Nearly 3 years!
Since the fog began to lift.
Since I finally closed the door not just on a man, but on the shadows he brought with him.
It wasn’t instant.
It never is.
People ask,
How did someone like you end up with someone like him?
Here’s the truth:
They don’t arrive as monsters.
They come as everything you ever wished for.
He was kind at first.
Attentive.
Curious.
He echoed everything I cherished faith, connection, depth.
He observed me carefully, becoming the exact person I’d fall for.
And I did.
I had no idea he was damaged.
He told me I had ‘elevated’ him.
That I was the perfect match to his success.
That we were destined to build a powerful life together.
But it was all smoke and mirrors.
Only after the vows were made did the mask begin to crack.
The erratic moods.
The highs that soared and the lows that shattered.
The lies like claiming I was his third wife, when in fact I was his fifth.
This wasn’t a man in need of saving.
This was a man who had mastered the performance.
A calculated predator, who’d done this before
And knew precisely how to ensnare his next victim.
I loved him.
I prayed for him.
I saw the potential.
I believed the person he pretended to be was simply buried under pain.
That if I loved him enough, fought hard enough, believed enough…
He’d become that man.
But narcissists don’t become better.
They consume.
They wear your skin like a shield, all while crafting your coffin in secret.
He gaslit me into doubting myself.
Trained me to ignore my instincts.
And when I started noticing the truth, the threats began.
He said:
“Obey me and there won’t be a problem. Don’t tell anyone how I speak to you not my parents, not your family.”
Then came the cold blue stare. The squint. The rage hidden behind tight lips. The violent tantrums laced with threats and chaos.
That’s how he conditioned me.
To obey.
To hide.
To protect his image, while I withered away behind closed doors.
When I finally gave him an ultimatum to embody the faith he claimed he did.
But only at the bitter end of our 3 years marriage.
Just enough to say he tried.
Just enough to buy time.
Just enough to plan his exit while pacifying me with hollow apologies.
He said, “I know I shouldn’t treat you like this. I’ll be better.”
But ‘be better’ means ‘stay silent while I prepare to discard you.’
And then the man I prayed for I’d never meet again returned in full force
Angry. Blazing.
Claiming God told him to do what he did to me.
And when I endured him, he punished me for surviving.
My counsellor didn’t mince words:
“If you stay, he will kill you.”
Still, I gave him more chances.
Because trauma bonding is real.
Because religious guilt runs deep.
Because I kept hoping the mask would finally become the man.
But it never did.
And now nearly three years free.
Not just blocked.
Delivered.
Not voiceless.
Heard.
Not surviving.
Rebuilding.
I am not the woman who first met him.
But I am more myself than I’ve ever been.
And to those still trapped in that nightmare
Let this message be your sign:
You are not weak for falling for the act.
You are not foolish for staying too long.
You are not bitter for walking away.
You are courageous.
You are wise.
And you have every right to leave.
This isn’t just survival.
It’s resurrection.
And the life that was stolen from me?
It’s returning.