It’s been a while since I’ve written. I notice that I usually come here when things are falling apart, and I wish I were better at writing when things are good. But here I am again, in the middle of the same cycle.
For months, you were an angel. Kind, loving, attentive. I felt more in love than ever. And then, just like before, everything collapsed so fast it felt unreal. I’m trying to make sense of how something that feels so beautiful can also be so destructive.
What I can’t stop thinking about is the question you asked me:
“You’re probably just still mad from a couple days ago?”
I hear my own voice in my head responding, defensive and small: “No, I’m not.”
As if I didn’t have the right to be.
But the truth is—I do have the right to be.
You closed your fist at me.
You threatened to kill yourself, over and over.
You shoved me against a wall.
You chased me into the woods.
You blocked my car so I couldn’t leave.
That was two days ago. Of course I’m still upset. My body is still holding fear. My heart is still trying to understand how someone who says they love me can also make me feel unsafe.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)
I need to remember that God does not minimize harm. God does not ask me to pretend violence didn’t happen just to keep peace. God is not confused about truth, even when I am.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m being asked—by you, or by myself—to accept that this is just who you are. That there’s only a tiny chance you’ll ever change. And I’m terrified that if I keep accepting this, it will slowly ruin my life.
“God is not a God of disorder but of peace.” (1 Corinthians 14:33)
This doesn’t feel like peace.
This feels like walking on broken glass and calling it love.
I remind myself that love is not fear.
Love does not trap.
Love does not threaten.
Love does not require me to shrink my pain to make someone else comfortable.
“Perfect love casts out fear.” (1 John 4:18)
If fear is growing instead of shrinking, then something is deeply wrong—and it is not because I failed to love hard enough.
I don’t have to decide everything today. I don’t have to have a perfect plan. But I do need to stop doubting what my heart and body are clearly telling me.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding.” (Proverbs 3:5)
Even when I don’t know what comes next, I trust that God does not lead people into harm and call it endurance. I trust that my life is meant for more than surviving cycles of destruction disguised as love.
Tonight, I choose to believe this:
I am allowed to be upset.
I am allowed to want safety.
I am allowed to choose a life that does not hurt like this.
And God is still with me—even here.
