Under The Whip

There was a time when I measured my worth in other people’s eyes.

Every glance felt like judgment. Every whisper felt like it was about me. I learned early that love came with conditions, and beauty was one of them. Growing up, I was taught, explicitly and painfully, that being anything less than “pretty” or ”perfect” meant being less than worthy.

If I was overweight, I was ugly. If I was ugly, I was nothing.

That belief didn’t just live in my head, it was handed to me. When I got sick as a teenager and my body changed in ways I couldn’t control, I didn’t just lose my sense of self. I lost the version of me that was “acceptable.” I gained weight because my body was fighting for me, but all anyone seemed to see was that I no longer fit the mold.

And my Bio father? He made it clear.

He told me that when I was “pretty again,” he’d put my pictures back on the wall. He told me women only make it in this world two ways, by being pretty or by being smart, so I’d better get a degree. He made me run miles while he chased me on a bike. I had to wear sweat suits under all of my clothes at all times. Imagine being told, so plainly, that your value is conditional. That your body determines your worth. That love can be taken down like a photograph and tucked away until you’re “good enough” again. For a long time, I carried that with me. I shrank. I hid. I tried to earn approval that was never freely given.

But not anymore!

Fuck that. Fuck him. And fuck anyone who thinks they get to decide my worth. I am not America’s next top model. I am not airbrushed or flawless. I have wrinkles. I have scars. I have stretch marks. I am overweight. And I am perfectly imperfect. I am proud of who I am. I am proud of my submission, my surrender, my truth. I am confident in my skin, not because it meets some arbitrary standard, but because it is mine. I stopped chasing approval the moment I realized it was never mine to earn in the first place. If someone doesn’t like how I look? If someone doesn’t like who I am? That’s not my business. I have one life. One body. One chance to exist as fully and as freely as I can. And I refuse to waste it trying to fit into someone else’s expectations.

So I walk differently now.

With a skip in my step. With fire in my chest. With no fucking regrets. I glow as I go. Not because the world told me I shine, but because I decided I do. And to anyone out there still battling those quiet, gnawing insecurities. Look at your flaws. Really look at them. And then understand this, There is no one else in this world exactly like you. Not one.

You are a rare, priceless soul. Not in spite of your differences, but because of them.

So stop dimming yourself. Stop waiting for permission. Strut in the knowledge of who you are. Live bright. Live loud. And sparkle like you were always meant to. Because you definitely do.

Trigger Warning: This writing briefly and lightly references experiences of abuse. The mention is not graphic or detailed, but reader discretion is advised.

-----

This week feels…complicated. Bittersweet. Heavy. Gentle and raw all at the same time. And I’m choosing to be extremely vulnerable right now. I’m writing about a chapter of my life I avoided unpacking for a very long time, not because it didn’t matter, but because it mattered too much.

I had a childhood friend I met when I was 14. When I turned 19, we became romantically involved, and I truly believed I had found the love of my life. He was the first man I ever lived with after leaving home. He stood beside me while I took custody of my siblings. He helped me survive my parents’ volatile divorce. He held space for me when the most important person in my world passed away.

My family convinced him to marry me. There was no proposal, just, “Let’s get married,” two years in. A month before the wedding, I called it off. I didn’t understand why at the time, only that I wasn’t ready. We didn’t break up, though, and looking back, I think that’s when we should have.

Instead, we packed up and moved away from my hometown to his. I met his family for the first time, and discovered he had a daughter he had never told me about. That betrayal cut deeply. I won’t unpack all of it here, but I made one thing very clear, if he wanted to be with me, he would not be a deadbeat father. I had already survived one of those.

Shortly after, I became extremely ill. So sick that I nearly died. Doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong for a long time. I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. And during that time, the only thing he seemed concerned about was sex. When I told him I physically couldn’t perform, he became upset, and later asked if he could see other women “until I got better.” Because of my trauma, I said yes.

That choice is mine to own. My fear of abandonment came from childhood wounds and watching the man my father was. That part is on me. What was on him was asking that question at all, especially when I was so sick.

While he went on dates, I stayed home barely able to function. A friend of his (our rommate) would check on me while he was gone. Eventually, I packed a suitcase and went back to my mother’s, originally for a doctor’s appointment, and stayed for three months. We didn’t speak during that time. When I went back to collect my things, he begged me not to leave. He made promises. I went back, and unknowingly stepped straight into the same patterns I grew up watching.

Eventually, doctors figured out what was wrong with me. With proper medication, I found a new normal. I got a great job. He got a great job. We moved into our own place. From the outside, things looked better. That’s when the abuse became an everyday thing.

I got into professional gaming. He complained that I never made time for him, so I stopped gaming. He immediately got on the console and ignored me. I found other hobbies. When he finished gaming, he complained I was always on the computer, then took my place there. One night, I finally snapped and asked if he wanted me to just sit quietly in the corner until he decided I was worth paying attention to.

This isn’t all on him.

At the time, I didn’t understand my mental health. That doesn’t excuse my behavior, but it explains some of it. I was young. Volatile. When we fought, we fought. Screaming. Throwing things. Toxic words. There was one moment it turned physical.

And that was the moment I knew the romantic relationship was over. I ended it immediately. I refused to tolerate physical abuse, no matter how much he begged. We agreed to be friends. I moved into my own room. Life became calmer. Functional. Or so I thought.

Years later, his daughter came back into the picture . She was in a terrible situation. We sat down and talked. He wanted to fight for her. So we got legally married at the courthouse. Custody battles turned into criminal court. Eventually, he was granted full custody. The mother lost all parental rights.

Yes, I know exactly what I did. And despite everything, I would do it again. Because I became her mother.

We stayed married on paper and for her stability. No arguing in front of her. No chaos. I stayed home to raise her while he worked. I couldn’t have children of my own, and loving her filled something sacred in me. But he controlled and abused me through her. If I didn’t do what he wanted, no matter what it was, he threatened divorce and taking her away. Adoption papers were started, all of the time, and then stopped repeatedly, and when when his new girlfriend said she’d leave if I adopted her, that was the last time I attempted to legally adopt her. That broke something in me. For the first time in my life, I hated him. Still, I never walked away from that little girl. She became my purpose. No matter what happened between adults, she deserved stability and love.

Eventually, we moved to the East Coast. New opportunities. Closer to my family I chose to remain in contact iwth. Our daughter thrived. That’s when I met Damon.

He accepted all of me. The complicated parts. The legal marriage. The reality that we were staying together until she was grown. He became an incredible stepdad, and one of the greatest blessings in my life, alongside my daughter.

When she turned 18. And I went blind. Divorce was postponed. Surgeries followed. Medical treatments. My legal husband stayed so I could keep insurance, and I am grateful for that. He softened. Found a partner of his own. The treatments couldn’t save my eyes. But they gave me clarity.

Today, we filed the paperwork. Both of my Masters were with me. My legal husband was there. We walked into the courthouse and closed a chapter that lasted 23 years. In April, I will be legally divorced. It will be finalized, and

finished.

I feel sadness, for what couldn’t be fixed, for a childhood friend I no longer wish to see again, for the familiarity I’m leaving behind. And I feel relief, deep, steady relief.

I can breathe.
I’m not trapped.
My life is no longer on hold.

My daughter is grown, thriving, building her own life. We’re moving forward. I’m moving forward, with intention. I’ve done the work. Therapy. Accountability. Growth. Boundaries. I know now that sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes timing is wrong. Sometimes damage goes too deep. And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is walk away.

I’m not ashamed of my tears today.

Despite everything, he gave me the greatest gift of my life, the chance to be a mother. For that, I will always be grateful. But even when a door needs to close, it still hurts. This space, this life, was familiar. It felt like a security blanket. And now I’m stepping into something unknown.

I am happy.
I am sad.
I am excited.
And yes, I am terrified.

But I am strong. I am enough. And I know, without question, that I can walk away when I need to. After 23 years on this rollercoaster, I’m finally stepping off. And I’m ready to see what comes next.

Disclaimer: Before commenting, please understand that any negative or harmful remarks will not be acknowledged or responded to. This writing is not meant to belittle him or myself. It is shared as part of my process of moving forward, healing, and reclaiming peace. Respectful engagement only. Anything else is met with a block.