The Truth That No One Sees

 

The Lies He Told About Me

I sat frozen, staring at the words on my screen. Chad was telling people he felt like a prisoner in his own home, and I was the warden. He painted me as controlling, demanding, excessive—everything I fought every day not to be.

I felt anger, disbelief, and then deep, aching hurt. Because it couldn't be further from the truth. I don't chain him down or suffocate him with demands. If anything, I've spent years doing too much, bending myself to accommodate him, swallowing my frustrations to keep the peace.

The truth is, I grant him freedom because I'm afraid of what could happen if I didn't.

Why I’m Afraid to Leave Them Alone

My fears aren’t baseless. They're rooted deep in reality, in moments I've worked tirelessly to hide from the world. Because when Chad broke down, when his mental health unraveled before my eyes, I didn’t shame him. I didn’t expose him or humiliate him; instead, I protected him, shielded him from judgment, and helped him through it. I kept it hidden because I loved him, because that's what a partner does.

But it left scars. It planted fear deep inside me. Now, whenever I consider leaving Jonny alone with Chad, anxiety grips my chest like a vice. It's not just Chad who provokes the fights—Jonny does, too, though often unknowingly, like any typical teenager pushing boundaries. But Chad doesn't understand or tolerate teenage rebellion. He takes it personally, like every challenge is a direct threat to him, and he struggles immensely to control his anger in those moments.

There was one night in particular that remains burned into my memory. Jonny was spiraling out of control emotionally, unable to calm himself down. Instinctively, I asked Chad to step in, not thinking clearly about the foul mood Chad was already in. Instead of diffusing the situation, Chad escalated it. He confronted Jonny aggressively, provoking him further. It got so intense that I physically had to intervene, wedging myself between them, using every ounce of strength to push Chad away. I could see it clearly—the anger in Chad's eyes, the tension in his body, his fists clenched. He was seconds away from hitting my child. Had that happened, there would have been no going back. I would never look at Chad the same way again.

Afterward, Jonny calmed down, but Chad stayed revved up, still enraged. It's that uncontrollable anger in Chad I'm terrified of—the anger that could shatter our family in an instant.

The Battle of Sobriety and Mental Health

At the same time Chad was telling others these distorted stories, I was barely holding myself together. Newly sober, I was feeling every buried emotion all at once—like a wrecking ball crashing through my carefully built walls. Years of numbing myself had suddenly ended, and the weight of reality was crushing. On top of that, we were in court, fighting tooth and nail for custody of Jonny because he desperately needed to get away from his father. Chad said he was behind me, but after the messages I found, I never felt secure in his support again.

The stress became too much, triggering psychosis—a terrifying break from reality where paranoia became my everyday companion. I became convinced Chad was cheating, obsessively searching through his phone, emails, tracking every move. When I finally opened up to him, desperate for support, he made me feel ashamed. Instead of comfort or reassurance, he laughed, called me crazy, dismissed my mental health struggles as trivial because I hadn't endured war or something equally horrific.

He couldn't—or wouldn't—see that my trauma was just as real. Losing the three most important people in my life—my Nema, Poppop, and my dad—at crucial moments left me shattered, pushing me into alcoholism. Even now, I don't feel safe being truly open with Chad, afraid of being mocked or dismissed again.

The Weight of Responsibility

But despite everything, despite my fractured mental state, I never allow myself the luxury of breaking down or checking out. I have responsibilities—a family to care for, a home to hold together. So I push on, silently carrying my burdens, longing for just a minute to myself at the end of each exhausting day.

But even those rare moments are stolen. Hiding in the bathroom, desperate for a few minutes of peace, I'm always found. Always needed. Always pulled back into their world, forced to handle what they refuse to manage themselves. I'm never allowed to rest or recover.

What Needs to Change

I need Chad to truly see me again. To listen without twisting my words. I need him to take responsibility, genuinely engage in therapy, and actively repair his relationship with Jonny. I need our home to be a safe space for all of us—a place filled with understanding and love, not judgment and tension.

Because if nothing changes, I'm afraid we'll lose each other completely—and I'm not ready to lose what's left of the man I still love.

My Strength, My Future

But through this journey, something else has happened—I discovered a strength within myself I never knew existed. Sobriety didn't just bring clarity to the chaos around me; it made me realize my own worth. I've learned that I'm not defined by Chad's perceptions or anyone else's judgments. My value isn't determined by how smoothly I manage crises or how quietly I endure pain. Sobriety has taught me resilience, self-respect, and the courage to finally acknowledge what I truly deserve. Sobriety has also revealed who truly stands beside me. It has stripped away false friendships and shown me who accepts me for who I am now, not who I used to be. Many have walked away—some because they can’t handle the truth of my reality, others because they preferred the version of me that drowned my pain in alcohol. And that’s okay. The ones who remain, the ones who support me even when they don’t fully understand, those are the people who matter.

And my son? He will remember this. Not just the years when I was lost in addiction, but the moment I chose him, the moment I chose myself. When he’s grown, when he has his own family, he will know that I fought for him. That when he needed me, I was there. That I taught him resilience, perseverance, and the strength to stand tall in the face of pain and struggle.

I no longer live to keep everyone else comfortable. This is my life, my new beginning. I will not bend myself into someone else’s version of who I should be. I will continue to fight for my family, for myself, and for the life I deserve. And no matter how many times life knocks me down, I will get back up. Because I refuse to go down without a fight.