….he was not the type of person who knew where to place a comma, the difference between their/they’re/there, and most certainly was the king of run on sentences and misspellings.
When his response to my breakup message was near perfect, I felt free. I knew it wasn’t him trying to convince me to come back. HE HAD TO ENLIST HELP from someone else to word how much he loved me and blah blah blah. I am still so incredibly proud of myself from not responding, blocking him on my social media accounts, and removing his (what were then our) friends from my social media accounts.
You might be wondering how I found out he is a preacher without having contact with him in any way. We used to sing in a gospel choir together during college. One of the churches we used to sing at posted his “licensing ceremony.” This is when my heart became heavy.
I may not ever understand the actions he took towards me or how that led to him being a preacher, but I hope he’s a changed man saying he is a man of God….because if not, Lord help him.
My heart doesn’t weigh heavy for myself right now; it’s for those currently in his life. I pray he isn’t putting on a front in church. I pray he isn’t putting another person through what I went through. I pray his church congregation can see right through him if he isn’t genuine with his sermons. I pray his intentions as a preacher are messages from God, and not something he’s just choosing to say. I pray that God sets him straight. I pray.
I want to encourage you to reach out to those that you feel may be in harms way. They may not be able to see it right now; they could use your help to see the light that leads them to the truth. I finally saw my light, a little too far in, but at least the light found me.
Anyways, my heart weighs heavy tonight and so I pray.
– SJ
Original piece: February 2020
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