When I was young, I believed men were storms.
They didn’t make decisions; they didn’t commit sins; they happened to you. They swept in and out and left wreckage or not. They were not accountable for what happened to you when you encountered their wrath. You could make things worse, but never better.
I couldn’t bear that the beast changed for Belle, but my child self was not worth changing for. So, instead of deciding the forces that shaped and splintered my world could be wrong when they so obviously had the favor of heaven, I called them unchanging. I called them storms.
Then I married a knight in shining armor. And my world fell apart.
Collin was beautiful and perfect and he’d never hurt me on purpose, but he was terrible at telling me what was happening in our Army-controlled life, and as my panic attacks worsened and life was terrible I could only blame me. I wasn’t prepared enough for the storm. I wasn’t smart or strong or good enough to handle finding everything out at the last minute. I felt worthless because I was, dagnabbit, and poor, poor Collin having to deal with a woman who fell apart when life happened to her! Then my dear husband told me the thing that sent all my careful defenses for him tumbling to the ground, looking not like love but just like barbed wire. “It hurts me that you never think I can change.”
And I blurted out, “Men don’t change!”
*three…slow…claps*
In the middle of my panic and confusion and guilt, Collin took my shoulders and walked me through how to blame him for a mistake. He taught me that my suffering could be his fault, and it didn’t bring on his wrath or make me an unkind creature of horror. It was easy to forgive him. I’d never gotten to before, and it was easy to start.
And then he changed. For me.
Men aren’t storms. They are heroes or monsters. Absolving them of responsibility for their actions isn’t kindness. It’s just barbed wire.
They didn’t make decisions; they didn’t commit sins; they happened to you. They swept in and out and left wreckage or not. They were not accountable for what happened to you when you encountered their wrath. You could make things worse, but never better.
I couldn’t bear that the beast changed for Belle, but my child self was not worth changing for. So, instead of deciding the forces that shaped and splintered my world could be wrong when they so obviously had the favor of heaven, I called them unchanging. I called them storms.
Then I married a knight in shining armor. And my world fell apart.
Collin was beautiful and perfect and he’d never hurt me on purpose, but he was terrible at telling me what was happening in our Army-controlled life, and as my panic attacks worsened and life was terrible I could only blame me. I wasn’t prepared enough for the storm. I wasn’t smart or strong or good enough to handle finding everything out at the last minute. I felt worthless because I was, dagnabbit, and poor, poor Collin having to deal with a woman who fell apart when life happened to her! Then my dear husband told me the thing that sent all my careful defenses for him tumbling to the ground, looking not like love but just like barbed wire. “It hurts me that you never think I can change.”
And I blurted out, “Men don’t change!”
*three…slow…claps*
In the middle of my panic and confusion and guilt, Collin took my shoulders and walked me through how to blame him for a mistake. He taught me that my suffering could be his fault, and it didn’t bring on his wrath or make me an unkind creature of horror. It was easy to forgive him. I’d never gotten to before, and it was easy to start.
And then he changed. For me.
Men aren’t storms. They are heroes or monsters. Absolving them of responsibility for their actions isn’t kindness. It’s just barbed wire.
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