Many would expect I feel ill will towards my abusers. But I don’t – I wish them well. Happiness. Recovery. Health.

I know the odds are a zillion to one – or something like that – typically addicts, abusers and alcoholics do NOT recover.

And it’s in accepting that, that I chose to move on. 

I didn’t leave my abuser because I stopped loving him – I just started to love myself more.

I can’t love myself and be bitter. Though he’s given me plenty of reason to be…beginning with the fact he has my children – an act I don’t think any loving father would commit against his children without great cause. You know drugs or significant mental disorders or a history of abusing the children. He has none of that, but I refuse to wallow in the bitterness of it.

You see, I saw my grandmother get bitter with hate towards my grandfather. It was logical, perhaps. To be expected considering how devastatingly viscous the divorce was rumoured to be. Yet, in the end, it was she – not him – who suffered. And it was ugly.

I do not want my life to be ugly. I choose for it not to be. I choose to forgive.

Not easily. Not always. But daily.

Despite accusations to the contrary voiced by my soon to be ex husband – I am NOT a martyr. I saw my grandmother consumed by a version of that. And it was ugly!

And so – he’s been forgiven.

I hold nothing against him – because ultimately he did not choose who he is. He has no clue that he can actually choose. I tried to explain it when we were together, but he didn’t get it then.

He’s unlikely to ever get it.

And that’s just so simply sad.

And I’m not going to wait for him to change. I only left the marriage when I knew I didn’t want to live the rest of my life someone else’s one drink away back into the abyss.

That even if he quit drinking (which I thought then was our ONLY problem…I see now that even ending that would not have ended the rest of the abusive tactics he weilded) we’d only ever be one drink away from being back at square one. Even if 20 years of peace came in between, I was not willing to risk one more moment in the abyss.

I know he’ll never forgive me. That’s okay. That’s not what this is about. I don’t need it – though it would be the healthy thing for him. To choose not to get wrapped up in bitterness and hate. But I fear prayers to avoid that come too late.

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