I know it’s bad, but I still see the good in him

What no one tells you about the hardest part of leaving, the grief, the doubt, the what ifs, and the invisible guilt of still trying to make sense of who they are.

You’re not weak for remembering the good

One of the most painful parts of abuse is that it’s not always cruel. At least, not in obvious ways. There were probably days when you felt loved, protected, even cherished. Maybe you still remember the softness in his voice when your baby was born. Maybe you still think about the way he brought you tea when you were sick or how he made everyone laugh at Christmas.

That’s what makes it so complicated, you’re not forgetting what he did. You’re remembering everything. The good, the bad, the confusing middle ground. And your brain is trying to make it all make sense.

This is called cognitive dissonance, when two conflicting realities exist at once. He was kind. He was cruel. He said he’d change. He didn’t. He made you feel special. He also made you feel scared. Your brain doesn’t know which version is real.

So it loops. Back and forth.

You’re not crazy for missing someone who hurt you. You’re not naive for hoping they’d be different. And you’re not alone in that quiet ache of wishing you didn’t still care.

The guilt that follows you

So many women hesitate to speak up because they think, “It wasn’t that bad,” or “I didn’t go to the police, so maybe I’m overreacting.” That guilt creeps in slowly. Sometimes it looks like silence. Sometimes it looks like defending him to your lawyer or family. And sometimes it’s just a quiet voice saying, “Maybe I imagined parts of it.”

But here’s the truth: you didn’t. You didn’t make it up. You didn’t exaggerate. You just survived something that changed shape so many times it was hard to pin down.

Maybe he never hit you, but he watched your every move. Maybe he never yelled, but you learned how to preempt his moods. Maybe he never locked you in a room, but you haven’t felt free in years.

You don’t need bruises to say it hurt.

You don’t need a police report to say it happened. You don’t need permission to want peace.

When you’re still tied to him through parenting

This is where things get even harder.

If you share children, you might feel like the abuse didn’t end when you left, it just became court approved. Handover days might feel like walking back into danger. Text messages about logistics might still carry the sting of manipulation.

You might find yourself thinking, “But he’s good with the kids.” And maybe he is. For an hour here or there. He might bring snacks, crack jokes, play games. But that doesn’t mean he’s safe long-term. 

Short bursts of charm aren’t the same as stable parenting. Being a “fun dad” doesn’t replace emotional safety.

It’s also common to downplay things in legal settings. Maybe you’ve minimised what happened when talking to a lawyer. Maybe you used softer language because you didn’t want to sound bitter or overdramatic. That’s not because you’re dishonest, it’s because you’re exhausted. 

Because telling the full story takes energy you may not have.

But you deserve to be fully heard. You’re not ruining his life by telling the truth. You’re protecting yours.

The part no one explains: protecting your abuser

This might be the part that feels most shameful, and the hardest to admit.

Sometimes survivors defend the person who hurt them. Not because they’re confused. But because they’re kind. Because they see the best in people. Because they remember the version of him that made them fall in love.

Maybe you told yourself, “He just needs therapy.”

Maybe you made excuses for his temper because of his childhood.

Maybe you shielded him from consequences because you didn’t want your kids to hate their dad.

And maybe, deep down, you didn’t want to be the one to cause him pain, even after everything he did to you.

You don’t need to hate him to let go.

You don’t need to rewrite the past.

You just need to believe you deserve better going forward.

What your support people see

Even when you’re in the thick of confusion, the people around you are quietly noticing. The comments from your parents. The way your close friends looks at you when you explain something away. The silence in the room when his name comes up.

You’re not imagining their concern. They see it. Maybe not everything, but enough.

They saw the way he changed when other people left the room. They noticed how carefully you watched his moods. They heard the stories that didn’t quite add up. And now, they’re trying to hold you together while you find your way out.

Let them. Let them believe you, even when you don’t fully believe yourself yet.

You don’t need to wait for a final straw

There doesn’t have to be one big moment that makes it all click. Maybe there’s no last explosion. Maybe he never touches you again. Maybe nothing gets “worse.”

But maybe you’re tired.

Maybe you’re scared.

Maybe you’re just done.

That’s enough.

You don’t need a dramatic ending to justify the next chapter. You just get to choose peace. You get to choose yourself. And you get to do it without anyone’s permission but your own.

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