I Stayed Because

I stayed because I thought love could fix anything. I believed if I just held on tighter, prayed a little harder, forgave one more time, that maybe he’d choose me over the bottle. I told myself that love endures, that vows are sacred, and broken people deserve extra grace. I thought if I proved I was enough, he would put the glass down and come back to me, the real him—the man I married.

I stayed because I didn’t want to explain. I didn’t want to see the pity in their eyes or the judgment on their lips. Who would understand that the bruises were sometimes words and silence, that the damage didn’t always leave fingerprints, but echoes? I kept quiet to protect his image, to preserve mine. I wrapped shame around me like armour, pretending everything was fine, even when I was slowly fading away inside.

I stayed because I didn’t recognize myself without the chaos. The drama became my rhythm. I measured love by apologies and relapse, by the highs of hope and the lows of heartbreak. I confused being needed with being loved. I thought if I just kept absorbing the pain, I was saving him, saving us. I became addicted to the idea that my endurance was noble, that my suffering meant something holy.

I stayed because I was scared to be alone. The silence of an empty house was louder than the shouting behind closed doors. Loneliness in marriage is its own kind of hell—watching the person you love disappear into a liquid mistress night after night, while you lie next to a stranger who once knew your soul. I didn’t know how to live without crumbs of affection, without waiting for glimpses of the man I used to know.

I stayed because I carried invisible scars. The ones on the inside that no one saw. Words that tore at my confidence, blame that twisted my sense of reality, gaslighting that made me question my own memory, my own worth. I became a shell, smiling in public, breaking in private. I got so used to apologizing for his behavior, I forgot I deserved better.

I stayed because the light in me kept trying to outshine the darkness in him. I wanted to believe that my love could cast out his demons. I wanted to be his reason to change. But the truth is, you can’t fight someone else’s war when you’re bleeding out from the wounds they gave you. Still, I tried. Over and over. Until the darkness crept into me too, and I began to lose my own spark.

I Stayed, Until I Couldn't
Until my hope turned into survival. Until the fear of staying outweighed the fear of leaving. Until I saw my reflection and didn't recognise the woman staring back. Until I realized that staying wasn't strength—it was survival. And I didn’t want to just survive. I wanted to live. I wanted joy. Peace. Safety. I wanted mornings without fear and nights without begging for love that should’ve been freely given. I stayed because I loved him. But I left because I finally loved me more.  

And in that leaving, I found the light again. I found hope. I found me.