This is a guest post from one my readers — Rebecca. Thank you Rebecca for sharing your intimate story with us.
Everyone doubted we would last; everyone thought we were hasty, irresponsible, rushing into it, fuelled by lust, doomed to fail. But we were going to prove them wrong, laugh and look back when we were old and wrinkly and fat from eating too much cheese and drinking too much wine. We knew what we had, a fated love, a simple love, pure and able to withstand the torrents of chaos left behind in our separate lives and relationships.
We settled, bought a house, had a beloved little bubba and looked to be proving everyone wrong. We were happy, very in love, very committed to growing together, being good to one another, valuing our relationship, having wonderful sex, communicating. All the things we knew were important, having both come from previous failed relationships.
And then he started drinking a bit more, getting a little more wild, saying nasty things, remembering nothing of it the next morning. Crying, devastated to have even had those words leave his mouth. And then he drank again, and got physical, remembering nothing, crying, baffled that he could even do that to me, swearing nothing like that would ever happen again.
And I swore that if it did, I would leave, with my little family in tow. Because you just can’t do that. That isn’t love.
And then he drank again, became enraged, punched holes in the walls of our home, hated me, wanted to die, pushed me and pulled my hair. Bruised me. This time I called my mum, told her, told the police, didn’t keep it a secret. Told people and made it real. We went to court, him for domestic violence, me to implement an AVO. Against the man I love, who loves me and hurt me.
And now here we are, not long after, the bruise now a little yellowed on the outside and dulled on the inside. He’s trying to forgive himself, trying to let me forgive him, trying to show me that he is capable of change and growth, trying to fight to keep us. I’m trying to forgive him and give him time to show me change and growth. I’m weighing up what has been lost, weighing up what is left behind. I have lost so much but there is still so much left.
So much love and potential left.
So much connection.
So much of everything is still left, but he took so much away, too. I’m fighting for something I believe in.
People think I am foolish. I worry that I am foolish. I believe in forgiveness, in my power to love and forgive. I believe everyone makes mistakes and deserves second chances, even third chances if they are capable of righting their wrongs.
He has a history, a sad one of rejection, of mistrust and abuse — is that enough to excuse the inexcusable. I have a history, an awful one where I observed this behaviour between my parents. Is that why I forgive?
Everyone doubts we will last. I was too hasty, he is too irresponsible. I rushed into it. I hope we prove them wrong.
→ Does love mean forgiving the unforgivable? Can people change if we give them a chance? Do you believe love can survive in the face of impossible odds?