sae
06-09-2015, 12:54 PM
...and I'm not sorry for it. I have a family member that has kept sending me articles about gaslighting since it became "in style" to talk about it. Grudgingly I read through the articles, bitterly scowling at the author's emotionally charging detailing of her victimization.
Gaslighting is where a spouse uses emotional manipulation to make his (usu. it is the bf or husband) spouse feel less than, using guilt, shame, or just plain hurtful words in order to coerce their partner to stay or do what they want.
I saw it all, the pleading to stay and give him another chance, pushing my anxiety buttons in order to push me into performing the tasks he wanted from me, and using guilt as a punishment when these tasks were not completed. It sounds horrifying, right?
This is where I begin to turn my nose up at all this gaslighting rage. "My husband said he was so disappointed in me because I didn't take the time to make dinner tonight. That made me feel so guilty I just couldn't let it go." This is not abuse. This is communication.
I am not going to refute that it exists. It does, I lived it, and it has affected my life in very huge ways. I will agree it is a terrible thing to do, but I will NOT recognize that it has given me nothing beneficial in return.
Let's move to today. Until yesterday I kept a 33 gallon trash can in my kitchen. That's a big can for just 2-3 people in one house. My bf came in last night from work and noticed a couple house flies buzzing around. It's summer, I keep my back door cracked to allow my dogs free access to the back yard, so I was less than worried about them.
He has the weird habit of checking my trash, shredding my boxes and taking everything out when he comes in (I say weird, I really think it's super sweet). Another fly landed on the trashcan. I lifted the lid and more flies. I was horrified.
The kid has thrown away some kind of food something before she left for out of town last week without my knowledge. My can is so big it takes even longer to fill when it is just me during the day.
"You need to get a kitchen can. This is meant for outside." My bf said offhand as he closed up the bag to take outside. I lost my shit, leaving him completely in the dark as to why the suggestion reduced me to uncontrollable tears.
He really does have the patience of a saint even though he has always experienced girlfriends that use tears to manipulate him. I quickly reevaluated the situation and calmed down. He wasn't telling me I was a terrible person, or that I was a slob, that I was less than.
It was truthing time. I have kept a large can filled a quarter of the way with rocks so that it is harder to pick up. Many years ago I had been sick and did not want to walk in the rain to take out the trash. My husband came home from work, flew into a rage because the can was full. He picked up the can, dumped it over my head and demanded I lie down "in the filth like the pig I was". I lay there for some time, feeling horrified and dirty, until he permitted me to gather the trash again and take it outside.
The experience fostered an irrational fear of filling up my trash can, and fear that someone would do it again. Many years have passed since that happened. I retold the story. My bf said nothing, grabbed his keys from the landing, grabbed my shoes and beckoned me to follow. We found ourselves inside walmart where he pointed and told me to pick out a new trash can.
I chose something bigger, heavy, he pointed at something more kitchen sized, light stainless steel with a foot pedal lid. "This can is only going to leave the floor if YOU move it. I am not that asshole." We agreed on a cheaper plastic can, 13 gallon size, and brought it home.
Once home we set up the new trashcan and he allowed me to take the old one outside where he proceeded to give me the little hatchet I keep by the back door. "Smash it. You will never need one of these again." I made a couple weak swings at first. "Smash it for real." I gave another swing, harder this time. The blade sunk through the plastic and I felt ... gratified. I brought the hatchet down over and over again, each swing harder than the last until the can was no longer recognizeable. In the semi dark it looked like a grotesque plastic monster, and I felt... better.
Gaslighting helped make me who I am, and I am glad for it. I am triggered by little things sometimes, insignificant everyday elements that most overlook. Each time this happens my partner in crime is there to help me undo the damage done, leaving a faint scar as a reminder of the event and the acknowledgement that these things are now in the past.
Without the things in my past I would not be able to learn from them. The abuse did not make me a victim, instead, little by little, it has made me strong. I use my newfound strength daily. Thank you, dead douchebag asshole. Your gaslighting has helped me and the love of my life to create a strong, beautiful monster.
Gaslighting is where a spouse uses emotional manipulation to make his (usu. it is the bf or husband) spouse feel less than, using guilt, shame, or just plain hurtful words in order to coerce their partner to stay or do what they want.
I saw it all, the pleading to stay and give him another chance, pushing my anxiety buttons in order to push me into performing the tasks he wanted from me, and using guilt as a punishment when these tasks were not completed. It sounds horrifying, right?
This is where I begin to turn my nose up at all this gaslighting rage. "My husband said he was so disappointed in me because I didn't take the time to make dinner tonight. That made me feel so guilty I just couldn't let it go." This is not abuse. This is communication.
I am not going to refute that it exists. It does, I lived it, and it has affected my life in very huge ways. I will agree it is a terrible thing to do, but I will NOT recognize that it has given me nothing beneficial in return.
Let's move to today. Until yesterday I kept a 33 gallon trash can in my kitchen. That's a big can for just 2-3 people in one house. My bf came in last night from work and noticed a couple house flies buzzing around. It's summer, I keep my back door cracked to allow my dogs free access to the back yard, so I was less than worried about them.
He has the weird habit of checking my trash, shredding my boxes and taking everything out when he comes in (I say weird, I really think it's super sweet). Another fly landed on the trashcan. I lifted the lid and more flies. I was horrified.
The kid has thrown away some kind of food something before she left for out of town last week without my knowledge. My can is so big it takes even longer to fill when it is just me during the day.
"You need to get a kitchen can. This is meant for outside." My bf said offhand as he closed up the bag to take outside. I lost my shit, leaving him completely in the dark as to why the suggestion reduced me to uncontrollable tears.
He really does have the patience of a saint even though he has always experienced girlfriends that use tears to manipulate him. I quickly reevaluated the situation and calmed down. He wasn't telling me I was a terrible person, or that I was a slob, that I was less than.
It was truthing time. I have kept a large can filled a quarter of the way with rocks so that it is harder to pick up. Many years ago I had been sick and did not want to walk in the rain to take out the trash. My husband came home from work, flew into a rage because the can was full. He picked up the can, dumped it over my head and demanded I lie down "in the filth like the pig I was". I lay there for some time, feeling horrified and dirty, until he permitted me to gather the trash again and take it outside.
The experience fostered an irrational fear of filling up my trash can, and fear that someone would do it again. Many years have passed since that happened. I retold the story. My bf said nothing, grabbed his keys from the landing, grabbed my shoes and beckoned me to follow. We found ourselves inside walmart where he pointed and told me to pick out a new trash can.
I chose something bigger, heavy, he pointed at something more kitchen sized, light stainless steel with a foot pedal lid. "This can is only going to leave the floor if YOU move it. I am not that asshole." We agreed on a cheaper plastic can, 13 gallon size, and brought it home.
Once home we set up the new trashcan and he allowed me to take the old one outside where he proceeded to give me the little hatchet I keep by the back door. "Smash it. You will never need one of these again." I made a couple weak swings at first. "Smash it for real." I gave another swing, harder this time. The blade sunk through the plastic and I felt ... gratified. I brought the hatchet down over and over again, each swing harder than the last until the can was no longer recognizeable. In the semi dark it looked like a grotesque plastic monster, and I felt... better.
Gaslighting helped make me who I am, and I am glad for it. I am triggered by little things sometimes, insignificant everyday elements that most overlook. Each time this happens my partner in crime is there to help me undo the damage done, leaving a faint scar as a reminder of the event and the acknowledgement that these things are now in the past.
Without the things in my past I would not be able to learn from them. The abuse did not make me a victim, instead, little by little, it has made me strong. I use my newfound strength daily. Thank you, dead douchebag asshole. Your gaslighting has helped me and the love of my life to create a strong, beautiful monster.