I’ve always loved the idea of love, and I’ve always loved deeply in every situation I’ve been in. When I entered into my eight-year marriage, I thought our love would grow consistently until we were overflowing with closeness and depth. Not too soon after entering the relationship, though, I had accepted that romantic love simply wasn’t in the cards for me. From the insults to the physical abuse, and everything in between, I was miserable more often than I was content.
I was stuck in a relationship that made me feel like I was a last resort. So I simply did what I could to make him happy and comfortable, and just focused on trying to exist. “This is just my life,” I thought. “I knew I didn’t deserve the kind of love that I so freely give.”
My ex-husband left me at the very end of 2023, claiming that I “wasn’t good enough” and he “wanted more.” He had resented me for my fertility issues and my triggers, regardless of the fact that he had known about them since the very beginning. It turns out that he had already been seeing someone he worked with, too. It was a betrayal like no other. I felt blindsided. I had done everything for this person to help them grow and thrive, and now I was being tossed aside.
Worst of all, it wasn’t a foreign feeling. Being in a domestic violence relationship after foster care is like a continuation of that trauma, just with a different title. According to a study published by the Journal of Interpersonal Violence, about 20% of older California foster youth who participated in the California Youth Transitions to Adulthood Study (CalYOUTH) reported experiencing intimate partner violence at 23 years old. It’s like instead of witnessing it as a child, you’re experiencing it as an adult, but because you’ve conquered so much up to that point, you feel like you can handle it.
In February of 2024, I stayed in a domestic violence shelter. To say it was triggering would be a disservice to just how sickly familiar being in an “unfamiliar” living situation was. At the very least, I had my dog, Fiona, with me, but I still felt so alone and isolated. They didn’t have any room in the actual shelter, so they put me up in an extended stay. Every time I needed to leave, even if it was just for a walk that would possibly last longer than 10 minutes, I had to call and let them know every detail. I would get groceries delivered every so often, but other than that, I didn’t get to do too much. I didn’t have transportation, money, or anything really. I was also told there was a high chance I would lose everything I had back at my apartment if it came down to me not being able to go back for one reason or another. I was petrified and felt so defeated. I never thought that, at this point in my life, I would be in such an unstable position.
Even though I’m thankful to be out of a situation that made me feel trapped and at my lowest, it still tears me apart in some ways and makes me look at myself from a different angle — and not a very kind one. I’m still recovering from it all, which tends to be frustrating as I feel I should already have moved on from it, or at least most of it. I’m making progress though. Even though I became another one of those unfortunate statistics, I suppose as long as I continue to move forward and work on regaining my footing, I’ll be just fine.
