I Thought Obsession Was Love Until He Kicked Me Down the Stairs

I thought his obsession was protective love. That was the lie I told myself for years. When we met at twenty-three, the intensity was overwhelming. Within two weeks, he was already demanding marriage and children. I mistook that speed for destiny, not realizing it was a trap.

He was charming, but the charm was a weapon. He used gifts as a currency for compliance. After a fight, he would show up with a horse in our driveway. It wasn't a peace offering; it was a transaction. He wanted me to stop fighting, to stop questioning, to just be grateful. When I didn't comply, the kindness vanished, replaced by cruelty. He used intermittent reinforcement, swinging between the man who brought me a horse and the man who punched walls and threw things until they shattered.

I realized the good times were just manipulation, and that the 'fast and furious' intensity I felt was actually a trap designed to steal my autonomy.

The turning point wasn't a single moment of clarity, but a slow erosion of my reality. He blamed me for every negative event in his life. If he was angry, it was my fault. If he was sad, it was my fault. He gaslighted me, minimized my feelings, and dismissed my memories until I felt crazy. I started to believe I was the problem. I felt trapped, unable to exercise any autonomy or agency. I lost my identity just to survive the relationship.

The violence escalated until I couldn't ignore it anymore. Seven years into our marriage, he kicked me down the stairs while holding our daughter. He was holding our child, and he was kicking me. That image is burned into my mind. He threatened to fly to Florida with our daughter while intoxicated, using her as a shield and a weapon against me. He demanded I stay, threatening to end the relationship if I didn't comply with his demands. He hoovered me back after I tried to leave, pulling me in with promises of change that never came.

I realized later that the good times were just manipulation. The power imbalance defined him. He didn't just want to hurt me; he wanted to own me. I now understand that mutual abuse is a myth. He was the abuser, and I was the victim. I felt shame and guilt for staying, but I also felt the societal gaslighting that made me believe I was crazy for not seeing it sooner.

Leaving was not a heroic instant. It took time, legal battles, and the realization that my abuser had to go to jail before I could truly leave. He filed frivolous ex parte motions, which the judge eventually dismissed, but the process was exhausting. I had to help remove guns from the house during the divorce. I appeared on the news to speak about domestic violence rates, and I partnered with the National Domestic Violence Hotline. I started a community for trauma bond survivors, trying to turn my pain into purpose.

I now advocate for turning pain into power. I emphasize that the most important decision you will ever make is who you have children with. I urge women to slow down relationships to spot the red flags. The "fast and furious" intensity is a sign of a trap. I realized that reproductive coercion is a form of domestic abuse, and that safety must come before healing. Healing is not linear. Victims need trauma-informed help and legal counsel. Education is key to empowerment.

I still feel the weight of what happened. I have CPTSD symptoms from my own experience. I sometimes wonder if judges actually see the pathology or if they are charmed by the abuser. I don't know if my ex-husband loved our daughter or just used her. But I know one thing for sure: hope is real. People can leave when they want. My children are my favorite outcome from this situation. I am no longer the woman who thought obsession was love. I am the woman who knows the truth.