Love Isn't Supposed to Hurt

by Paul, Christi

  “So are you saying I’m wrong to try to defend myself?” I asked.

  “No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying that if his value in these destructive moments is to be superior to you—to knock you down a notch or to disrespect you—then your trying to change him in that moment will just cause you angst. You can’t change what he values if in that moment he values cutting you down.”

  “So I’ll be most miserable if I try to align his values with my own?” I asked.

  Dr. Case paused for a moment. “If you want to control his screenplay or change how he’s written your character, you could die trying and never change a thing.”

  This was huge.

  In other words, you can’t get caught up in how other people see you, because you can’t control that. Their minds are their own territory. They’ll see you in whatever way works for them. Even if it doesn’t mesh with the way you see yourself. Even if the way they see you isn’t a true picture of who you are.

  The way someone judges you says more about them than it does about you.

  With this revelation under my belt, I knew I had to take control of those voices in my head once and for all. I needed to put a lock on the ugly ones and immediately shift to a kind thought. So I practiced like this: whenever Bitter Betty came to visit my brain, I’d instantly shut her down. If I made a mistake and I started to hear, You idiot! I’d shift my thought to You know, it’s not the end of the world.

  One day on my way to work, I realized I’d forgotten a change of clothes for a photo shoot I had. Bitter Betty kicked in: What’s wrong with you? Can’t you keep anything straight? Then I called a time-out with myself. Let’s try that again: Well, it’s a good thing I left early today. I have time to turn around and grab them. Ah, yes. A much more humane conversation. This takes practice, but it works!

  Dr. Case left me with several questions for homework, one of which was at the heart of what was still hurting me: What is the benefit of being criticized?

  This was a torturous twist to take. My insecurities had been digging roots in this part of my self-image for years. Finding benefits to being criticized meant turning some lifelong assumptions upside down. But as I racked my brain, I was shocked to find what came out of the exercise.

  The Benefits of Being Criticized

  1. It makes me more aware of my own words.

  2. It allows me to view myself from a different angle.

  3. It helps me see how other people approach something.

  4. It helps me to be cognizant of how I approach a person or a situation.

  5. It helps me realize I can’t please everyone.

  6. It helps me see a situation from a different angle.

  7. It teaches me what I can and can’t change.

  8. It helps me recognize that we can see things from different perspectives, but that doesn’t mean one of us has to be wrong.

  9. It teaches me to be sensitive in ways I haven’t been in the past.

  10. It teaches me to be introspective, to search myself for what I really believe.

  11. It gives me insight into the values of the person who’s criticizing me, helping me discern whether he or she is offering constructive criticism or acting out of insecurity or ulterior motives.

  “God, please guide my thoughts,” I prayed. “Give me wisdom and courage and discernment so I know which thoughts are purposeful and which I should discard. Help me choreograph the images and words in my mind.”

  The anxiety I had about how other people saw me and about what Justin had said over the years started to evaporate.

  I am who I am, I thought. I’ve had great relationships in the past, and I’ve had difficult ones. Justin was the most challenging of all, but what he said couldn’t define me . . . unless I let it.

  And I wasn’t about to let it anymore.

  Chapter 19

  Failure Is the Opportunity to Begin Again

  Several days after Christmas, I got a phone call from Justin.

  “Christi, we’re getting audited for the last year we were married. I have the receipts here. Do you want to get together to do this?”

  Oh boy. Here we go.

  A few days later I was sitting in a restaurant at the Biltmore with Justin.

  We shuffled through the receipts we’d kept as we made some small talk.

  Then, inevitably, Justin’s nastiness came out, and he got back on his high horse about how wrong it was for me to leave him the way I did. He told me that “everyone” thought I cheated on him.

  “I don’t care what anyone thinks,” I told him. “You and I both know why I left, and it had nothing to do with anyone else but us. And for the record, I’ll say it again: I did not cheat on you!”

  He softened for a minute. “I know.”

  Let me tell you, I wasn’t remotely prepared for what happened next. The bombshell.

  “But I cheated on you.”

  There it was, unsolicited and cold.

  I could barely process the statement. Not one word came out of my mouth. For a few moments, everything stopped.

  It was like those scenes in the movies where the couple in the middle of the picture is frozen and the world around them blurs into oblivion. There was no longer any buzzing of other conversations or tinkling of silverware on plates. No scent of the salad dressing on the next table or the steaming seafood being prepared close by. All my senses shut down. Just dead silence.

  He finally broke my blackout.

  “I don’t know why I even told you. I guess I wanted to hurt you. Sorry.” He shrugged and looked away.

  I glanced away for a second myself, trying to absorb what he’d just told me. Then I looked straight back at him.

  “Who was it?” I was stone faced.

  Oddly, though, even as I asked it, I realized I didn’t really care. But frankly I didn’t know what else to say. Isn’t that the first thing you’re supposed to want to know when someone tells you they were unfaithful?

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  And he was right. It didn’t matter. But true to form, he wasn’t going to stop there.

  “I remember once we were at a party, and she was there. I was freaking out because I didn’t know what to do!”

  That image of him sweating bullets and trying to juggle his wife and his mistress at the same party was actually mildly humorous to me. I had to admit I wondered if she knew how clueless I was. I wondered how she was feeling that night—if she felt bad at all or if she felt betrayed by him.

  “You know, Justin,” I said, “I guess I’m not surprised. But you’re right. It doesn’t matter. It’s water under the bridge. I don’t care to know the details.”

  We talked a little more about the audit, said good-bye, and left. There wasn’t really anything else to say. My head was spinning, and at that point, all I wanted to do was get away from him.

  I got into my car and just sat there in the parking lot, dumbfounded.

  There was anger, yes. But there was also astonishment. It wasn’t the thought that he cheated on me that baffled me. On some level I had suspected it.

  What blew my mind was all those years of torment and abuse—all that time I’d listened to him berate me and accuse me of cheating, when all the while he was the guilty one.

  Here was the ironic part: Justin had admitted to me that he fessed up because he wanted to hurt me. But it turned out it didn’t hurt me. It freed me.

  In that moment I could truly separate my guilt from my sadness. I still felt bad for hurting him—that would probably never change. But guilt for leaving him? The weight I’d been carrying had finally vanished. His attempt to sink me further had backfired. I was free!

  In that moment I had a surprising reaction. It started as a tiny chuckle. Then it grew into a giggle, and a minute later, it was a full-out laugh. There I was, laughing out loud by myself in the driver’s seat of the car.

  All I could think at that moment was, Thank You, God! And then it burst out of my mouth. “Thank You, God, that I’m
not in that relationship anymore!”

  I admit I was angry, too, but the gratitude was stronger. In fact, gratefulness was oozing out of me. I was almost giddy with it.

  Grateful that I’d gotten the courage to leave him.

  Grateful that I wasn’t tied to him anymore.

  And in a strange way, I was grateful, too, that I hadn’t found out about this while I was still married to him. Or better yet, when I was leaving him. I was acutely aware that if I’d discovered back then that he’d cheated on me, it would have been my crutch. My excuse not to deal with the real issues.

  And make no mistake about it, there were real issues to reconcile.

  I would have hidden behind his infidelity as my reason to leave him. I wouldn’t have felt the need to do the soul-searching I’d been doing.

  How easy would it have been to tell people, “He cheated on me, and that’s why I left”? No one would have questioned me further. No one would have blamed me. But I wouldn’t have faced the truths that I needed to face. I might not have worked so hard to decipher it all. To examine myself, my motives, my part in what went wrong. To appreciate the pit-filled road I took to get to that point. And perhaps most of all, I might not have implemented the changes necessary to make things right in my life.

  The truth is, our marriage didn’t crumble because he cheated. It disintegrated for a multitude of reasons—reasons both of us had to own. And only when we owned them could we finally let go of them and move on.

  I watched the leaves on a palm tree swaying in the desert air. I fixed my eyes on the sky and said again, “Thank You, God.”

  And in that moment, I realized something shocking. I could now say, “Thank you,” to Justin. Well, I couldn’t say it because he wasn’t there. And I didn’t know if I could actually verbalize those words to his face. But I was getting there.

  Our marriage might have failed, but starting that night, I realized it wasn’t a complete disaster. We both grew, we both learned, we both survived.

  Henry Ford once said, “Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again, this time more intelligently.”

  Had I not examined myself and all my broken, warped parts, the “more intelligently” aspect of that statement probably wouldn’t have come for a long, long time.

  We owe it to ourselves to get real. To live genuinely. Fearlessly. Peacefully.

  When all is said and done, I really do wish Justin happiness. I hope he can find fulfillment in who he is—in who God has made him to be. I hope he’ll be surrounded by the people and the values that are most important to him. That he’ll find his best.

  Just like I’m striving to find mine.

  Because life is too short—and God is too good—to settle for anything less.

  Epilogue

  Fast-forward to June 2002, nearly two years after that day when I turned around and walked away from Justin at the airport . . . when I knew in my heart I was saying good-bye. Now here I am on Tunnels Beach in Kauai. To my left is the massive emerald mountain some call Bali Hai, and to my right, about fifty yards down the beach, are sixteen of the people I love most. And far in front of me, the warm, turquoise water laps at the coast.

  It’s my wedding day.

  Dad is at my side as we stand under a canopy of palm trees. “You know, Christi,” he says, “you told me once that I’d always be the number one man in your life. I think it’s time to change that.”

  He smiles at me. “It’s okay. I’ll be second.”

  I smile back. “No. I’ll just have two number one men.”

  I know now there is room in my heart and my life for all the people who matter to me. No numbering required.

  One of those sixteen people waiting for me at the end of the beach is Pete. A man who thinks I’m worth it. A man who was so confident after getting to know me he packed up his Chicago life and moved to Phoenix. A man who patiently waited as I worked to heal my emotional baggage . . . and as I still do. Who supports me, encourages me, and loves me just as I am.

  As Dad and I hear the violinist begin to string the melody of Sara Evans’s “I Could Not Ask for More,” I step barefoot onto the beach, feeling the grainy sand between my toes. I inhale deeply, smiling at the tropical fragrance of sand and orchids and Pacific waters.

  And there he is. With each step Pete becomes clearer. He is standing there with an expression that says, “There you are! I’ve been waiting for you!” He reaches out and takes my hand in his as I let go of Dad’s arm. I pass my flowers to Jen, who winks at me. As I glance around, I see Nan, Sam, and Rachel—all with tear-filled eyes and smiles as big as the horizon.

  I look into the sky and see that some clouds are moving in. We were told that if it rains during the ceremony, it’s actually a wonderful event, signifying abundant blessings for our life together. But let’s be honest, I don’t know if that’s a genuine Hawaiian belief or just a tourist myth they use because it rains like clockwork at this time of day on the north shore.

  Either way, our officiant begins the ceremony as I stare into Pete’s gorgeous blue eyes. And wouldn’t you know, as the ceremony nears the end and Pete says, “I do,” a light mist starts to fall. Dad moves in and holds an umbrella over us as we read our vows.

  “I looked up the meaning of your name,” I say. “Peter means ‘rock,’ and that’s exactly what you are to me. You’re my rock.” I tell him he brings passion and peace to my life and that he’ll always be my number one priority. That he’s the love of my life and I’ll make sure he knows that every day for the rest of his.

  I watch this confident, strong, handsome man pull out a card that he wrote his vows on—which makes us all chuckle. He tells me I’m stunning. That he can’t help but think of the words passion, soul mate, and always when he sees me. He promises to “make every day of our lives as beautiful as this beach and as you are today.”

  I am so entranced by him I don’t even notice that the rain has stopped and streaks from the sun are peeking back over the horizon.

  Then it happens. The officiant says, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Pete gently places his hand on the back of my neck and pulls me in for a kiss. My heart feels so full I think it will burst open.

  Right in this moment, I know I am living a miracle. I am surrounded by people I love, and I get to live my life with a man I trust, respect, and love fully and completely. All is right in the world. I get a second chance.

  One of the most extraordinary moments of the day comes after the ceremony when we’re getting pictures taken, just the two of us.

  We’re sitting in the sand, and I’m leaning into Pete’s chest. The sun is setting on the horizon next to the mountain, and the waves are gently lapping near our feet. As Pete holds my hand, I relish this moment—staring at him and absorbing the fact that I’m his wife. He’s my husband. Our new adventure has begun. What was is behind us. What is is in front of us.

  Here’s the thing: when you get to a point where you’re actually experiencing what you wished for but never thought could be, you have to just let it sink in. You have to dive into that moment with both feet and your full heart in it.

  To get here, I had to choose forgiveness.

  I had to choose to live with an open heart. I had to choose to sit down and shut up and do the work to get to the truth. I had to choose to set boundaries. And I had to choose to live by them.

  Just because we can’t always see the plan doesn’t mean it isn’t already in motion.

  Just because we don’t have answers today doesn’t mean they’re not coming tomorrow.

  And just because we don’t feel strong or equipped or self-sufficient right now doesn’t mean we don’t have it in us to be those things.

  When you’re stuck in the middle of something painful, it’s hard to cling to hope. Not only does it seem impossible, it can also be downright scary. What if what we’re hoping for doesn’t come true? What if our hope for real love, for a life of freedom and choice, is just an illusion? How can we put ourselves out
there like that?

  The real question, though, is, how can we not?

  We can’t let anyone steal our hope, because sometimes hope is all we have. And God wired us with a soul-level need to keep on hoping. Every single day. It’s not reserved for people who deserve it somehow. Hope is here for all of us . . . if we’ll just choose it.

  Hope is God in action. And hope does not disappoint.

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  Writing this book has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It was tough enough to live through it once; the last thing I wanted to do was relive it—in print, no less.

  I want to thank you for taking the time to read my story and to tell you how deeply and genuinely I hope it helps you in whatever battle you’re facing—whether it’s one you’re fighting right now or one you’ve already fought.

  I wrote this book for two reasons.

  The first reason: you. When I was speaking at a luncheon recently and mentioned I was writing a book about verbal abuse, I was astounded by how many intelligent, capable, kind young women came up to me and said, “Thank you for talking about this.” One woman was in the process of attempting to leave an abusive relationship. Another was coping with the loss of a relationship she’d escaped months ago. Yet another nearly brought me to tears when she said, “My dad did this to me. His words nearly broke me.” Our backgrounds might be different, our lives might tell different stories, and our pain might come from a different source, but don’t we all, in some way, know how piercing it is to feel rejected?

  I sit at my news desk time and time again relating accounts of domestic murders, kidnappings, and abuse. After a particularly hideous story about Baby Grace, a little girl who was beaten to death in Texas as her mother stood by, watching her boyfriend kill her daughter, I found myself praying, “God, how do we save these children?” Then it occurred to me—we save their moms. Here’s what I mean by that: we make people strong enough, confident enough, aware enough of their value to say no and walk away when they’re being mistreated or threatened. We encourage, motivate, and lift up people who feel buried under the weight of loneliness.