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Chapter 1: The Decision to Leave
I’ve kept a significant part of my story hidden, even after years of writing as a relationship columnist. This detail, though personal, holds a much deeper significance.
"I'm leaving him," I declare.
"You can’t be serious," my friend responds.
"I truly am," I insist. "I never wed the man I dated for six years. I endured his coldness and cruelty during our first eight years of marriage because it left me bewildered. The great guy I dated seemed to have vanished. That unbearable cycle repeated itself multiple times a year. Marriage counseling helped for a while, but I vowed never to go back to that life."
"No," my friend counters. "You can’t actually leave him."
"I warned him that I wouldn’t accept that cold cruelty again," I reply. "The pattern has returned, and it’s happening too often now. This is not just a minor issue; it’s his true nature. He only managed to control it for those six years following counseling."
My friend, who has known us since our twenties, is taken aback by my seriousness.
"I’m making arrangements," I say. "I’ve emotionally checked out. I never would have married a man who treated me this way. If I had been dating him during those first two years of marriage, he would never have seen me again."
"I can see you’re done," she acknowledges.
"I’ve tried talking to him," I explain. "He’s unreachable. It’s lonely being with him."
For the first time in years, I feel a sense of relief.
As summer begins, I find myself at the Jersey Shore with my husband. We go out for dinner, but I’ve already spent months discussing my feelings with him. During our initial counseling sessions, I made it clear that if he ever treated me like that again, I would be gone. Now, the situation has worsened, and I feel isolated.
He is absorbed in his own world. At this point, we don’t yet have a diagnosis of narcissistic personality disorder; that revelation would come years later. My husband is silent, clearly aware of my emotional detachment for the first time. He seems as shocked as my friend.
Something within me has shifted. I’m still young, with a lot of self-respect, but I know I will lose some of that self-worth if I continue to feel sorry for him. This is why I share this part of my story—something I’ve kept to myself until now.
Chapter 2: Lingering Doubts
The summer passes in a haze. As the school year begins, I prepare to leave. I feel guilt, but I remind myself that he has mistreated me one too many times. We coexist under the same roof, but my feelings have faded completely, which surprises even me. My college sweetheart and once-best friend no longer holds any sway over my heart.
I’ve told him I would not tolerate that cruel cycle again. I’ve expressed my loneliness in our marriage and my dreams of meeting someone who truly cares about me. However, he shows little concern for how he’s treating me and becomes angry when I voice my feelings of loneliness.
One day, I notice something alarming: he’s losing his hair. I understand the cause—he’s stressed about the prospect of me leaving him. This realization makes me feel sick. He’s young and has always had thick hair, but it begins to thin shortly after I express my desire to leave. It’s not a coincidence.
Chapter 3: The Transformation
I start to feel a wave of guilt. I had never apologized for wanting to leave before this moment. I’ve already given my marriage more than it deserved. If I had merely been dating him during those first two years of marriage, he would never have seen me again. But witnessing the physical manifestation of my decision weighs heavily on me.
Incredibly, he starts treating me with kindness. He begs for another chance. However, I doubt I will ever love him again. The man who used to neglect or hurt me on special occasions now surprises me with trips to Aruba and South Beach for anniversaries and my birthday. He buys me jewelry and shows a newfound interest in my life. But it feels too little, too late.
Despite this, I can’t shake the feeling of pity for him. I feel responsible for his hair loss. Foolishly, I remain married to him for another two years, despite my dwindling emotions. This speaks to the absurdity of my character—I take on too much responsibility for his choices.
Eventually, he manages to win me back. By the end of those two years, some feelings for him resurface, but I still grapple with understanding narcissism. I hadn’t yet become an expert in relationships or dedicated years to studying love and narcissism.
Chapter 4: The True Nature of Narcissism
What my husband did isn’t rare among narcissists. He felt he was losing control and sought to regain it. Narcissists desire to 'win,' and that was his primary motivation, not my well-being. My admission of feeling lonely in our marriage had angered him, and he was determined to punish me. But before he did that, he needed to ensure I was emotionally invested again.
That’s when his fury was unleashed. I didn’t understand that a narcissist aims to undermine you, particularly by targeting your vulnerabilities. For me, that vulnerability stemmed from having an alcoholic father. The period of seemingly blissful treatment soon deteriorated into chaos as his drinking worsened.
This is when I lost my emotional strength. The strong, independent woman I used to be faded away. My husband's behavior traumatized and weakened me. The worst mistake I made was feeling pity for a man who had consciously made harmful choices over the years. I should have never taken on that burden.
Chapter 5: The Consequences of Staying
Now, he had me emotionally invested again, and I found myself falling for him once more. However, his drinking only stirred negative emotions within me. I struggle to share this part of my story, as the memory of his hair loss still makes me feel guilty, even though I never mentioned it to him.
I write about my experiences to help others avoid similar situations. This isn’t solely about narcissism; it addresses a broader issue. Many people remain in unhappy marriages out of guilt. They worry about their partner’s feelings or the impact on their family, even when they know they no longer love their spouse.
I grew up in a divorced household and didn’t want my children to experience the same pain. Yet, I also understand that sometimes separation leads to a healthier environment. I hesitated, knowing the temporary pain it would cause my children, but in the long run, divorce can create a better situation than a toxic home.
My second marriage counselor pointed out that I lacked self-protective instincts. I have no regrets about my divorce; it has restored peace and happiness in our lives—something children deserve. What I regret is allowing pity for my husband to prolong my children’s exposure to an unhealthy home environment, one marked by his drinking and my reactions to it.
Chapter 6: The Path Forward
I became a mother who used to be calm but found myself raising my voice when he frightened our children. I said things I later regretted. Ironically, my negative behaviors stemmed from my attempts to protect them. I would tell my husband to stop, but he wouldn’t listen, and his bad behavior triggered my own negative reactions.
In hindsight, my children would have been better off if we had separated immediately. Staying in an unhappy marriage doesn't preserve the family; it destroys it in different ways. I wanted to be the role model I had always been for my boys—a joyful, optimistic leader, not someone who exemplified dissatisfaction.
Children are perceptive; they recognize when their parents are genuinely happy or simply going through the motions. Don't remain married out of pity for someone. Don’t lose your self-respect. Relationships require some sacrifice, but they shouldn’t demand your entire being.
The man I felt sorry for didn’t spare a thought for me or our children when he left us without basic necessities. He didn’t feel remorse when he left me with no savings or security for the future.
Don’t stay married because you feel sorry for someone.