Living in emotional abuse is like always being in that first moment before swinging at a piñata – blindfolded and spun and spun and spun and then standing still and trying to steady yourself before swinging wildly out at the air, praying and hoping that you’re actually achieving your goal, hitting the thing that needed to be hit instead of the people standing around watching you stumble, weapon in hand, trying desperately to find the prize.
Finally freeing yourself from that relationship, but having to try to co-parent with someone whose only way of communicating is to gaslight and deflect, though, is like being the piñata. You never ever can guess when the next blow will come at you – when the offer you made good-heartedly will be turned inside out and spit on like you handed them dog shit. When a boundary held will mean a torrent of insults and lies. When they will drag you back to court because you won’t play along anymore. When a small tear will start at your seam, threatening to drop all the good stuff you’ve worked so hard, daily, to hold in for yourself, still, after so many hits from that bat.
Those of us who find ourselves at this place in life work daily to steady ourselves and be strong.
We wish more people understood what that’s really like . . . I’m trying to show you.