There's Something About Adam

*flashback*

I raced home from work with a silly grin spread across my face. I jumped out of the car and ran into the house, leaping into the kitchen where Adam was standing. I could not contain my excitement, I was over the moon.

"They picked me! They picked me! I got the promotion!" I shouted with glee. 

Silence fell upon the room. I was met with a blank expression. 

"Awesome." He replied flatly as he turned his back to me. 

The mood was instantly shattered, what was meant to be my celebration quickly turned into fear, had I done something wrong? When I questioned Adam I was accused of bragging, of being insensitive and too proud. You see, several weeks prior, one of Adam's colleagues was offered a promotion. A promotion that Adam hadn't applied for, he wasn't even interested in it. But the fact that I was offered a promotion just weeks after what he perceived as his own rejection, made Adam feel resentment towards me. I apologised for being so hurtful, I felt like a terrible wife.

Sadly, this was the story of my marriage. Years earlier, I missed my own University graduation because Adam had something else he wanted us to do that day. When my degree arrived in the mail, I was so proud that I framed it and hung it on the wall. When Adam came home from work and saw it, he laughed.

"That's a bit up yourself, don't you think?" He said as he parked himself in front of the TV, beer in hand.

The moment our first child was born was the proudest of my life. Our beautiful daughter arrived after a long, hard labour. I had pushed on through it without a single complaint or drug. I caught our baby in my arms and pulled her to my chest, amazed at my own achievement. Adam looked at both of us, bloody and sweaty, and with a look of indifference, he stood and said;

"I'm going home to have a shower and a sleep."

And then he walked off, leaving our brand new baby and I with the hospital staff. She was barely a minute old. You see, Adam was so tired after all of that work. All of that work sitting and reading his magazine while I laboured on my own.

In both my work and my personal life, I've been regularly exposed to domestic violence. Whether it be the sad tale of a broken customer, a violent neighbourly brawl on the street, or watching my own mother being beaten to a pulp, I've seen it from many angles. The problem with this is that as a result, I hold any man who DOESN'T lay his hands on a woman in high esteem. If he doesn't hit you, he's worth his weight in gold. 

When I met Adam, his gentle nature was unlike any I'd seen. He was not the breed of man I knew, he wouldn't even lay his hands on another man, let alone a woman. For this reason alone, I propped him up on a pedestal, and he quickly became my escape, my comfort, my safety.

But there is something about Adam. Something that some might argue is frivolous in comparison to domestic violence, but it can be equally debilitating.

It has taken a lifetime for me to learn that physical violence is not the only form of abuse. Bruises fade, wounds heal, but emotional abuse causes damage to parts of you that are difficult to repair. My self esteem, confidence, and social skills have taken a beating because my husband has always wanted me to be someone else. Someone who doesn't strive to achieve, who isn't proud and outgoing, who is content to sit in the corner quietly and let life pass her by.  

It has taken a lifetime for me to realise that I shouldn't have to change who I am to please someone else.
To accept that I am not a bad person for wanting to be someone.
To accept that Adam and I just aren't good for each other.