Abuse

Two years ago, I woke up every morning feeling like I was fading away. My daughter needed me, my husband needed me, and I barely recognized myself in the mirror. The implant I had trusted to make life easier had quietly taken something more—my connection to the people I loved most. What I didn’t know then was that this season would become the most transformative of my life.

For two years, I felt myself slipping away. My feelings toward my husband and my child became numb. I noticed things I didn’t care about anymore that I should have cared about. Every day, I still got up and made sure my daughter was fed and cared for, but anything beyond the basics felt unbearable. I couldn’t take care of myself at all because all of my energy went into just being present for her—making sure I was kind, even when I was constantly overwhelmed and frustrated.

I loved her, but it was like I couldn’t feel that love fully. I couldn’t soak in her giggles, her little milestones, or the sweetness of her wanting to be close. Instead, I felt like I just needed breaks from her, which crushed me with guilt. Bedtime was the hardest of all. When I was trying to get her down to sleep and she was restless, I would feel myself unraveling. I had horrible intrusive thoughts—ones that scared me because they were so intense. I never wanted to act on them, and I knew she was just a baby who needed my help to sleep, but the severity of those thoughts made me feel like something was deeply wrong with me.

Now I can see it was the perfect storm of hormones, exhaustion, and emotional burnout. At the time, though, it felt like I was failing her.

Then, almost overnight, when the implant was removed, the fog began to lift. The feelings of happiness returned. The tenderness, the joy of cuddling her, the patience I had been missing—all of it came flooding back. Suddenly, I wanted to take her on little adventures, to get out of the house, to explore the world and let her see it with me. I started noticing her expressions, her curiosity, her joy, and I felt excited to join in.

That desire had been gone for so long, and its return showed me just how much the implant had been robbing from me—not just as a wife, but as a mother. In a way, it felt like God gave me back my heart for my daughter. The love and joy that had felt out of reach came pouring back in, and I could finally embrace the gift of motherhood instead of just enduring it.

For my husband, Damon, it was another layer of stress. He is a veteran with PTSD, and during those years it felt like we were clashing constantly. I was overly sensitive from the hormonal imbalance and from my own history of abuse, while he struggled to process the full spectrum of emotions I was throwing at him. We loved each other, but it was heavy. He often felt like he had to wear both hats—provider and caretaker—because I was always burnt out.

And yet, even in that season, something greater was happening. Around October 2024, I began praying in earnest for God to change my marriage and save my family. Around the same time, Damon had his own spiritual experience—an encounter that made him feel God was calling him closer. We started attending church, seeking, praying, and slowly, life began to shift. We even moved, and though tension still lingered, God was at work in ways we couldn’t yet see.

Looking back, I can see the thread running through it all. The implant wasn’t just about birth control—it was about two years of learning how fragile and strong love can be at the same time. It tested our patience, our faith, and our commitment to each other.

Now, off the implant, I feel like myself again. I feel like a wife and a mother who is present, who can love fully, and who can receive love back. I can see how God carried us through those years, even when I couldn’t see Him at the time.

When Damon and I shared our journey with our pastor, I told him that it felt like our cloak of resentments had finally been lifted. And it’s true—understanding each other has brought a lightness to our marriage that I didn’t think was possible.

God gave me back my heart for my daughter, allowing me to feel joy, patience, and love that had been buried under exhaustion and hormones. And in the same way, He gave me back my heart for my marriage—with Damon, we found understanding, grace, and renewed connection.

If you’re reading this and you feel lost, burned out, or distant from the people you love—it may not be the end of your story. Sometimes, the battle is in our bodies, in our minds, in our hormones. And sometimes, the only way forward is to stop blaming each other, start seeking God, and trust that healing can come.

Because I’ve lived it—and I know that with God, even hearts that feel lost can be fully restored. 💚

#parentingthroughstruggle
#marriagejourney
#loveandhealing
#faithandfamily
#godsgrace
#healingthroughfaith
#exhaustedmomtojoyfulmom
#marriagethroughstruggle
#familyrestoration
#hormonalhealth
#birthcontroljourney
#mentalhealthandmomlife
#hopeafterhardship
#strengththroughfaith
#toddlermomlife
#loveandresilience
#momstruggles
#faithjourney
#marriagegoals
#healingjourney
#parentingtruths

I'm not okay and I don't know how to be. Quick back story. In one months time I had to send my son to a 30 day assessment center. I lost my job, my roommate moved out and I think he groomed my 18 year old step son, the day after he moved out so did my step son. He went to live with his mom who can't properly take care of him and won't protect him. For context he has mild CP but he still needs care from specialists. The moving stuff happened the day my son came home and 2 days after he came home excited to spend time with his brother who won't talk to him or see him. Oh and school started the day after my step son moved out. Well my step son as usual decided to emotionaly abuse me and blame me and so did the roommate (was a friend for 10years) it was so bad I was going to attemp something but didn't I have my 13 and 2 year old but needed to dull the pain after being being bullied and stuff by the 18 year old so I self harmed that night. Now I cant get out of this whole. My sever anxiety and depression have been a problem for year and working is extremely hard. The last job I had was me caring for a friends dad for 5 years. Getting a job is impossible because of it and my family needs me we have no money and I'm scared. #Depression

I haven't had symptoms in over eight years. My rental acquired new ownership, rent was raised almost doubled. I had to move with two months notice. My dog got sick after my moveand six months he died. I had adopted my dog, after my third hospitalization and suicide attempt. They had pet therapy in the hospital and I perked up when the dogs came to visit. I wasn't alone and he forced me to get out of the house and walk him. He kept me company at home and he saved me. I was lucky to have him. A few months after my dog died, my job was outsourced. I am thankful to be employed with insurance but working in a call center is so stressful. The verbal abuse from customers and micromanagement that comes with this type of work is so damaging to my mental health. I have looked for other employment but the job market is rough right now. I am experiencing anxiety, tears in my eyes and almost crying while working. Depression has started creeping in and I can feel myself going to that dark place again. I have an appointment scheduled this week for new meds. I found a local nami group and plan on attending a meeting on Monday. That's my story and I'm scared.
#BipolarDisorder

ADHD medication misuse, sharing, and abuse: What you need to know
ADHD medication misuse, sharing, and abuse: What you need to know

I never imagined that opening my heart could make me a target. My story begins like many relationships: moments of kindness, shared experiences, and the thrill of connecting with someone new. But what I thought was love slowly became complicated, blurred by manipulation, miscommunication, and the intrusion of others into my life.
I write this not just for survivors, but for friends, families, and anyone trying to understand emotional abuse—especially when the survivor is painted as the villain.

Falling in Love and Trust:
I met Cody at Walmart while shopping for a holiday party. He was kind-hearted, offering to drop me off, but I declined because my place was out of the way. Later, we went rock climbing with a friend and ran errands together. When it started raining, he lent me his jacket. These small gestures felt meaningful and thoughtful.

From the start, Cody shared his past experiences with abuse and encouraged open conversations about boundaries. I shared my own struggles: depression, being autistic, past self-harm, and past experiences of being accused of abuse for expressing vulnerability. Cody reassured me that asking for help wasn’t wrong and promised he would communicate with me, especially regarding my fear of abandonment.
He remembered little details—favorite snacks, drinks, even Monster energy flavors—and would surprise me. At first, it didn’t feel controlling. It felt like care and love.

Blurred Boundaries and Family Dynamics:
Subtle imbalances appeared early. Cody once said he’d skip spending time with his dad to make me happy, framing himself as “always wrong” and me as “always right.”
His family added tension. When he invited me to his ice rink, his parents assumed I pressured him to let me come, even though he had asked me. I wanted to respect boundaries but also show support. Other situations blurred boundaries further: he invited me behind the counter at Starbucks, which felt like bonding, but a co-worker reported it, forcing Cody to leave the job.
Later, he considered becoming a flight attendant. I shared concerns about logistics and safety, and he assured me it was his decision. Months later, he accused me of giving him an ultimatum—rewriting history entirely.

Loss, Grief, and Hypocrisy:
In June, my father passed away. I witnessed the medical examiner removing his body and collected his belongings from his apartment. Cody’s father entered without asking—violating boundaries during one of the most painful moments of my life.
Yet when Cody’s cat passed away, I was excluded from the grieving process, framed as “not family.” It felt hypocritical: my grief was dismissed while theirs was protected. I constantly questioned Cody’s intentions. Was he acting on his own desires, or letting family dictate our boundaries? I never fully knew.

Manipulation, Ghosting, and Accusations:
Throughout our relationship, I repeatedly asked Cody if I needed to change, if he was happy, or if he wanted to break up. He always reassured me.
Then, after ghosting me, he told friends I was “mentally unstable, emotionally abusive, and manipulative.” He shared my struggles with a 14-year-old, forcing me into uncomfortable conversations, and later told friends he had been emotionally “checked out” months before—while initiating intimacy and calling me his wife.
I was blindsided. I had no way to reconcile his words with the closeness we shared.

The Birthday Hotel and Emotional Betrayal
I treated Cody to a hotel stay for my birthday on July 31st and bought gift cards for his September birthday. We were intimate and shared laughs—but then I learned, through a mutual friend, that Cody had emotionally checked out 2–3 months prior.
That meant all the gestures, intimacy, and affection might not have been real—or worse, that I had been taken advantage of emotionally and physically. This revelation left me questioning everything: the moments I cherished, the vulnerability I showed, the love I thought was mutual.

Reactive Abuse: Survivors in Survival Mode
After being blocked and cut off, I vented in a group chat of mutual friends and messaged some co-workers. I said things I regret, questioning his fairness and whether he had projected accusations onto others.
These reactions were messy—but they were human. When someone manipulates, gaslights, and isolates you, lashing out is natural. This is “reactive abuse”: when survivors react to manipulation. Survivors may look like villains, but that doesn’t erase the abuse that caused it.

The Aftermath:
Discovering Cody’s emotional detachment during our intimate months left me questioning the authenticity of our connection. Combined with ghosting, false accusations, and blurred boundaries, I felt powerless and unfairly vilified.
Manipulation thrives on confusion. Survivors may act out, vent, or lash out—but those moments do not erase the abuse they endured. Friends and families must understand that imperfect reactions do not equal guilt. They are often signs of trauma and survival.

I share this story not for sympathy, but for awareness. Being a survivor is complicated, especially when the world sees you as the villain. I hope that by sharing my experience, others will recognize manipulation, understand reactive abuse, and support survivors in compassionate, nonjudgmental ways.

I never imagined that opening my heart could make me a target. My story begins like many relationships: moments of kindness, shared experiences, and the thrill of connecting with someone new. But what I thought was love slowly became complicated, blurred by manipulation, miscommunication, and the intrusion of others into my life.
I write this not just for survivors, but for friends, families, and anyone trying to understand emotional abuse—especially when the survivor is painted as the villain.

Falling in Love and Trust:
I met Cody at Walmart while shopping for a holiday party. He was kind-hearted, offering to drop me off, but I declined because my place was out of the way. Later, we went rock climbing with a friend and ran errands together. When it started raining, he lent me his jacket. These small gestures felt meaningful and thoughtful.

From the start, Cody shared his past experiences with abuse and encouraged open conversations about boundaries. I shared my own struggles: depression, being autistic, past self-harm, and past experiences of being accused of abuse for expressing vulnerability. Cody reassured me that asking for help wasn’t wrong and promised he would communicate with me, especially regarding my fear of abandonment.
He remembered little details—favorite snacks, drinks, even Monster energy flavors—and would surprise me. At first, it didn’t feel controlling. It felt like care and love.

Blurred Boundaries and Family Dynamics:
Subtle imbalances appeared early. Cody once said he’d skip spending time with his dad to make me happy, framing himself as “always wrong” and me as “always right.”
His family added tension. When he invited me to his ice rink, his parents assumed I pressured him to let me come, even though he had asked me. I wanted to respect boundaries but also show support. Other situations blurred boundaries further: he invited me behind the counter at Starbucks, which felt like bonding, but a co-worker reported it, forcing Cody to leave the job.
Later, he considered becoming a flight attendant. I shared concerns about logistics and safety, and he assured me it was his decision. Months later, he accused me of giving him an ultimatum—rewriting history entirely.

Loss, Grief, and Hypocrisy:
In June, my father passed away. I witnessed the medical examiner removing his body and collected his belongings from his apartment. Cody’s father entered without asking—violating boundaries during one of the most painful moments of my life.
Yet when Cody’s cat passed away, I was excluded from the grieving process, framed as “not family.” It felt hypocritical: my grief was dismissed while theirs was protected. I constantly questioned Cody’s intentions. Was he acting on his own desires, or letting family dictate our boundaries? I never fully knew.

Manipulation, Ghosting, and Accusations:
Throughout our relationship, I repeatedly asked Cody if I needed to change, if he was happy, or if he wanted to break up. He always reassured me.
Then, after ghosting me, he told friends I was “mentally unstable, emotionally abusive, and manipulative.” He shared my struggles with a 14-year-old, forcing me into uncomfortable conversations, and later told friends he had been emotionally “checked out” months before—while initiating intimacy and calling me his wife.
I was blindsided. I had no way to reconcile his words with the closeness we shared.

The Birthday Hotel and Emotional Betrayal:
I treated Cody to a hotel stay for my birthday on July 31st and bought gift cards for his September birthday. We were intimate and shared laughs—but then I learned, through a mutual friend, that Cody had emotionally checked out 2–3 months prior.
That meant all the gestures, intimacy, and affection might not have been real—or worse, that I had been taken advantage of emotionally and physically. This revelation left me questioning everything: the moments I cherished, the vulnerability I showed, the love I thought was mutual.

Reactive Abuse: Survivors in Survival Mode
After being blocked and cut off, I vented in a group chat of mutual friends and messaged some co-workers. I said things I regret, questioning his fairness and whether he had projected accusations onto others.
These reactions were messy—but they were human. When someone manipulates, gaslights, and isolates you, lashing out is natural. This is “reactive abuse”: when survivors react to manipulation. Survivors may look like villains, but that doesn’t erase the abuse that caused it.

The Aftermath:
Discovering Cody’s emotional detachment during our intimate months left me questioning the authenticity of our connection. Combined with ghosting, false accusations, and blurred boundaries, I felt powerless and unfairly vilified.
Manipulation thrives on confusion. Survivors may act out, vent, or lash out—but those moments do not erase the abuse they endured. Friends and families must understand that imperfect reactions do not equal guilt. They are often signs of trauma and survival.

I share this story not for sympathy, but for awareness. Being a survivor is complicated, especially when the world sees you as the villain. I hope that by sharing my experience, others will recognize manipulation, understand reactive abuse, and support survivors in compassionate, nonjudgmental ways.

I never imagined that opening my heart could make me a target. My story begins like many relationships: moments of kindness, shared experiences, and the thrill of connecting with someone new. But what I thought was love slowly became complicated, blurred by manipulation, miscommunication, and the intrusion of others into my life.
I write this not just for survivors, but for friends, families, and anyone trying to understand emotional abuse—especially when the survivor is painted as the villain.

Falling in Love and Trust:
I met Cody at Walmart while shopping for a holiday party. He was kind-hearted, offering to drop me off, but I declined because my place was out of the way. Later, we went rock climbing with a friend and ran errands together. When it started raining, he lent me his jacket. These small gestures felt meaningful and thoughtful.
From the start, Cody shared his past experiences with abuse and encouraged open conversations about boundaries. I shared my own struggles: depression, being autistic, past self-harm, and past experiences of being accused of abuse for expressing vulnerability. Cody reassured me that asking for help wasn’t wrong and promised he would communicate with me, especially regarding my fear of abandonment.
He remembered little details—favorite snacks, drinks, even Monster energy flavors—and would surprise me. At first, it didn’t feel controlling. It felt like care and love.

Blurred Boundaries and Family Dynamics:
Subtle imbalances appeared early. Cody once said he’d skip spending time with his dad to make me happy, framing himself as “always wrong” and me as “always right.”
His family added tension. When he invited me to his ice rink, his parents assumed I pressured him to let me come, even though he had asked me. I wanted to respect boundaries but also show support. Other situations blurred boundaries further: he invited me behind the counter at Starbucks, which felt like bonding, but a co-worker reported it, forcing Cody to leave the job.
Later, he considered becoming a flight attendant. I shared concerns about logistics and safety, and he assured me it was his decision. Months later, he accused me of giving him an ultimatum—rewriting history entirely.

Loss, Grief, and Hypocrisy:
In June, my father passed away. I witnessed the medical examiner removing his body and collected his belongings from his apartment. Cody’s father entered without asking—violating boundaries during one of the most painful moments of my life.
Yet when Cody’s cat passed away, I was excluded from the grieving process, framed as “not family.” It felt hypocritical: my grief was dismissed while theirs was protected. I constantly questioned Cody’s intentions. Was he acting on his own desires, or letting family dictate our boundaries? I never fully knew.

Manipulation, Ghosting, and Accusations:
Throughout our relationship, I repeatedly asked Cody if I needed to change, if he was happy, or if he wanted to break up. He always reassured me.
Then, after ghosting me, he told friends I was “mentally unstable, emotionally abusive, and manipulative.” He shared my struggles with a 14-year-old, forcing me into uncomfortable conversations, and later told friends he had been emotionally “checked out” months before—while initiating intimacy and calling me his wife.
I was blindsided. I had no way to reconcile his words with the closeness we shared.

The Birthday Hotel and Emotional Betrayal:
I treated Cody to a hotel stay for my birthday on July 31st and bought gift cards for his September birthday. We were intimate and shared laughs—but then I learned, through a mutual friend, that Cody had emotionally checked out 2–3 months prior.
That meant all the gestures, intimacy, and affection might not have been real—or worse, that I had been taken advantage of emotionally and physically. This revelation left me questioning everything: the moments I cherished, the vulnerability I showed, the love I thought was mutual.

Reactive Abuse: Survivors in Survival Mode
After being blocked and cut off, I vented in a group chat of mutual friends and messaged some co-workers. I said things I regret, questioning his fairness and whether he had projected accusations onto others.
These reactions were messy—but they were human. When someone manipulates, gaslights, and isolates you, lashing out is natural. This is “reactive abuse”: when survivors react to manipulation. Survivors may look like villains, but that doesn’t erase the abuse that caused it.

The Aftermath:
Discovering Cody’s emotional detachment during our intimate months left me questioning the authenticity of our connection. Combined with ghosting, false accusations, and blurred boundaries, I felt powerless and unfairly vilified.
Manipulation thrives on confusion. Survivors may act out, vent, or lash out—but those moments do not erase the abuse they endured. Friends and families must understand that imperfect reactions do not equal guilt. They are often signs of trauma and survival.

I share this story not for sympathy, but for awareness. Being a survivor is complicated, especially when the world sees you as the villain. I hope that by sharing my experience, others will recognize manipulation, understand reactive abuse, and support survivors in compassionate, nonjudgmental ways.

Hi, my name is ShannonChang. I'm here because I want to make an article about my experiences with reactive abuse.

#MightyTogether #Anxiety #ADHD #AutismSpectrumDisorder #PTSD