Breaking Free: The Journey from Cruelty to Healing

There was a time when I felt sorry for him. A time when I believed, with all my experience and knowledge as a therapist, that maybe I could help him. Maybe, if I led by example—if I sought therapy myself, engaged in healing programs, and showed him the way—he would find the incentive to confront his own wounds. I wanted to believe that there was something broken inside him that could be repaired, something damaged that could be mended.

But the truth was far darker. His cruelty wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a symptom of unhealed trauma. It was who he was. He didn’t just live with his vindictiveness; he thrived on it. Hurting others wasn’t something he did by mistake—it was what made him tick. Whether it was aimed at my family, at me, or at anyone who crossed his path, his cruelty was persistent, relentless, and calculated.

For years, I saw the pattern unfold like clockwork. A few months of acceptable behavior—not warmth, not love, but simply the absence of overt cruelty. Then, without warning, weeks of emotional torment, stonewalling, and intentional meanness. Even in my darkest hours, when I needed support the most, he was nowhere to be found. Instead, I had to seek comfort from friends and family whenever I could, while the one person who should have stood beside me made a conscious choice to leave me alone in my pain.

The final realization was both heartbreaking and liberating: He never wanted to heal. He never wanted to change. Because, in his world, power and control were more satisfying than love or kindness.

The last six months on my own have been the calmest I have experienced in decades. That doesn’t mean they haven’t been difficult. Coming to terms with the truth—seeing his behaviors for what they really were—has been painful. But with the support of specialists, I have gained clarity. After 32 years of enduring his abuse, I am finally beginning to heal.

It won’t be easy. The financial struggle ahead will be real, and I know he will take pleasure in that. He will find satisfaction in the thought that I may struggle without him, just as he took pleasure in every small act of cruelty during our years together. But here is what he doesn’t understand: He will not destroy me.

He could have, if I had stayed. If I had continued enduring his manipulation, his calculated punishment, his complete lack of empathy, he may have eventually broken me. But I am no longer in that place. I have found my strength. I have found my voice. And most importantly, I have found myself again.

His legacy is one of vindictiveness, cruelty, and control. But mine will be one of survival, healing, and growth. And that is something he will never be able to take away from me.