For the past decade, I have poured myself into therapy, trying to untangle the threads of my 32-year marriage—a relationship marred by physical, emotional, and financial abuse. It has been an exhausting but enlightening process, leading me to an important truth: it was never me. The blame, the manipulation, the cruelty—they were never mine to carry.

Yes, like everyone, I have my own emotional baggage. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to use it as a weapon or as an excuse to perpetuate abuse for decades. Through therapy, I’ve come to understand that I was targeted for my vulnerability—chosen because I seemed like an easy mark. What my abuser didn’t anticipate, however, is that strength can grow even from the most battered places.

Now that I’m finally away, I am beginning to heal. Healing isn’t instant—it’s a long, slow, and often painful journey. But it’s mine, and for the first time in years, I feel hopeful. Therapy has given me tools to rebuild, to understand my worth, and to refuse to accept anything less than the respect and kindness I deserve.

I know the road ahead will still have its challenges. There will be moments of doubt, but I also know I will get there. With every step forward, I am reclaiming my life, my identity, and my future.

Next time—if and when I choose to share my life with someone—I will be stronger, wiser, and unafraid to set boundaries. I will not settle for less than the love, care, and respect that I now know I am worthy of. The past may have left its scars, but it has also taught me resilience. And with that, I am finally free to create a life filled with the peace and happiness I deserve.