"Perfect."

When I was thirteen, I was raped, and both of my breasts were severely mutilated. I had to have a partial mastectomy because of it. 

Eleven years later, my husband saw me in the nude for the first time on our wedding night. I had never told him of the trauma I endured for fear that he might not want me anymore. 

His reaction was the opposite of what I expected. 

He kissed every scar with tenderness I didn't even know existed, and he said to me, "These scars only give your stretch marks something to gossip about. Your breasts are perfect." 

That was the moment I truly fell in love with him. 

"Why would you worry about your hair?"

My husband was driving us to the store one day, and I asked him to roll up the window because the wind was blowing my hair too much. 

He responded, "With a fat ass and fat stomach, why would you worry about your hair?"

I was pregnant with our first child at the time. 

I haven't felt comfortable naked around my husband since. It's been thirty years. 
 

"Men want to be taken care of..."

As far back as I can remember, I've wanted to get married. 

I got sick when I was 21, and have been in chronic pain every minute of every day in the ten years that have followed.

One day my dad said to me, "No man will ever love you. Men want to be taken care of, not to take care of you. You'd make a terrible wife."

I still think he's right. 

"I'm going to make sure my grandbaby isn't going to hell."

I started dating my now-fiancé when I was 16, and his mother hated me from the start. She has said many hurtful things over the years, but one in particular sticks with me. We were barbecuing at my fiancé's house, and he went inside to help his dad, leaving me alone outside with his mom.

Ever since I told her that I'm agnostic, she's always gone on about how I'm going to hell. But that night she brought up children and baptism. I told her that I would not be baptizing my child because I believe it's a choice to be left up to them. 

She put her hand on mine and said, "You won't be there, but I'm going to make sure my grandbaby isn't going to hell, too." 

I never told my fiancé what his mother said, but it makes me scared to have children.

"You were such a difficult child."

When I was very young, my mother married a man who turned out to be sadistic and abusive in many ways. A few years later, my mother left me with my biological father because I told someone what was happening.

For years, I carried anger and resentment over all of this and hoped that one day I would get the apology I felt I deserved. 

One night when I was an adult, during a lengthy conversation with my mother over all the abuses I went through and how I felt abandoned and betrayed, she said, "I'm sorry that's how you felt. But you were such a difficult child." 

This was devastating to say the least. 

The realization that my own mother felt I deserved what I went through because I was "such a difficult child," and that the genuine apology I wanted so deeply was never going to come, broke my heart. 

Our relationship is much better these days, but I can't tell you how often those words play in the back of my mind. 

"You were such a difficult child."

"When did you become a kicked dog?"

It had gotten late, the family party becoming more rowdy, so I grabbed my sleeping toddler, and my nearly sleeping child. I packed up our stuff, then made my way over to my husband. 

"Kids and I are ready to go whenever you are, babe." 

"We'll go when I'm ready," my husband snapped. He must have seen my disappointment, and he grabbed me for a hug and kissed me, just a peck. 

I turned to see my father behind us, shaking his head. "When did you become a kicked dog?" He asked. "Struck, then crawling back for the smallest ounce of affection."

Since then, every argument, every time I give just to not fight anymore, I see her. The kicked dog standing in the corner, waiting for the kindness that follows.

"...if it weren't for your attitude problem."

Junior year of high school I started dating the sweetest, smartest, and most handsome guy I'd ever met. It was heaven. But soon we started fighting a lot and we broke up and got back together a million times.

In April and we were supposed to be married. I got a little bit of cold feet, so he called off our wedding. I was devastated. 

About a month later, he started acting suspicious. He was on his phone a lot, changed his password, and never let me touch it. I saw him texting another girl that he wanted to be with her. He packed all of his stuff up in the middle of the night and left.

Late June he left for basic training for the Army. He messaged me the morning he shipped out, saying, "If you stay faithful while I'm gone, we might get married when I come back. You're my one, if it weren't for your attitude problem."

I waited two months and heard nothing from him. That was a month ago. Now I'm with a really sweet guy who goes out of his way to make sure I know he loves me every single day and that he thinks I'm the most beautiful creature on Earth. We're planning on getting married on Halloween.
 

"...until I fit in."

I've always admired my mom. She married my dad, moved to the US from Mexico, and got her citizenship via naturalization. She worked hard to learn English, and worked even harder to provide for four us after a bitter divorce.

At one point she was working three jobs, and she still always showed us the positive even though we were really poor at the time. She often faced a lot of racism in our small town because of her (and our) heritage. 

One day, I asked her how she does it. A Hispanic woman in a small, Midwestern community making ends meet with a smile on her face, not letting the haters bring her down. She looked at me, smiled and said, "If I'm in a new place, I squish and squeeze until I fit in." 

That's always stuck with me. She made a place for herself and worked hard for it. I'm lucky if I'll ever grow to be half the woman she is.

"I guess I did screw up minorly."

Ever since I can remember, I had difficulties in school, and I was always really socially awkward. Starting in second grade, I was severely teased for being different. 

My second grade teacher was so supportive and kind, and he advocated that I get tested to find out why I was different from everyone else. But after I was tested, my mother, who I refer to as "Birthgiver" made sure I never found out the results. 

I used to come home in tears, begging to know why I was so different, and she would say things like, "What did you do to them first to make them tease you?" "You're lazy and don't apply yourself." "The only way I can get through to you is by hitting you." "You need to stop being such a baby." 

By high school, I finally just stopped asking why I was different. Stopped telling her in detail about how cruel kids were to me. I just started saying "I'm fine," and, "School was fine."

I started dating someone at age 19, got married and divorced, and didn't speak to my birthgiver for eight years. 

When I finally reached out to her, I hoped that she had realized her faults in our relationship.  Instead of taking accountability for what she did, she just said. "Oh, yeah, I guess I did screw up minorly by not telling you that you have autism."

That has always stuck with me. If I had known I had autism sooner, and she had gotten me some additional help from outside school, maybe I wouldn't have struggled for so long.
 

"Sometimes I think he did too good a job."

At some point early in our marriage, I happened to mention to my ex-husband that my dad had made a point to raise independent daughters, and something in regards to the benefits of this. My husband replied, "Yeah, I know. But sometimes I think he did too good a job." 

At the time I brushed this comment off, but looking back now (and after a great deal of therapy), I can see this as a portent of things to come. 

Throughout our marriage, my independence increasingly became an issue for him. It meant that he and his wants couldn't always come first in our relationship, or that sometimes he might have to take someone else into consideration when making decisions about something.  When we got into arguments, my ability to stand up for myself became a tool he used against me. When I would bring up something he'd said in the past, he would either deny having said it, or accuse me of twisting his words. Throughout all of this, he cast himself as the innocent bystander, or even the victim, making me feel guiltier and guiltier. 

I eventually started to doubt myself, all the time, about everything. Rather than reaching a mutually satisfying compromise over an issue, I found myself just giving in to his demands, or letting him talk me around to his point of view. I began to view my independence as a negative trait and a selfish behavior. I remember telling my therapist I felt like I was going crazy because I was never sure about anything anymore and didn't feel like myself. 

Thank goodness my independence never fully left me, because I never stopped fighting, and finally asked for a divorce after about 3 years. I have a wonderful new partner in life who loves me as I am, and sincerely appreciates my independence and self sufficiency. He never questions my desire or need to do something on my own, but gently lets me know he's there if I need him. I revel in the life I have built for myself. 

But there are times, in my most anxiety ridden moments, when I hear my ex-husband's voice in the back of my head and start to doubt myself again, and just for a second I wonder if my independence won't also be my downfall. Then I remember how f*cking amazing I am, and that he is just a selfish narcissist who doesn't believe that white, male privilege exists.