u/amysamlizphil

How do you move 1200 miles away and still not be free from a decade long marriage to an abuser

Like seriously

I left Florida I moved to Michigan I started over with my daughter I tried to build a whole new life and get away from all of it

And somehow I’m still stuck dealing with court and divorce and him still posting stuff on social media like he can still drag my name around whenever he wants

That’s the part that messes with my head

People say just ignore it dont look move on

but how

How do you move on when someone keeps putting your name or little digs or lies online and you know exactly what they’re doing

It feels like the control just changed outfits

It’s not in the house anymore now it’s online now it’s court now it’s paperwork now it’s screenshots in a folder because I have to prove I’m not crazy

I don’t want revenge I don’t want drama I don’t want money I just want divorced

I want my name back I want peace I want to stop feeling like this person still gets access to my life just because the legal system moves slow as hell

I know I’m safer now I know I’m not where I was I know moving was still the right thing

But it’s hard when you do everything you’re supposed to do and somehow they can still keep reaching into your life from 1200 miles away

That’s the part nobody talks about enough

leaving isn’t always the end sometimes it’s just the start of trying to untangle yourself from everything they wrapped around you

How do you move 1200 miles away and still not be free from a decade long marriage to an abuser

Like seriously

I left Florida I moved to Michigan I started over with my daughter I tried to build a whole new life and get away from all of it

And somehow I’m still stuck dealing with court and divorce and him still posting stuff on social media like he can still drag my name around whenever he wants

That’s the part that messes with my head

People say just ignore it dont look move on

but how

How do you move on when someone keeps putting your name or little digs or lies online and you know exactly what they’re doing

It feels like the control just changed outfits

It’s not in the house anymore now it’s online now it’s court now it’s paperwork now it’s screenshots in a folder because I have to prove I’m not crazy

I don’t want revenge I don’t want drama I don’t want money I just want divorced

I want my name back I want peace I want to stop feeling like this person still gets access to my life just because the legal system moves slow as hell

I know I’m safer now I know I’m not where I was I know moving was still the right thing

But it’s hard when you do everything you’re supposed to do and somehow they can still keep reaching into your life from 1200 miles away

That’s the part nobody talks about enough

leaving isn’t always the end sometimes it’s just the start of trying to untangle yourself from everything they wrapped around you

How do you move 1200 miles away and still not be free from a decade long marriage to an abuser

Like seriously

I left Florida

I moved to Michigan

I started over with my daughter

I tried to build a whole new life and get away from all of it

And somehow I’m still stuck dealing with court and divorce and him still posting stuff on social media like he can still drag my name around whenever he wants

That’s the part that messes with my head

People say just ignore it

dont look

move on

but how

How do you move on when someone keeps putting your name or little digs or lies online and you know exactly what they’re doing

It feels like the control just changed outfits

It’s not in the house anymore

now it’s online

now it’s court

now it’s paperwork

now it’s screenshots in a folder because I have to prove I’m not crazy

I don’t want revenge

I don’t want drama

I don’t want money

I just want divorced

I want my name back

I want peace

I want to stop feeling like this person still gets access to my life just because the legal system moves slow as hell

I know I’m safer now

I know I’m not where I was

I know moving was still the right thing

But it’s hard when you do everything you’re supposed to do and somehow they can still keep reaching into your life from 1200 miles away

That’s the part nobody talks about enough

leaving isn’t always the end

sometimes it’s just the start of trying to untangle yourself from everything they wrapped around you

Has anyone else had an abusive ex drag a divorce all the way to trial even when there really isn’t anything left to fight over?

I’m almost 4 years out from leaving. I’m not in the same place I was back then. Mentally I’m doing better than I ever have. I know now that it was abuse. I know I have trauma echoes from it, and I’ve worked hard on those. I’m on medication now. I’m stable. I’m safe. I’m not sitting here confused or wanting him back or trying to figure out what happened anymore.

I know what happened.

I left an abusive marriage and rebuilt my life from the ground up and found my own closure.

But somehow I’m still legally tied to him because this divorce has been dragged out for years. He’s slandered me on social media to the point I took all my accounts down for my own sanity. I moved on with my real life, but legally I’m still stuck in this mess because he’s taking it all the way to trial.

And that’s the part I don’t understand.

There’s nothing really left to fight over. No big pile of mone No reason this should still be going on like this. But I also know the court doesn’t look at it that way. You can’t just walk in and say “there’s nothing left to fight over, can we please be done?” and expect the system to understand the emotional side of being chained to someone abusive.

I’m also pro se, so I don’t have a lawyer standing between me and all of this.

That is probably the part that scares me the most. Not because I’m weak. I’m not. I’ve survived worse than a courtroom. But when you’ve dealt with someone who spent years twisting things, lying, playing victim, and trying to make you look crazy, the idea of standing there alone and having to explain yourself calmly is a lot.

People say “just go to court” like it’s just paperwork.

I know I’m better now. I know I’m stronger now. I know I’m not who I was four years ago. But my body still remembers. That’s what I mean by trauma echoes. It’s not that I’m still trapped. It’s that sometimes my nervous system still hears the old door slam.

I've even reached out to him when I didn't want to and made contact and asked him if all that was left was the house if you drew the paper I would sign it and he could have the house and be done. That just made it more explosive and made him attack me further calling me bad names c*** horror being abusive. It's like the more I try to get this divorce done the more it enrages him

Has anyone had an abusive ex take a divorce all the way to trial for no real reason?

How did you handle representing yourself?

How did you prepare emotionally and mentally?

Did the judge keep things focused?

Did your ex try to use court as another place to play the victim.

How did you keep from freezing when it was your turn to speak?

I’m not looking for legal advice as much as real human advice from people who understand that leaving is not always the finish line. This is tht finish line this trial to her my divorce. That best word I can use is part of me is terrified!

Has anyone else been through this part?

Once you leave your abuser, you are not really free yet.

I know that sounds really bad.

I know it doesn’t sound motivating or positive for someone who is trying to get the courage to leave.

But I’m not going to lie to you and tell you it’s easy to walk out that door and then there are no consequences later.

That’s not how this works.

It took a long time to get you where you are.

It takes a while to unravel it all.

Leaving is important.

Leaving is huge.

Leaving might save your life.

But leaving is not the same thing as being free.

Not at first.

Because your body still thinks you’re in trouble.

Your brain still waits for the next blow up.

You still hear their voice in your head even when they are nowhere near you.

You still explain yourself to people who are not even accusing you of anything.

You still flinch at silence.

You still feel guilty for resting.

You still feel like you are doing something wrong when you are literally just sitting there breathing like a regular person.

And that is the part nobody puts on the cute little healing memes.

They don’t tell you that peace can feel suspicious.

They don’t tell you that calm can make you uncomfortable because your body got used to chaos like it was weather.

They don’t tell you that you might miss them and hate them in the same five minutes.

They don’t tell you that you might grieve the fake version of them harder than you grieve the real one.

They don’t tell you that you might spend months asking yourself if it was really that bad.

Even though yes.

It was.

Your body knows it was.

Your stomach knew.

Your shoulders knew.

Your sleep knew.

Your kids probably knew.

The dog probably knew.

The damn walls knew.

But healing is messy.

Super messy.

Ugly messy.

Not “girl power and bubble bath” messy.

More like crying in the car, forgetting why you walked into a room, getting mad over something tiny, then realizing it had nothing to do with that thing at all.

It was all the old stuff leaking out.

Healing is realizing you escaped them physically, but now you have to evict them from your head.

And that eviction process is not cute.

That little parasite had furniture in there.

A recliner.

A coffee table.

Probably a mini fridge.

They got comfortable in your fear.

So now you have to go room by room inside yourself and start throwing their crap out.

The guilt.

The shame.

The self-doubt.

The voice that says you are too much.

The voice that says nobody will believe you.

The voice that says you should have left sooner.

The voice that says maybe you were the problem.

No.

That voice is not truth.

That is conditioning.

That is what happens when somebody trains you to survive them instead of be yourself.

And once you leave, you have to learn normal things all over again.

How to make a decision without panic.

How to say no without shaking.

How to rest without feeling lazy.

How to trust quiet.

How to stop scanning faces.

How to stop reading every shift in energy like you are a damn emotional weather app.

Partly cloudy with a chance of emotional warfare.

That was not love.

That was survival.

And survival does not just turn off because you changed locations.

Healing takes time because your body has to learn that the war is over.

And sometimes it does not believe you yet.

So no, you are not crazy if you left and still feel trapped.

You are not weak if you miss them.

You are not stupid if you cry.

You are not broken if you still hear them in your head.

You are detoxing from control.

And nobody talks about how ugly that detox can be.

But one day, little by little, you notice it.

You do something without wondering what they would think.

You laugh without checking the room first.

You sleep without bracing.

You hear their name and it does not gut-punch you the same way.

You stop needing them to understand.

You stop needing them to admit it.

You stop needing the person who hurt you to also be the person who validates your pain.

That is when freedom starts getting real.

Not when you leave the house.

Not when you block the number.

Not even when the court finally stamps the paper.

Freedom starts when their voice gets quieter than your own.

And that takes time.

Messy time.

Angry time.

Sad time.

What-the-hell-was-that time.

But you keep going.

Because leaving was the first freedom.

Healing is the second.

And the second one is where you finally get yourself back.

Once you leave your abuser, you are not really free yet.

I know that sounds really bad.

I know it doesn’t sound motivating or positive for someone who is trying to get the courage to leave.

But I’m not going to lie to you and tell you it’s easy to walk out that door and then there are no consequences later.

That’s not how this works.

It took a long time to get you where you are.

It takes a while to unravel it all.

Leaving is important.

Leaving is huge.

Leaving might save your life.

But leaving is not the same thing as being free.

Not at first.

Because your body still thinks you’re in trouble.

Your brain still waits for the next blow up.

You still hear their voice in your head even when they are nowhere near you.

You still explain yourself to people who are not even accusing you of anything.

You still flinch at silence.

You still feel guilty for resting.

You still feel like you are doing something wrong when you are literally just sitting there breathing like a regular person.

And that is the part nobody puts on the cute little healing memes.

They don’t tell you that peace can feel suspicious.

They don’t tell you that calm can make you uncomfortable because your body got used to chaos like it was weather.

They don’t tell you that you might miss them and hate them in the same five minutes.

They don’t tell you that you might grieve the fake version of them harder than you grieve the real one.

They don’t tell you that you might spend months asking yourself if it was really that bad.

Even though yes.

It was.

Your body knows it was.

Your stomach knew.

Your shoulders knew.

Your sleep knew.

Your kids probably knew.

The dog probably knew.

The damn walls knew.

But healing is messy.

Super messy.

Ugly messy.

Not “girl power and bubble bath” messy.

More like crying in the car, forgetting why you walked into a room, getting mad over something tiny, then realizing it had nothing to do with that thing at all.

It was all the old stuff leaking out.

Healing is realizing you escaped them physically, but now you have to evict them from your head.

And that eviction process is not cute.

That little parasite had furniture in there.

A recliner.

A coffee table.

Probably a mini fridge.

They got comfortable in your fear.

So now you have to go room by room inside yourself and start throwing their crap out.

The guilt.

The shame.

The self-doubt.

The voice that says you are too much.

The voice that says nobody will believe you.

The voice that says you should have left sooner.

The voice that says maybe you were the problem.

No.

That voice is not truth.

That is conditioning.

That is what happens when somebody trains you to survive them instead of be yourself.

And once you leave, you have to learn normal things all over again.

How to make a decision without panic.

How to say no without shaking.

How to rest without feeling lazy.

How to trust quiet.

How to stop scanning faces.

How to stop reading every shift in energy like you are a damn emotional weather app.

Partly cloudy with a chance of emotional warfare.

That was not love.

That was survival.

And survival does not just turn off because you changed locations.

Healing takes time because your body has to learn that the war is over.

And sometimes it does not believe you yet.

So no, you are not crazy if you left and still feel trapped.

You are not weak if you miss them.

You are not stupid if you cry.

You are not broken if you still hear them in your head.

You are detoxing from control.

And nobody talks about how ugly that detox can be.

But one day, little by little, you notice it.

You do something without wondering what they would think.

You laugh without checking the room first.

You sleep without bracing.

You hear their name and it does not gut-punch you the same way.

You stop needing them to understand.

You stop needing them to admit it.

You stop needing the person who hurt you to also be the person who validates your pain.

That is when freedom starts getting real.

Not when you leave the house.

Not when you block the number.

Not even when the court finally stamps the paper.

Freedom starts when their voice gets quieter than your own.

And that takes time.

Messy time.

Angry time.

Sad time.

What-the-hell-was-that time.

But you keep going.

Because leaving was the first freedom.

Healing is the second.

And the second one is where you finally get yourself back.

Once you leave your abuser, you are not really free yet.

I know that sounds really bad.

I know it doesn’t sound motivating or positive for someone who is trying to get the courage to leave.

But I’m not going to lie to you and tell you it’s easy to walk out that door and then there are no consequences later.

That’s not how this works.

It took a long time to get you where you are.

It takes a while to unravel it all.

Leaving is important.

Leaving is huge.

Leaving might save your life.

But leaving is not the same thing as being free.

Not at first.

Because your body still thinks you’re in trouble.

Your brain still waits for the next blow up.

You still hear their voice in your head even when they are nowhere near you.

You still explain yourself to people who are not even accusing you of anything.

You still flinch at silence.

You still feel guilty for resting.

You still feel like you are doing something wrong when you are literally just sitting there breathing like a regular person.

And that is the part nobody puts on the cute little healing memes.

They don’t tell you that peace can feel suspicious.

They don’t tell you that calm can make you uncomfortable because your body got used to chaos like it was weather.

They don’t tell you that you might miss them and hate them in the same five minutes.

They don’t tell you that you might grieve the fake version of them harder than you grieve the real one.

They don’t tell you that you might spend months asking yourself if it was really that bad.

Even though yes.

It was.

Your body knows it was.

Your stomach knew.

Your shoulders knew.

Your sleep knew.

Your kids probably knew.

The dog probably knew.

The damn walls knew.

But healing is messy.

Super messy.

Ugly messy.

Not “girl power and bubble bath” messy.

More like crying in the car, forgetting why you walked into a room, getting mad over something tiny, then realizing it had nothing to do with that thing at all.

It was all the old stuff leaking out.

Healing is realizing you escaped them physically, but now you have to evict them from your head.

And that eviction process is not cute.

That little parasite had furniture in there.

A recliner.

A coffee table.

Probably a mini fridge.

They got comfortable in your fear.

So now you have to go room by room inside yourself and start throwing their crap out.

The guilt.

The shame.

The self-doubt.

The voice that says you are too much.

The voice that says nobody will believe you.

The voice that says you should have left sooner.

The voice that says maybe you were the problem.

No.

That voice is not truth.

That is conditioning.

That is what happens when somebody trains you to survive them instead of be yourself.

And once you leave, you have to learn normal things all over again.

How to make a decision without panic.

How to say no without shaking.

How to rest without feeling lazy.

How to trust quiet.

How to stop scanning faces.

How to stop reading every shift in energy like you are a damn emotional weather app.

Partly cloudy with a chance of emotional warfare.

That was not love.

That was survival.

And survival does not just turn off because you changed locations.

Healing takes time because your body has to learn that the war is over.

And sometimes it does not believe you yet.

So no, you are not crazy if you left and still feel trapped.

You are not weak if you miss them.

You are not stupid if you cry.

You are not broken if you still hear them in your head.

You are detoxing from control.

And nobody talks about how ugly that detox can be.

But one day, little by little, you notice it.

You do something without wondering what they would think.

You laugh without checking the room first.

You sleep without bracing.

You hear their name and it does not gut-punch you the same way.

You stop needing them to understand.

You stop needing them to admit it.

You stop needing the person who hurt you to also be the person who validates your pain.

That is when freedom starts getting real.

Not when you leave the house.

Not when you block the number.

Not even when the court finally stamps the paper.

Freedom starts when their voice gets quieter than your own.

And that takes time.

Messy time.

Angry time.

Sad time.

What-the-hell-was-that time.

But you keep going.

Because leaving was the first freedom.

Healing is the second.

And the second one is where you finally get yourself back.

What Love Is Not

If your body is scared of them, it is not love. It is abuse.

If your stomach drops when you hear their car pull up, that is not love. It is abuse.

If you hear their footsteps and tense up, that is not love. It is abuse.

If you can tell what kind of night it’s going to be by the way they shut a door, walk into a room, or go quiet, that is not love. It is abuse.

If you’ve learned to read the temperature of the house before they even say a word, that is not love. It is abuse.

If you monitor their face, tone, silence, drinking, energy, or body language just to figure out whether you’re safe, that is not love. It is abuse.

If their name popping up on your phone makes your chest tighten, that is not love. It is abuse.

If you rehearse simple conversations in your head because you’re trying not to say the wrong thing, that is not love. It is abuse.

If you are always adjusting yourself to keep the peace, that is not love. It is abuse.

If peace only exists when you are quiet, agreeable, careful, and small, that is not love. It is abuse.

If you feel relief when they leave and dread when they come back, that is not love. It is abuse.

If you are always apologizing, always explaining, always trying to prove you didn’t mean anything by it, that is not love. It is abuse.

If the good moments only feel good because they are wedged between fear, tension, and chaos, that is not love. It is abuse.

If your body is bracing before your mind even catches up, that is not love. It is abuse.

People downplay this because there is not always a bruise at first. But your nervous system knows. Your body knows.

Love is not fear.

Love is not dread.

Love is not hypervigilance.

Love is not having to shrink yourself to survive someone else’s moods.

That is abuse.

Sometimes abuse starts long before anyone is ready to call it that. Sometimes it starts with the stomach drop, the footsteps, the silence, the shift in the room, the need to brace.

That is not love.

That is abuse.