The Power of Naming Things

 

I just read an essay written about the power of naming things. But there had been something I had not named out loud to the person who should have been my ride or die. Even as the idea of divorce became conceptualized, and we finally told the kids, he looked at me and told me he wished he had never hit me, but still the word could not be spoken. Abuse.

It was the first time I had ever used the word out loud toward him. The first time I had identified the thing that led to the dissolution of our marriage. And here I was, saying it. Or rather being dared to say it. So I told him. Straight to his face. That he was abusive. He challenged that notion. Challenged me to give me a specific example. I quickly scanned through a few that still felt fresh, even though we were 5 years removed from being legally married. He challenged the details, I got even more specific about the event. He then pivoted to denying that it even happened.

He quickly shifted the narrative. I had convinced the kids that he was abusive. I had spread this lie that vilified him. And me speaking that out loud to them was abuse. I was intentionally vilifying him.

My body shook. In the car, my son broke down. He had heard most of it. The denial, the anger, cascaded over us and felt almost overpowering. Did I make all of it up Mom? My son asked. Did I just imagine the abuse?

No. And you know why I know that? Because your body remembers.

And it does. So name it. Because you are what has happened to you, and when it isn’t named, you cannot move through what happened and reconnect to that part of you that felt disoriented by what you went through.

Maybe for right now, you want to name it toxic. But when you are a bit stronger, I promise, that tremendous power will come from you being able to say, I am a domestic abuse survivor. Because your body knows, and it wants to survive too.