If you could go back in time and give your younger self advice, what would it be?
I’ve been asked a version of this before, and I’ve asked it of myself. Would I warn her? Would I tell that trusting young woman to walk away from the man who would never stop trying to destroy her, the man who would eventually become her ex-husband. Would I try to spare her more than a decade of fighting, first inside her marriage and then in a courtroom long after it ended?
My immediate thoughts go to my daughters, and I will get to that. First, though, there is the self-reflection: what would my life have looked like if I had taken a different path, one that led away from a man who devastated it? I think about the relationships I lost, the friendships I might have kept, the isolation I faced.
I live with high anxiety, in a state of hypervigilance. I plan for the worst in every circumstance. I have been conditioned to prepare for chaos. Finding a threat in everyday living, always seeking out the potential danger, is an exhausting way to live. I’m the parent, the partner, who always asks what if? Hypothetical, catastrophic, highly unlikely possibilities in ordinary, everyday moments plague my brain.
I wish I could find a way to be a more relaxed version of myself. In recent years I have found calm in yoga, walking my dog, music, morning strolls, and connecting with nature. Still, none of it has completely freed me from the frequent feeling of impending doom.
I am grateful that life eventually led me to a patient and compassionate man who not only accepts me and all of my anxiety, but has given me a soft place to heal. He calms my nerves when I voice my what-ifs, and he understands that planning for them is what allows me to feel safe and in control of my life.
Love found me when I wasn’t looking for it, when I least expected it, and that love carried me through some of the most difficult times. I cannot imagine having faced so many challenges alone, without his quiet, nonjudgmental presence rooted at my side.
I’m sad for the version of myself that used to be social, outgoing, and free. The years of gaslighting and manipulation I was subjected to, and the resulting anxiety left to consume me, led me to keep my circle small. It’s hard to trust, and as someone who willingly does so much for the people around me, I often overextended myself for many who wouldn’t do the same. After years of people-pleasing, I finally decided to protect my energy and spirit—investing in my own peace by keeping mainly to myself. It’s a peace I wear as armor against those who brought only hurt and disappointment.
Do I mourn the ever-trusting young woman I was before I met my ex-husband? Sometimes I do. But I also know I learned who I truly was through every battle I fought. I learned to trust in myself and my own strength, fully. I learned that with pain comes a greater recognition and appreciation of joy. Without suffering, there cannot be happiness.
Do I wish I had met the love of my life earlier? I think of the life we could have built during the years I spent fighting a war alone. Yet I also know it was my later self who came out the other side, changed, and capable of meeting love with love. That maturity came from walking through the fire and enduring every burn.
And that brings me back to my children. If I had met the love of my life all those years ago, they wouldn’t exist. There would likely be children, but not them, not exactly who they are, who they have been, and who they will become.
I would not change my children to save myself from any amount of pain. That raises another question: Would I go back and save myself if it meant sparing them the pain they have lived through beside me?
Suppose they could somehow have existed without him. It’s an existential question, but I approach it practically, with their childhood as my evidence.
I was a single mother of two daughters, born two years apart, from the time my youngest was a newborn through the ten years that followed. I can say with complete certainty that they got every ounce of love I had to give, every day. In a two-parent household, the partnership works because the partners make time for their relationship and put each other first, above all else. I didn’t have that split. It was me and my daughters, and they always came first. Our routine held with disciplined consistency: home-cooked meals, story time, evening walks, the activities they wanted, weekends that revolved around their interests. Most days were completely exhausting, and there were many moments I fell apart because the pressure I put on myself to be perfect was enormous. Through it all, I became the best version of myself for them. Every day I pushed past the exhaustion, propelled forward by the sheer will to never let them down.
What I could not give them was a loving father, and I know now that is no fault of mine. Instead, I gave them all of me, and I see my efforts in the young women they are becoming.
One thought has stayed with me through all these years: he would have had children with or without me. As it happened, it was with me. I see that as a blessing, rather than a curse. I believe I was put on this earth to be the mother of his children, that the universe gave me a purpose: to protect them. I don’t think anyone else would have done it the same.
So what would I tell her? Nothing that would change her path. Only this:
You will be enough. For them, and for yourself. You won’t believe it for a long time. Believe it anyway.
~Sophie
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