The Decision to Stay or Go

For years, I’ve been caught in an emotional whirlwind, wrestling with a deeply personal decision:
Do I keep fighting for a marriage that’s carved painful and permanent scars?
Or do I finally summon the courage to step away and reclaim my life?

Writing this isn’t just therapeutic—it’s my reminder, my accountability, and maybe a lifeline to anyone else grappling with the weight of a similar choice.

Owning My Part—But Not All of It

I let years of small dismissals snowball into daily contempt: eye‑rolling when I spoke, jokes about my “oversensitivity,” and public put‑downs that left me deeply embarrassed and wanting to walk away. Instead of drawing a line, I rationalized, She’s just this way. This is due to her childhood, etc.

Worse, I hid behind alcohol. Two screwdrivers became four—my nightly numbing. Each drink postponed the boundary I knew I needed to set, and the conversation I should have had over and over again.

Here’s the inventory I own:

I stayed quiet.
I avoided hard conversations.
I reached for alcohol rather than boundaries.

Those omissions are mine—that’s 10 percent of the blame for this marriage’s condition.

What I won’t own is her 90 percent: the mocking, the endless ridicule, and criticism for everything, quite literally, many days from morning until night. Abuse is never split down the middle. Pretending it is only gaslights the truth all over again.

The Question That Keeps Me Up

Even with that clarity…
Even after years of hurt, after knowing how deeply I’ve been changed… and not for the better…
Why do I still hesitate?

Why can’t I just say the words:
“I’m done”?

What Really Holds Me Back

Trauma Bonding
When praise and punishment come from the same person, you learn to chase the scraps of kindness. Logic gets twisted. Pain becomes familiar.
Fear of the Unknown
Walking away means blowing up every pillar of life, my finances, routines, friendships, even the life timeline I thought I was following.
Identity Drift
I’ve worn the mask of the “nice guy,” absorbing every blow to avoid conflict. To say enough means becoming someone new, and that is not a switch to flip.

I’m not just hurt; I’ve been fundamentally altered—dimmed. And yet I still pause. Why? Where is the anger?

What Courage Actually Looks Like

Courage isn’t dramatic. It’s five-second choices repeated until the truth becomes louder than the fear.

Saying stop the second a line is crossed.
Speaking raw truth to her and to myself, even if it comes with blowback.
Reaching out for help, support instead of isolating.
Fighting to imagine a life where peace isn’t earned—it’s the default we all deserve.

Commitment to Truth

Whether I stay or go, I refuse to rewrite the past or soften what happened.
Abuse only ends when honesty begins—especially the honesty we say to ourselves.

This isn’t about blame.
It’s about my freedom.

I wish things were different, I wish my heart and mind would come around to forgiveness and healing, but it’s just not happening even after all the work I’ve done and frankly, she’s done as well.

The damage may be irreversible.

A Call to Anyone Who Feels This

If you find yourself trapped in a similar loop, I urge you to start by identifying one undeniable and labeling one truth that is causing harm. Write it down, voice it to someone you trust, and let it harm start to be exposed to the light.

Though I haven’t crossed the finish line just yet, the direction I’m heading is becoming clearer. Stay tuned for my next update.