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Monday, April 5, 2010
Hurt People Hurt People
Hurt people hurt people. And, just like that, I got it.
My husband didn't hurt me because I was 10 pounds heavier than when we first met.
He didn't hurt me because I sometimes interrupted him when he was talking.
He didn't hurt me because I'd become boring in bed. Or I hated the movies he loved. Or I stopped shaving my legs except when other people were going to see them.
Nope. He hurt me because he was hurt. As in wounded. Damaged. A broken man.
And when we accept that truth, it frees us. It lets us off the hook (that we hung ourselves on) for his actions.
I hadn't recognized the extent of his hurt, his brokenness, and frankly didn't really want to. I wanted him to be who I wanted him to be...not who he actually was. I, who had grown up with alcoholic parents and benign neglect, was sick of taking care of everyone else. I wanted someone to take care of me. And though my husband tried over the years to get me to really see him, I didn't want to. I wanted strong. Capable. Infallible.
Not him. But the him I thought I could wish him into being.
And so he gave me that...except when he couldn't, which was much of the time. And those times he lied to me so I wouldn't see that he wasn't that person.
Hurt people hurt people.
Ain't it the truth.