Shop the fall collection ➔

I have tried so hard over the past few years, to leave behind the pain and hurt that you caused. I’ve tried so hard to take the high road while you refuse to. I have wanted nothing more than to make the best of a bad situation for the sake of our kids. But you still seem hell bent on trying to make my life difficult. I have tried to make whatever limited contact we have to be pleasant and cordial. Yet you seem to find a way to try to get under my skin. I so badly want to lash out at you. But I know the second I do, I have let you win. And I will NOT give you that satisfaction.

What infuriates me is that to everyone else you seem like a decent guy. I seriously wish I could tell everyone what you’re really like. I want so much to let everyone know how childish, narcissistic and vindictive you really are. How in the world did I not see what you were really like before we got married? Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and tell myself not to marry you. But if I did, I wouldn’t have the fabulous children we now have. My constant battle is fighting any influences you had on them. I see them behave the way you do, and I hate it. I hate the example you have set for them. At times, they treat me like you did and think it’s OK, like you did. And I’ve “allowed” it because of the guilt I feel for putting them through this. I find myself wondering why it’s so much easier for them to be that way as opposed to the kind, caring and compassionate human beings I’ve tried so hard to raise. They blame me for the divorce, and I get that. 

If your abuse would have been physically visible maybe then people would know, maybe our kids would be more understanding. Unfortunately, your wounds were not visible. Not even to myself for quite some time. No ones knows how many nights I cried alone on the bathroom floor after cleaning myself up, after you selfishly had your way with me. I laid there, trying to convince myself that THIS was love. That this was being a “good” wife. When all the time I knew deep in my soul it wasn’t. Many times I find myself wishing God would have taken you when you had your accident. I know that’s a terrible thing to say and I feel horrible for saying it. But at least it’s honest. 

I feel sorry for you. That you can’t see the error of your ways. You can’t see how ridiculous you really are. That you can not see that was not how you treat someone you love. That you can’t see how your actions affect others, especially our children. I believe it’s the only way that I’ve been able to forgive you. I’ve struggled so many times with the divorce. Did I do the right thing? Will God forgive me? But you constantly do and say things that make me feel validation in my decision. So maybe I should be thanking you for that. You used to use scripture against me saying how much God hates divorce. But I have come to believe that God hates the way you treated me and I’m pretty sure it is NOT what he intended for marriage. You blame me for the divorce, but I’m guessing it’s so you don’t feel guilty about your actions.

I’ve given up on thinking you could ever be a decent man. I only hope and pray that the goodness in me can outweigh any bad that you have influenced on our kids, and I am going to try with every ounce of my being to make that happen.

Accepting love has been difficult. I almost feel like I don’t deserve to be treated so nice. It feels so foreign. I remind myself that even though you might be the norm, it certainly isn’t normal. There ARE good men out there, just very hard to find. And I am going to try with all my might to forget the abuse you inflicted and find the love and respect that I, and each and every human being, deserves. 

Her View From Home

Millions of mothers connected by love, friendship, family and faith. Join our growing community. 1,000+ writers strong. We pay too!   Find more information on how you can become a writer on Her View From Home at

Grief Is Persistent But God Is Faithful

In: Faith, Grief, Loss
Woman praying by ocean

The loss of a parent doesn’t just sting, it leaves you with an irreplaceable hole in your heart. It’s been two years since my loving daddy went home to be with Jesus, and the loss I feel is still unimaginable.  I know in my heart he’s in a better place that is absent of pain and distress. However, his physical presence and wisdom are so dearly missed here on this earth.  He left behind an army of a family who adored him and looked to him for solid guidance. No matter how hard I try to look to the bright...

Keep Reading

l Will Never Stop Missing My Sister

In: Cancer, Grief, Loss
Woman in red shirt

It might be 16 years too late to properly depict the depressive senses that engulfed my whole being when I lost my only sister Aurora to colon cancer in 2006. Painful flashbacks continue to fill my everyday life at the most inopportune moments that  writing about it might somehow alleviate my grief. I remember getting that random phone call from her one sunny day in September 2006 and how guilt automatically hit me. It had been a while since I last saw her. “It’s positive,” she said. Backed with years of joking around and playing tricks on her since childhood,...

Keep Reading

My Parents Are Both Gone Now, and I’m Struggling

In: Grief
Man holding smiling infant, color photo

I lost my dad at the beginning of the summer. The last time I saw him, my daughter and I picked him up from the hospital after his bout of pneumonia. She talked to him about her last day of kindergarten and how she would now be a first-grader. He sat cupping his warm mug of coffee in his favorite chair while his favorite blanket covered his legs. He smiled and giggled about the kindergarten stories. He and my daughter share the same birthday so he always had that Pop-Pop proud look on his face toward her. He was tired...

Keep Reading

Having Cancer at 34 Taught Me How to Live

In: Cancer
Husband and wife on boat, color photo

This picture came up in my Facebook memories today. It took my breath away for a moment, just like it has for nine years now. It was the last picture taken of me before my midwife found the lump and my life changed forever.  The first time I saw that photo, I realized I didn’t know that woman anymore. She was naive. Laying there in the sun without any inkling that a cancer was growing inside her. Look at her—unafraid and without anxiety. Less than 48 hours later, she would be gone, replaced by someone who was afraid of each...

Keep Reading

My Hands Are Full, but They Should Be Fuller

In: Grief, Loss
Family walking on beach

When they are gay, the waves echo their gaiety; but when they are sad, then every breaker, as it rolls, seems to bring additional sadness, and to speak to us of hopelessness and of the pettiness of all our joys. -Baroness Orczy I sat in the sand at the edge of the shore, looked out at the vast Atlantic Ocean, and watched the waves change the landscape with each crash. I absentmindedly dug a hole in the sand next to me, but then a wave came. The hole filled first with water. Then, wet sand caved in. The surface of...

Keep Reading

To My Sons in Heaven: Your Short Lives Changed Mine Forever

In: Grief
Woman at sunse

Dear Noah, Caleb, and Micah: I can’t believe it’s been nine years since I held you in my arms. My sweet sons, losing you broke me in a way that I never thought was possible. I have loved you every second of every day since we first heard of your pending arrival. RELATED: A Letter to my Daughter in Heaven With each day that you have spent in eternity, my love for you has grown exponentially. I have a vision of the day we will hug once more. I imagine that by then, my heart will have expanded so much...

Keep Reading

What If I Could Meet My Mom Now?

In: Grief, Grown Children
Retro photo of woman in sunglasses

I attempt to swallow. My heart is in my throat. I hold back tears. The woman who stands before me is 36 and looks a lot like me, but is not me. I squeeze my arms, pinch my thigh to make sure. I don’t wake up. “Hello.” Her voice is soprano and nasally like mine. Her black, Farrah Fawcett hair frames her round face. We are the same height. We share the same eyes. The same smile. The same white teeth. The same nose. The same long legs. She wears a baggy t-shirt with white-washed jeans, the kind that are...

Keep Reading

317 Days of Love

In: Grief, Motherhood
Smiling baby girl

She couldn’t speak, yet her life spoke to so many. 317 days she was on this earth. She couldn’t speak . . . only one word she said before she passed. One precious word: “Mama.” I can still hear it clear as day. I remember the moment she was born. I looked at her daddy with tear-streaked cheeks, shaking as I heard her cry. The nurse said, “You have a baby girl!” and I was in such awe. I looked at her daddy whispering, “We have a baby girl.” I was in complete adoration. From her dainty little fingers to...

Keep Reading

The Woman He Married Is Long Gone

In: Grief, Kids, Marriage
Young couple smiling

My husband has been married to at least five different women—and they’re all versions of me. His first wife was the 21-year-old version of me, who was a fit and focused college athlete. She was a driven, perfectionist dream-chaser. She was ready to push and sacrifice to chase the dream. No challenge was too hard—but then again, the hardest thing in her life was her organic chemistry final. She had the eternal optimism that comes with naivety and innocence. She loved him with eagerness and couldn’t wait to build a life with him. He often still daydreams of this first...

Keep Reading

Not Having My Mom Here Never Stops Hurting

In: Grief
Sad woman

Each phase of life since my mom died has brought different struggles, triumphs, and varieties of emotion. I always knew that grief was lifelong and complicated, however, I definitely underestimated the ways in which it changes as time goes on. I remember the beginning years as survival mode. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get through each day until that day had passed and I was on to the next one. It was figuring out who I was and what my life was going to become during this awful new normal. Some days were harder than others and...

Keep Reading