The Shame of Being Hurt
Being hurt does not say anything about my worth. It says something about what was done to me.
There is a particular kind of shame that comes with having been hurt — a quiet, persistent whisper that suggests if you had been smarter, stronger, more valuable, this would not have happened. That whisper is a lie, and it has had its mouth open for too long.
You were not chosen because something was wrong with you. You were chosen because something was right with you. The qualities that made you a good partner — your capacity to trust, to hope, to forgive, to love — were the same qualities that someone willing to do harm could use. None of that is a failure on your part. It is the painful truth that good qualities are sometimes targeted by people who do not have them.
You are not a fool for having loved. You are not naive for having hoped. You are not weak for having endured what you endured. None of those words describe what actually happened. What actually happened is that you were a whole person, with a whole heart, in proximity to someone who was willing to take advantage of both.
The shame you have carried is not yours to keep. It was placed on you, like an extra coat, by a situation that needed you to keep wearing it. You can let it slide off your shoulders, one small motion at a time. It does not belong to you, and it never did.