Why Leaving Was So Hard
I release all shame about why I stayed or why leaving was so hard. I did the best I could with the understanding I had.
"Why didn't you just leave?" is a question every survivor hears, sometimes from others, more often from themselves. The question carries a hidden assumption — that walking away from harm should be simple. It is not, and it never was.
You stayed because the harm was woven through with hope. Because your sense of what was real had been shaken, and a person who cannot trust their own perception cannot easily make a giant decision. Because the people and resources that might have helped you had been quietly pulled away. Because love and pain had become braided together, and unbraiding them looked impossible from the inside. Because leaving meant grieving not only what was, but what you had once believed could be.
You stayed because the energy required to leave is enormous, and the very thing you were leaving had drained you of that energy. You stayed because each small kindness, each apology, each glimpse of the person you fell for relit a hope that had not yet given up on the dream.
None of these are failings. All of these are the truthful shape of trying to live inside an impossible situation. The fact that you eventually left, or that you are leaving now, or that you have stayed gone, is not a small thing. It is the kind of strength that the people asking the question have not had to know about themselves.