Chapter 2: Your Opinion is Wrong

Some quotes I heard from my parents growing up:

"You can be anything you want to be!"
"You are a hard-working, smart person."
"You will be successful anywhere."
"You bloom where you're planted."

One of the quotes I remember most from the past 15 years:

"Your opinion is wrong."

The first time I heard him say it, I laughed. As in, literally laughed out loud as he spoke. It was the most hilarious thing I'd heard anyone say in an argument. The problem is he wasn't kidding. He thought my thoughts, my perspectives on life, were wrong. 

I remember repeatedly saying, "My perception is my reality! Just because you don't agree, doesn't mean MY perspective is wrong." I remember being utterly confused. How could someone's opinion be wrong? 

So I would argue. I would search for words to explain how my opinion couldn't be right or wrong. It wasn't a judgment call. And as we went back and forth in heated discussion, what I didn't realize at the time was the entire conversation stopped being about whatever opinion he didn't agree with, to whether or not my words and feelings were "right" or not. The discussion always shifted and pulled away from the true issues at heart, whatever they may have been.

This manipulation made me absolutely bonkers. Our discussions would move from being issue-based, to creating a courtroom with me testifying on the stand to prove that my opinion had worth and was valuable.

It was a crazy-maker. I remember so many times thinking, "I am losing my mind. I must be an absolute loony toon." I had no idea how the conversations ended up this way. What was I doing wrong?

He was (and is) super intelligent. Very book smart. He had (and has) a way with words that can tangle you up in your sentences and leave you in the fetal position. And that was me. I hated conflict. (Remember the kitten in the therapy bubble?) I was taught to see other points of view, to attempt to understand others. As I attempted to understand his thoughts and opinions, mine disappeared. I later learned this is called "Gaslighting."

But nobody saw this. Nobody heard these conversations and saw the manipulation behind closed doors. Sure, my family knew to an extent. They knew I was unhappy. Even now, my wonderful sister texted me yesterday and asked, "Did he really have you as Voldemort in his phone?" People didn't know. They still don't.

I have had multiple conversations the last few days about my legal rights in writing this blog. What will I do if he discovers it? Will he take out his anger on my children? Will he sue me? To this moment, I am still nervous about his power and his words and his potential reactions to the things I do and the words I speak. My family has reached out in concern. My husband and I have discussed me deleting the blog soon or simply not posting the link to social media. 

My goal is not to slander or shame. But there is still a small part of me who is scared of him. He has power. He has money. He has a big house in an expensive part of town. He has multiple, highly advanced degrees.

I'm going to keep writing for now because I have finally started to understand what happened. Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards. 

I think my story needs to be shared. And no, that opinion is not wrong.