I don’t really have anything specific to say for this post. I’m just feeling so full, so grateful, and so overwhelmed by the beauty of my life right now.

Last year at this time, I was still living with my ex. I was numb. I was miserable, but I wouldn’t let myself feel it. I was living through trauma every day because my ex was becoming increasingly detached and disconnected while telling me that he wasn’t detached or disconnected. He would say one thing, do the opposite, and then gaslight me and try to convince me I was making it all up to vilify him. I was dealing with excruciating pain in my shoulder, pain that no amount of physical therapy or chiropractic care would help. Pain that has, since my divorce was finalized, been largely absent. I was frustrated. I was angry. I was bitter. I was lonely. I felt hopeless. I felt stuck.

Last year at this time, I didn’t imagine, couldn’t imagine, any other life for myself. I loved my ex. I wanted our marriage to work, but he wouldn’t do what he needed to do. He refused to go to marriage counseling. And even though he was in individual counseling, nothing was getting better. It was, in fact, getting worse. He was gaslighting me more. Pulling away from me more. Our sex life was devoid of any passion or human emotion. My pleasure was entirely my own to satisfy. My emotional needs were, by that point, a laughing stock for him. He would say that he wasn’t doing enough to meet my needs, and then do precisely the opposite of what he needed to do to meet my needs.

I was mentally and emotionally unhealthy. I was passively suicidal almost 100% of the time. I was in therapy and it was helping, but I refused to talk about my marriage because I knew if I started opening up, it would mean really exposing the truth that I couldn’t accept: that my husband didn’t love me, didn’t care about our relationship, and that nothing was going to change that. No amount of self-minimization was going to rectify the situation I was in. No amount of quieting myself was going to make him suddenly love me and want to make me happy. I’m convinced at this point that he wanted me to suffer. Maybe he didn’t even know that’s what he wanted, maybe it wasn’t intentional, but it is what I believe was part of the problem. He was insecure and shoving his personal traumas as deep as he could, he was trying to selectively numb his emotions, but you can’t do that and not suffer long term relational consequences. You can’t selectively numb pain and trauma and grief and fear and disappointment without also numbing love and joy and contentment and happiness.

I believe this was part of the problem. I didn’t understand these things at the time because I was too deep inside of my spiraling mental health to see the red flags. He didn’t want to be held accountable for his actions. He saw himself as a victim and then continued to perpetuate this mentality by blaming me for holding him accountable to my boundaries and expectations. He had convinced himself of the type of person he was, convinced himself that it was enough to simply not beat me, that that alone made him a good husband, and that if I expected anything more than that, it was because I was too needy or codependent.

Now, almost a year later, I am more physically and mentally healthy than I have been in a long time. I’ve been in therapy. I’ve read books on boundaries and healing from trauma. I’ve started the process of working through my trauma. I’m succeeding in my graduate program. I’m writing more than I ever have. I’ve been dating, going through the ups and downs of making human connections. I’ve fallen in love and had my heart broken. Now, I’m building something beautiful with a man who says he just wants to take care of me, to help make up for the years I gave to an undeserving husband. The connection is new, but it’s also real and strong.

The physical connection I have with him is the most intense and satisfying I’ve ever had. No man has ever spent so much time devoted to my pleasure. In fact, since leaving my husband, NONE of my male partners have cared one bit about my enjoyment. I have, again, always been responsible for my own pleasure, even when I was told that they weren’t going to get off until they made sure I was taken care of. Load. Of. Bullshit. Every single one of them lied, and none of them were good enough without that to make up for it. Two of them weren’t good at all. Not even a little. Sound harsh? Oh fucking well. I’m sick of either hiding or sugarcoating the truth to spare the fragility of men’s feelings when it comes to their efforts in bed, especially when they clearly don’t care about whether or not their partners are enjoying themselves.

Now, I’m with a man who gives his time and his energy and his effort. When he says he’s going to focus on me, he means it. I know he means it because he proves it. I have never, ever, felt so good in my entire life. I focus on him right back because I genuinely want to please him. And it’s actually arousing to give pleasure back to someone who has spent so much time focusing on my body. I’m caught off guard by all of it, honestly, because when every man you’ve ever been with says one thing and then does something else, which usually means that he just uses you without any regard for your well being let alone your physical pleasure, you start to think that there isn’t a man anywhere who will give a fuck about you in any genuine way.

I was wrong about that, and I am so grateful for it. He’s supportive of my educational endeavors. He loves how devoted I am to my writing. I don’t know where this connection will lead, but I’m leaning into it, trusting it, and investing in it because I never imagined I could be this happy. Especially not within one year of leaving such an emotionally tormenting relationship.

Embrace the beauty. Heal from trauma. Be kind and compassionate to yourself. Really love.