Love Isn't Supposed to Hurt

by Paul, Christi

  When I sent the list to Dr. Case, I got a response that stirred me. “I honestly have a tear of inspiration in my eye after reading this again,” she wrote. “There is a lot of wisdom here. It sounds like you have been given a gift of freedom combined with a new appreciation for what you have.”

  Then Dr. Case pushed me even further.

  “If you could say something to Justin now, would it be ‘Thank you’ rather than ‘I forgive you’?”

  I thought about that for a second. “I’d have to say I would tell Justin I’m grateful for the time we had together because it taught me so much. There is a part of me, however, that would want to hold back the ‘thank you’ because I never saw him take responsibility for his actions in our relationship.” I remembered how he would deflect any blame of his own and shoot it back at me. “If I thanked him, I think it would only add to his narcissism,” I said. “He’d twist it into taking credit for helping me.”

  I didn’t want Justin to suffer. I truly wanted him to be happy. But from my human perspective, I also wanted him to own up to his own actions and accept how they contributed to the breakup.

  I took a deep breath. What a breakthrough! This kind of mental work was, indeed, fatiguing, but it was also pivotal to healing. It was the only way to be freed from the teeth of the animal that was still gnawing away inside.

  Chapter 16

  God Has No Limits

  I could sense that not only was my mind opening but my heart was too. Bit by bit, I was allowing myself to believe. To accept that I could live differently. The shackles from the verbal assaults were finally starting to loosen their grip.

  Believing that things can change is one of the most daunting choices we’ll ever have to make. But this hope is necessary, because it’s the first step toward putting change in motion. Whether it’s our circumstances or our perspective, a transformation will take shape.

  I thought back to a couple of weeks before, when I was driving home after a difficult confrontation with Justin. He’d called to give me grief about a couple of things we still couldn’t agree on in the divorce. As I was processing all the hurtful things he’d said to me and trying to muster the strength to make it through, I stopped at a traffic light and let out a big sigh. Then I looked up, and through teary eyes, I saw a bumper sticker on the car in front of me. It said, “God has no limits.” It was a tangible reminder to me that things could change—because no matter how big my problems were, God was even bigger.

  A couple of weeks later, as I crawled into bed, I opened my devotions for some last inspiring words for the day. What I read was a beautiful reminder of how little I have control of and how vast and promising God is, even when I have no idea what’s coming.

  Then I came to a line that might as well have been written precisely for me. The words by A. J. Russell read, “Just go step by step. My will shall be revealed as you go. . . . Never limit my power. It is limitless.”

  My eyes were as big as saucers. I’d walked through my whole thirty-one years of life, never once having heard that phrase. And here it was for the second time in two weeks, blaring right at me. Obviously God was trying to tell me something, and that something, I think, was, “Relax. And believe.” I needed to let God do His thing in my life without trying to control it on my own.

  “God, help my unbelief,” I whispered. “And thank You for not confining me to the limits I put on myself.”

  I needed to hang on to that message, because the next night wasn’t so peaceful. Once again I was fielding phone calls from Justin, who was saying heinous things about me and my whole family, cursing the entire time. He was making fun of where I came from—my sweet, little town—saying it was going to die out and become nothing, just like me.

  He accused me of sleeping around, of not being good at my job, of being a joke to people in town. I felt my neck getting warm with anger, and my shoulders started shaking with that old fear. He went on to say that a couple of his friends had told him he was better off without me. They said they couldn’t understand why we’d gotten together in the first place because, basically, I wasn’t in his league.

  I finally told him he was being pathetic and hung up on him—twice. But I couldn’t disconnect from the anger that was raging in me now. How could I ever have been with a man who said such spiteful things? Who seemed to take such pleasure in attacking me?

  It was baffling to me that someone I’d once been so in love with was now someone I couldn’t wait to get away from. How does that happen? How can one person provoke such diametrically opposed emotions? How do we end up making such inexplicable choices about who to let into our lives?

  I don’t know the answer to that, but I do know that although we can’t change what happened, we can certainly learn to recognize the good that came out of those decisions. And somewhere, in some way, there’s a valuable lesson in every whacked-out situation we experience. If we’re willing to dig deep to find it.

  In an attempt to resolve my anger, I turned to my new assignment from Dr. Case: “Find one hundred benefits to Justin’s verbally abusive, intimidating, power-seeking behavior.”

  Who was she kidding? One hundred? I’d be lucky to find one! I continued reading.

  “Yes, one hundred.” Obviously this woman could read my mind. She knew when I saw that number, I’d assume she was off her rocker. “Specifically, how did his persona benefit you and help you define your highest values?”

  She gave a word of warning: “Caution: a benefit isn’t ‘avoiding him’ or ‘knowing I’d never be like that.’ Put the benefits in words of real value that don’t support your current perception that he’s bad.”

  Ugh! In the famous phrase of Seinfeld’s Elaine, “Get out!”

  This seemed utterly impossible.

  I sat there with my head in my hands. How could verbal abuse possibly be beneficial to me—or to anyone?

  I urged my mind to view this from another angle. It’s hard to make a mental shift when you’ve been approaching things from a place of pain for so long. But this is the hard truth: we can’t erase what happened to us. Whatever giant we’re battling, whatever it is we’re fleeing, whatever injustice we’re trying to get over, it happened. We can’t change that. But we can change what we take away from it. We can change how we let it affect us. It doesn’t have to rule our lives. But we’re the only ones who can cut that rope to free ourselves.

  I allowed my mind to go back to some of those humiliating moments with Justin—the verbal beatings, the words I couldn’t bring myself to repeat, and the immense shame I felt—not just in the moment of verbal impact but afterward.

  Then I moved my thoughts from those moments to the one I was in now: a peaceful place where I didn’t live in fear.

  Suddenly I recognized that the hideous words helped drive me to where I currently was. Here I was, alone, and to my surprise, that was good.

  I sat in front of the computer and wrote, “Benefits of Verbal Abuse.”

  Even writing it felt sick on some level. But I forced myself to view this from a new angle. The typing started slowly this time, interspersed with moments of silence. But gradually the thoughts started flowing more steadily until they were downright spirited.

  Benefits of Verbal Abuse

  1. Brought me closer to God

  2. Helped me really appreciate my family

  3. Helped me redefine what security means

  4. Helped me recognize my need for a role model

  5. Helped me pray more

  6. Helped me learn boundaries

  7. Helped me realize the importance of words

  8. Encouraged me to confide in my friends

  9. Shaped my view of myself as an individual who is meant for more than abuse

  10. Helped me realize that I was not serving God in my relationship and that I wanted to seek ways to serve Him

  11. Helped me be more empathetic to people in similar situations

  12. Encouraged me to reach out to people in similar situations
>
  13. Ultimately softened my heart

  14. Helped me appreciate my friends more

  15. Encouraged me to be introspective about myself and my motives

  16. Expanded my capacity to forgive others

  17. Expanded my capacity to forgive myself

  18. Released me from being so critical of my shortcomings

  19. Helped me learn I’m not a bad person

  20. Solidified my belief that second chances do exist

  21. Helped me overcome my fear of being alone

  22. Encouraged my independence

  23. Taught me humility

  24. Taught me to love myself

  25. Taught me the value of communication—both words and actions

  26. Helped me realize the importance of selflessness

  27. Taught me that others are kind and willing to help

  28. Taught me to fight for what I know is right

  29. Helped me realize other people aren’t blind to people’s pain

  30. Taught me that the most important things in life aren’t things

  31. Taught me that money is not security

  32. Taught me that I’m not my mistakes

  33. Showed me that my mistakes don’t define all that I am

  34. Showed me I’m worth something to others

  35. Prompted me to work harder at my career

  36. Prompted me to care more about my health

  37. Prompted me to take better care of myself emotionally and spiritually

  38. Helped me reach out to others for help

  39. Helped me appreciate silence

  40. Helped me make wise decisions about who to let into my life

  41. Helped me take notice of people who don’t have my best interests at heart

  42. Helped me appreciate and seek authentic relationships

  43. Helped me realize I am responsible for only myself

  44. Helped me realize I can’t control anyone else or any situation

  45. Helped me take a deep look at who I want to be

  46. Helped me trust God

  47. Gave me strength to walk away from harmful situations I can’t control

  48. Taught me that I’m compassionate

  49. Taught me that it’s possible to heal from any circumstance if it’s handed over to God

  50. Taught me to fend for myself

  51. Helped me realize what I will and will not allow in my life

  52. Taught me that I’m more intelligent than I give myself credit for

  53. Taught me I’m stronger than I thought I was

  54. Taught me to listen more

  55. Taught me that I’d rather be alone than be with the wrong person

  56. Taught me to value myself

  57. Taught me to value my relationships

  58. Taught me who I don’t want to be

  59. Taught me to realize that nothing is ever hopeless

  60. Taught me to take responsibility for my actions and words

  61. Taught me to be calm in the midst of harrowing situations

  62. Helped me to never give up on others

  63. Helped me face my fears

  Well, it wasn’t one hundred, but it was a good start.

  I perused my list again and saw a few themes.

  First of all, there was a new independence in me. I was becoming a strong woman who was overcoming my fears and wasn’t afraid to take chances. Because let’s face it—leaving a marriage is taking a chance. But I knew in my case it was a chance worth taking.

  Second, there was a theme of gratitude in this list. Gratitude for the people I knew, the things I’d learned, the boundaries I’d identified. I was a little surprised to find I was now exuding gratefulness.

  The third theme I saw was forgiveness. As I searched my list, I realized there weren’t any bitter words or biting accusations. I didn’t write, “I learned never to allow an idiot into my life again.” Forgiveness didn’t mean denying what had happened. It didn’t mean rewinding the past and blacking out the hurtful words that had been said. It didn’t mean pretending there was no longer any pain. But it did mean I could use this experience to grow. To find guidance. To be strengthened. To heal.

  One night as I lay in bed reading, I was again wrestling with guilt for leaving Justin. I struggled with feeling so fulfilled and free while he was obviously hurting.

  I opened my book to read, and I immediately came across a line that pierced my soul: “The fact that we forgive someone does not mean that we can never leave that person.” The book went on to talk about the difference between a safe partner and a dangerous partner. If someone truly loves you, he doesn’t knowingly put his foot in your way to trip you, and he doesn’t criticize you for being a klutz when you fall. Instead, he can see when you’re trying and won’t punish you if you fail.

  I felt like the author was looking straight at me! As I read the passage again, I had no question which category my relationship with Justin fell into. He was a dangerous partner for me.

  My mind faded back to a Sunday afternoon a few years before. I was sick and needed to go to a clinic, but Justin wanted to stay home and watch football. As I walked out the door, he called after me to let him know if I needed anything.

  We’d just moved to Phoenix. I didn’t know a soul.

  The clinic’s doctor thought I’d suffered some sort of poisoning from paint fumes, and he sent me to the emergency room at a local hospital. In the packed waiting room, I called Justin to tell him where I was. He simply said, “Okay, well, call me if you need anything.” I just stood there staring at the phone.

  Then I called my father because I needed to hear a comforting voice. I played it down, telling him this was no big deal—that I just wanted to tell him what was going on.

  I hung up, walked over to a chair in the waiting room, and sat down. As I sat there, surrounded by a bunch of people I didn’t know, in an unfamiliar city, waiting to see a doctor I’d never met, the isolation and emptiness started to overcome me. And worst of all, my husband was nowhere to be found.

  I was surrounded by people, but I was alone.

  I felt worthless.

  A short time later, Justin walked in and marched over to me. “How are you feeling?” He was clearly annoyed.

  “About the same. I’m glad you’re here.”

  He plopped down in a seat next to me and looked right in my eyes. “You didn’t have to call your dad!” he hissed.

  Oh. Now I got it. He came because my dad called him.

  An hour later, after X rays and examinations, the doctor told me I had pleurisy.

  “It’s an infection in the lining of your lungs that makes it feel like knives are piercing your chest and back with every breath,” he said. “It’s a virus, so I can only give you medication to try to alleviate the pain. I’m afraid you also have pneumonia. I think we might need to admit you to the hospital overnight.”

  I watched Justin’s face morph from agitation to confusion. His demeanor changed completely, as he sat up from his slumped position and his ears perked up. Suddenly I realized that he hadn’t believed me until now! He thought I’d been lying or embellishing things. And I wondered, How much weight do my words hold with him? Does he believe me? And does he even care?

  As I thought about Justin in terms of safe or not safe, another moment from our marriage popped into my head. I’d been working at KTVK for a mere six months when I did a consumer piece about furniture—comparing prices between two stores that sold the same product. The store that had been inflating their prices pulled their advertising after the report, and I had to give a deposition to our station attorney the next day. I was sweating bullets! Now, the store wasn’t claiming my story was wrong, just that it was damaging to them. I knew I’d done my job and had done it well, but it was still nerve racking.

  When I confided to Justin about my raw nerves, I thought he’d understand—maybe even give me a little reassurance. But here’s what I got: “For Christ’s sake, if you can�
��t handle this business, then just quit! If you can’t hack it, you should get out and find something else to do!” I sat on the couch, stunned. So much for moral support.

  Once again that feeling of worthlessness soaked into my bones.

  The store never resumed advertising with our station, but my bosses and the general manager stood behind me. Phil said, “You did everything right, Christi. They’re just ticked off because you called them on the carpet.”

  Funny, my boss had my back, but my husband didn’t.

  A safe partner builds you up. A dangerous one tears you down. I knew full well what the latter felt like: fear.

  Fear lived with me for four years. It sat dormant for a while, yes, but it followed me, like my shadow, just waiting for the next bout of drunkenness or fit of rage to swoop in and terrify me. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that fear didn’t automatically go away just because Justin did. But I knew I needed to work on releasing it so I could live the authentic life I craved. We owe it to ourselves to loosen the grip of that fear. Love doesn’t have to hurt. It shouldn’t. Not like it did with Justin.

  Every time he drank, that angst would kick in for me. I think once someone lays a hand on you or even threatens to do so, the fear that he’ll do it again never vanishes. Especially when the origin of the anger—his drinking, in our case—is still present. When you don’t take the cause out of the equation, you can’t take the fear out of it either.

  Love doesn’t guarantee that your feelings will never be bruised or that you’ll never be angry or upset. But love should offer both people a safe place. Physical, verbal, or emotional abuse is not love. Period.

  God didn’t put us on this earth to live with someone who steals our joy and our security, whether that’s through words or violence. That isn’t our destiny.

  A couple of days and several nasty phone calls later, I was about at my wit’s end. Justin had been calling at night with his usual threats about how he had deep pockets and he’d make me pay for this divorce. I usually just hung up on him, but that morning I heard a different Justin over the phone.