I should have trusted my gut early on about small, unnerving things I noticed that were hinting at a depth of his problems. He constantly complained about insignificant things others did to him that made him furious, never acknowledging his role in it. He was quick to interrupt our conversations and silence me. Everything my kids and I did was wrong, and there was nothing that made him happy. He frequently sought me out during the workday to complain about something, as if he'd needed me (or required me) to attend to his bad mood.
I was afraid a lot of the time in our relationship—afraid he'd hurt me, afraid to speak up, afraid to call a friend, afraid to say "no" to him for sex. Looking back, I understand that living in a state of fear was the worst part of being in that relationship, more so than the punches, kicks, and slaps. To dread going into your own home is a nightmare. I had trouble accepting that I could not change my husband. He had grown up with a horribly abusive father to him and his mother. The fact that he had lived through that allowed me to make excuses sometimes for what he did to me.
By sharing this story with others, I hope to help people become more aware of what domestic abuse is like for someone, help others make better decisions in their relationships, and give support and inspiration to those living in an abusive situation.