Welcome to March.
Silence as oppression, stories as liberation
There’s a story I’ve been trying to tell, but I haven’t yet been able, for each time I try it grabs my throat, clamps down on my neck, and won’t let me speak. I am ashamed and afraid of my story. It’s one many of you know.
My boyfriend, my ex-boyfriend, abandoned me. He used, abused, then abandoned me, and I’m embarrassed about it. I’m afraid to tell my story because I’m afraid people won’t believe me. I’m afraid people will say it’s my fault. I’m afraid because for a long time I thought it was my fault. That’s the story I know: Women should know better. Women aren’t believed. But I can feel the fear, and I can act anyway. For I live for the truth of things. I live for love. I lived with a psychologically and emotionally abusive boyfriend for eight months. I couldn’t see things for what they were until a long while after. I gave him every benefit of the doubt; he swept me off my feet, and I was so in love, so committed despite our complications and histories.
Then, the week before Thanksgiving, I came home from work and found all of his things gone. A note on the kitchen table. The bookshelves like gap-toothed kids, forlorn their father had gone and upset the tooth-fairy was a myth. Who does that? What kind of person does that? Ghosts their girlfriend of sixteen months? Conducts a break-up via note, via scrap paper laid upon the table you’d bought together, shared together for eight months? Not the person I fell in love with… or had he been capable of that all along? What did I miss?
I’ve now grown accustomed to living with questions like that, ones I’ll never find answers to; they haunt me like mini ghosts, little spawns of him—flotsam not always in my field of view, but forever circling, diving into my psyche at will, taunting my emotional spaces and assaulting my psychology—in this way, his abuse continues. I continue to doubt myself whenever I dwell on these questions. Why why why why and how in the fucking world? The questions spin me around and I am reminded of the hours, those long midnight hours that I’d spend trying, trying, trying to defend myself against his tirades of mistrust. His threats to leave me if I didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t prove my love.
I can dwell upon, resist, or ignore these questions (how could he have done that? what did I do?)—but no matter, I cannot make sense of much. It’s like being handed an unsolvable equation that nevertheless demands to be solved—demands to be balanced and rectified—demands to be dealt with in a way that makes you feel like it should be solvable, if the equation wants to be solved that badly. So you feel crazy or bad or stupid for not being able to make any sense of it, let alone solve it. How can someone love and hurt you? When something feels good, how can it be bad? Is the universe so audacious?
I fell in love with someone who, for a year, regularly told me he wanted to father my children; he moved across our state for me; he begged me to hop in the fast lane of life with him… then when the car crashed, he abandoned the scene. Within three weeks of ghosting me, he had deleted us and me from his digital life—all our photos on social media vanished—and he began a new account to publicize his new business: a boudoir photography company he’d made to “empower women.” Everything related to our relationship over the last sixteen months was gone—erased like he was the director of a sci-fi drama based on our lives, recasting lacy cyborg models in my wake. Only we’re all human here. And the consequences are heartfelt. I’ll never know why he made these choices.
It took me two months to get ahold of him. He owed me some money, and I needed a few books back. The way he has treated me—hiding and shielding himself, erasing his tracks—makes me seem like an inane predator; with all his gaslighting, it had made me feel like one, too. And I suppose I could be, but I’m not, because, well, civility. I want to be human. But I can see so clearly now that throughout our relationship he didn’t treat me like the human woman I am. And I didn’t stand up for myself, not enough anyway. As I said, I gave him every benefit of the doubt, and he used up every ounce of muscle in my big, open heart. We were two struggling humans. Sometimes he’d hold my hand while I flailed; other times I held his. But mostly he stood there and demanded more from me. I’m used to this dynamic, thanks to all the coaches, editors, and teachers in my life, so I dug in my heels and I tried harder. I did more. I tried so hard! And for a long time I believed that I deserved to be the object of so much criticism—this a dynamic familiar, too, given my life as, a woman, a writer, a daughter, a dreamer; people have always made their opinions of me clear, and I’ve been asked countless countless countless times to change to fit the ideals of others. My therapist has told me that I withheld things from her (abusive scenarios featuring him)—but it’s not that I withheld, it’s that I didn’t know the scenarios were noteworthy. I didn’t see the scenarios as abusive. I didn’t believe myself. My gut. I thought I deserved to be treated in all those ways. But who deserves to be ghosted?
When he left so suddenly, so much came crashing down. Do you know what it feels like to break your own heart? The cracking is different, deeper and sharper, since the only way I think it can happen is when your thinking brain and your subconscious are both distracted, so tangled up in trying process some external confusion (like a partner who chronically gaslights you)—that your guards are down, and your alarm batteries worn out, all fried—so you abandon yourself, striking out with the first crack—and you keep going. But where do you go? You’re an empath, and that external confusion is what’s most pressing, most consuming after all, so you abandon yourself in service of it—something that doesn’t quite add up but remains existing, demanding nonetheless—and so you morph yourself, gone as you are anyway—and in this way you make the equation something possible—possible to balance, to rectify, to assemble some sense—because even the illusion of sense is better than no sense when nothing makes sense—all of which means the destruction that comes from breaking your own heart, from abandoning yourself, is delayed. The pain waits, and only once your function in the equation, or the morphing you undergo make it work, does it come—it comes in streaks of hot ire as you realize what you’ve done—how you’ve abandoned yourself, and how much work it’ll take to make your way back. It’s humbling, this pain—demands sobriety, acknowledgment, self-reckoning, and more. But it’s a beginning. Patience. The start of a journey back a self. Myself. Sharing parts of this story is also part of my journey back. My ex called me crazy enough times for me to believe it so everyday I remind myself I’m not. Everyday I choose myself. I’m not afraid of my intensity, my capacity for growth. When I am aligned in myself and my values, I am of the greatest service to the world. I can help the most, rejoice the most, surrender the most—states I’d love to experience more.
Accepting the reality of my abuse took months, took reading the stories of others and taking a deep breath when their stories resonated with mine. When I saw the same scenarios and dynamics I’d lived in others’ words, I saw the scenes differently—more accurately, objectively, and terrible. I saw myself in them and it helped me see my own truth. As stories have helped me, here’s mine for the chest of public good. Exposing our horrors is one way to dispose of them. I am still haunted by his ghosts, by the questions he’s left in his wake. But I’m strong enough to face them, to withstand fear again, to feel the fear and speak anyway. For the antidote to shame is light, and to break this spell requires speech. There is so much work left to do in our collective vision of liberation, and I’m so glad to be lighter, to be freer for more.
WHAT I’VE BEEN READING
A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah Maas
The Book of Love by Kelly Link
White Cat, Black Dog by Kelly Link
A Woman is No Man by Etaf Rum
Death Valley by Melissa Brodeur
We Do What We Do in the Dark by Michelle Hart
Cross Stitch by Jazmina Barrera
Tinkers by Paul Harding
Angela Carter’s Classic Fairy Tales of Charles Perrault
You Could Make This Place Beautiful, a memoir by poet Maggie Smith:
The Man Who Saw Everything by Deborah Levy
Martyr by Kaveh Akbar
Already Enough by Lisa Olivera.
“I am admirable for being willing to free myself from my story.”
“I am human for struggling, and I am incredible for making space for my fullness.”
Kate Chopin’s short story "The Story of An Hour" (my favorite of hers!)
’s account of “The first time I remember my rage slipping out” in her recommended newsletter Feelings Not Aside: “I know the exasperation that comes from being a woman trying to bury her anger. I, too, have learned to laugh at the times my rage has slipped through the cracks of a carefully composed demeanor, one so many women are familiar with.”
WHAT I’VE BEEN LISTENING TO
What a bounty of new, excellent music these last two months!
The Beaches: “Edge of The Earth” and “Me & Me”
Kacey Musgraves’ new album Deeper Well—my favorites so far: “The Architect” and “Heart of the Woods”
A breakup playlist I made for my fiesty heart: “mi poder”
“Baraye,” the de facto anthem of the 2022 Mahsa Amini protests in Iran, which Shervin Hajipour wrote in response to Mahsa Amini's murder by the Iranian morality police. Baraye means “for” and the lyrics stack in beautiful, yearning odes: “For my sister, your sister, our sisters / For changing rusted minds / … /For this forced heaven / For the imprisoned elite students / For the Afghan kids / For all these “for”s that are beyond repetition…” (thanks, Carly!)
From my trashy cowgirl persona: “No Caller ID” and “Halfway to Hell”
From my angsty feminist rockstar persona: Rainbow Kitten Surprise’s “Superstar” (and The Beaches!)
From my soul-full heart: MaMuse’s “Chico Gospel” and Ahh Blackwood’s “You’re Gonna Be Okay” (thanks, Emma Pauken!)
For those who need a new Zach Bryan-esque fix: “Straight and Narrow” and “The Other Side”
I’ve loved Noname for years, and her Tiny Desk performance enamored me all the more—she’s so fun and a taaaalented rapper.
WHAT I’VE BEEN WATCHING
(⭐️/5)
Insecure ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ There’s much to love about this show! Witty and clever, it’s emotional range is *chefs kiss*.
The Company of Wolves ⭐️ Ah, can’t exactly recommend this 1984 film… I cringed far too many times, but sure, part of me enjoyed the cheesy 80s effects and the strange acting. I watched the film because the great twentieth-century fairytale writer, Angela Carter, wrote the screenplay, which she adapted from her short story of the same name. Unfortunately neither the dialogue nor the narrative direction were very compelling, but the story is an interesting take on Little Red Riding Hood’s fable.
WHAT I’VE BEEN EATING
Thanks to Nana and Jake, I’ve been eating heartily in New Mexico—they buy part of a local cow every year and slowly eat the bounty piece by piece. I’ve had some of the best steaks, and we’ve made carrot salads from the last of her 2023 seedling harvests.
Nana’s Graham Cracker Yum-Yum, a staple when I’m here: Take a glass of milk, crumble in a sheet or two of graham crackers, eat as much as you can with a spoon, and savor the cinammon-toast-crunchy milk at the end.
WHAT I’VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT
WHAT I’VE BEEN LEARNING
How to understand and acknowledge and resist the various forms of war and oppression/suppresion happening around the globe.
Gua Sha self-face-massage as a way to relieve tension in my jaw, neck, and face using a flat stone that you glide in long soothing strokes, using particular patterns to engage your lymphatic system. It’s a self-care tool that predates the Bronze Age! This was a helpful YouTube tutorial: Gua Sha for Beginners. At any point in the day, doing this has significantly helped relax my jaw (stress!) and relieve the tightness bundled around my neck (stress! moving!)
WHAT I’M LOOKING FORWARD TO
The open road! The ocean! Hot springs! Live music! Making photos! Audiobooks! Phone calls with friends! Camping! Good food! The moonless stars! Paco’s head and tongue hanging out the window! Singing and dancing in the wind!
Catch you on the flip side.
xx Emma
What’s been tickling your senses this month? Leave a comment or hit the reply button!
What a powerful personal reflection. Thank you for sharing. Much love to you!
I came across this quote recently, and it's been my mantra. I think you'd like it:
I didn’t become selfish. I just became harder to manipulate.
This is one of the best pieces of writing I've read in a long time. I'm so sorry for what you went through. Thank you so much for sharing your truth and story (and for the shout out). "Exposing our horrors is one way to dispose of them... for the antidote to shame is light, and to break this spell requires speech." 1000% yes to this. xo