My Life. My Struggle. My Healing.

May 22, 2026

Like I promised, I want to write about love, trauma, and relationships. I have a lot I could share about my story, but I’m also in a place where I don’t want to keep reliving every detail. So I’ll share what I can in a way that I hope helps someone else feel less alone. What I will say is this: since I was 18, every relationship I’ve experienced has included some form of abuse—emotional, psychological, and at times physical. I have never experienced what healthy love actually feels like. And I don’t think people always understand how deeply that reshapes a person’s mind, body, and heart.

When love is mixed with harm, your nervous system learns to live in survival mode. You start overanalyzing tone, walking on eggshells, and trying to “fix” yourself to avoid conflict. You confuse intensity with connection. You confuse fear with attachment. And eventually, you stop trusting your own judgment.

I’ve lived through moments I never imagined I would survive—being abandoned in unsafe places in the middle of the night, having a gun pulled on me, being physically pushed and restrained, having things thrown at me, being called names while holding my baby, and at one point being choked by someone I once loved. I’ve been chased with a car, and I’ve hidden in fear, wondering if I was going to make it out alive. Those are not easy things to say out loud. But I know there are people reading this who will understand exactly what I mean without needing every detail explained.

As a woman in my 30s, it’s hard to admit that I’ve never had a peaceful love story. I’ve been married twice, something I used to carry a lot of shame about. And while I do take responsibility for my choices, I also understand now that I stayed in situations where love was repeatedly proven unsafe, hoping that love alone would eventually change someone’s behavior.

I’ve learned the hard way that love without accountability becomes harm.

The Bible describes love in a way that I’ve come to lean on for clarity: love is patient, kind, and it does not dishonor others. It does not delight in wrongdoing, and it protects, trusts, and perseveres. For me, this has become a standard—not just for how I want to love, but for how I allow myself to be loved.

One of the most confusing parts of abusive relationships is that harm is often mixed with moments of kindness. There are apologies. There are good days. There are promises. And from the outside, people may only see those moments and assume everything is fine. But behind closed doors, there can be a very different reality. That cycle is what makes it so hard to leave. You start questioning yourself. You start minimizing what happened. You start believing that maybe you are the problem, especially when the other person is charming, respected, or well-liked by others.

I’ve lost a lot of trust because of that. I became guarded in ways I didn’t even recognize. And at one point, even kindness made me uncomfortable—because I had learned that kindness could sometimes be part of the cycle that pulled me back into pain.

Healing from that takes time. It takes unlearning survival responses that once kept you emotionally and physically safe.

What I’m learning now is that real love requires consistency, accountability, and willingness to change—not just words, not just emotion, and not just promises made after harm has already been done.

If those things are missing, staying doesn’t heal it. It deepens it.

Right now, the idea of marriage feels complicated for me. I won’t pretend otherwise. But I also hold onto faith that healing is still possible—that what was broken in me doesn’t have to stay broken. I’m no longer trying to force a love story or chase something just to feel chosen. I’m learning that love is not something I have to survive in—it’s something I should be safe in.

And I want to say this clearly for anyone who needs it: you are not crazy for struggling to leave. You are not weak for still loving someone who hurt you. And you are not alone if your heart and mind feel like they are pulling in opposite directions. But love is not supposed to repeatedly break you.

One day, I hope I can share a different kind of story—not one shaped by survival, but by peace, respect, and love that reflects what it was always meant to be.

Until then, I’m learning, healing, and choosing myself—even when it’s hard.

Leave a comment on how you want to love and be loved.

Love always,

Kelsey