Breaking The Chains: A journey Through Pain, Trauma And Healing.

There was a time when I believed love was meant to hurt. That longing and suffering were intertwined, that heartbreak and betrayal were simply the cost of devotion. My first love taught me that or at least, he tried to.

He was a solider, a man who carried himself with authority, discipline, and charm. But beneath the uniform, behind the carefully controlled exterior, was something far more sinister. That uniform became his shield, the thing that allowed him to hide his true nature. It gave him power, respect, a guise of honour. Yet behind closed doors, none of those things protected me.

He wasn’t just unfaithful, nor was his cruelty confined to words alone. He was forceful, taking what he wanted without consent, stripping me of the innocence and trust I had once carried. I was young, naive, desperate to believe that love, even when painful, was worth fighting for.

But his control ran deeper than just our private moments. He isolated me, cutting me off rom friends, ensuring that my world revolved sole around him. He sabotaged my opportunities, made me lose jobs when my attention strayed, encouraged me to binge eat so others would find me unattractive, anything to keep me within the grasp of his power. Slowly, he chipped away at my self worth, my confidence, my identity. Until there was nothing left but a shell of the person I used to be.

Then came the moment that should have brought life, a pregnancy. but was met only with rejection. He was the father, yet responsibility was something he refused to face. And so, there I was left to navigate the trauma of abortion alone. No support from him. No comfort from my mother. Just the crushing weight of a decision no one prepared me for.

I was broken. And for years, that brokenness defined me. I lived recklessly, sought out pain when emotions became to overwhelming, sabotaged myself when love felt too distant. I didn’t care what happened to me because, deep down, I believed I had already been destroyed beyond compare. I became promiscuous, lost in a cycle of self destruction because anything else felt foreign.

But why I didn’t realise then, what I only understand now, is that his presence in my life was not just a source of devastation. It was a lesson. A painful, horrifying lesson, but a lesson nonetheless.

Without him, I would never have embarked on the journey toward healing. Without the wounds he inflicted, I might never have sought spirituality. I might never have questioned the patterns that kept me tethered to suffering, never have discovered the power of forgiveness, not just for him, but for myself.

He was a soul, carrying his own wounds. He hid behind his uniform, but underneath it, he was just a man, one shaped by his own pain, passing that pain onto others. He hurt me in ways I once thought I would never recover from. But I choose to forgive. Not because he deserves it, but because I refuse to let the past dictate the future. Because I refuse to let the pain of love that was never real define what love truly is.

His grip on my life is gone. The chains he once wrapped around me are broken. And now, I walk forward, not as a vicim, nor as someone defined by trauma, but as a woman who has fought for her healing.

I choose to be free.