Reconstruction: The Aftermath of Leaving an Emotionally Abusive Relationship

This new chapter of my life was entitled: Reconstruction.

It was surreal to not have him in my life anymore. After years of constant presence - a presence that dictated my every move, reaction, and even internal thoughts - the sudden silence was both a relief and a shock. I had been so conditioned to revolve around his moods and demands that I needed time to detach both emotionally and psychologically.

Scrolling back through the pictures on my phone I see the first photo after I left him is with my family. Symbolic, isn’t it? My mom’s cousin was visiting and we took her around Zurich. The sun was shining, there was laughter, and for the first time in a long while, I felt... safe. There were no hidden agendas, no emotional landmines, no fear of saying the wrong thing. Just the simplicity of familial love and a shared meal. I soaked in every drop of it.

And that’s exactly what I did in the first few months: soak up love. I surrounded myself with people who made me feel loved and accepted. After years of emotional scarcity, I was drinking in the normalcy, the freedom to choose who I saw, what I did, and what I felt.

Shortly after, I took a trip back to Latin America. Though I had lived the past 16 years in Europe, I grew up in Mexico City, and the warmth of Latino culture is deeply embedded in me. But due to his own unresolved trauma - his father being Colombian - he rejected anything related to Latin culture. By extension, I did too. I wasn’t allowed to speak Spanish at home, play Latin music, or even go out to eat the food I loved. So when two of my closest friends suggested a birthday trip to El Salvador, it was more than a vacation. It was a homecoming.

Landing in San Salvador was emotional. Even though I'd never been, it felt familiar. Loud, warm, chaotic, vibrant. I rediscovered a piece of myself that had been dormant. Driving with my friend, windows down, blasting guilty pleasure songs from our youth, I felt an overwhelming sense of release.

My friend hosted us in her home with open arms. Her kindness, her hugs, her laughter - they were all part of my healing. Meeting her now-husband was healing, too. Watching how they treated each other, how they supported one another without power games, without manipulation, was proof that love didn’t have to hurt. That affection could be silly, reciprocal, and full of joy. Being around them and feeling their love for each other was contagious and gave me hope again. So here goes an enormous thank you to my "favourite cuople".

Bringing joy back in my life

But back home, the detachment wasn’t so simple.

Even after I moved out, he continued to insert himself into my life. He'd text me about his business, ask me to file his taxes, fix his car, find him a new apartment. And I did. Because I didn’t know how not to. I didn’t know how to set boundaries, I didn't even know what a boundary was.

Eventually, I even helped him sign the lease to a new apartment - in both our names -because he had no income so wouldn't have been able to on his own. The kicker? It was at the same tram stop as my new job. I would get anxiety attacks every morning on the way to work, terrified of seeing him. And yes, he would show up unannounced, despite my pleas not to.

And that was just the surface.

There were still so many red flags. 9 years in and still so many moments that I normalized because I didn't know how to change the dynamic.

He would say:

“Get this stupid idea out of your head that I am controlling you... I have expectations, that is it.”

That’s what gaslighting sounds like. Denying control while actively exerting it, redefining manipulation as "expectations."

Or the time he told me:

“You either learn to take my input or you can f*** off.”

He criticized everything. Once, when I tried to handle a work task on my own like he'd asked me to, he blew up:

“I still can’t believe I have to think of all of this.” “You are supposed to be acting CEO!” “Just very poor execution.”

He positioned himself as the mastermind, the savior, the genius. I was the one who always messed things up, who needed to "learn." His way was the only way.

He would call me emotionally unstable, project his own rage onto me, and then paint himself as the victim. I had left the relationship, but I still somehow wasn't sure if maybe I really was the problem.

When I tried to assert any independence, he reacted with jealousy and paranoia. Once, after I went to a bar we used to frequent, he scolded me for going to "his" place with other people. He viewed my entire world as an extension of his.

When he couldn’t control me with charm, he used fear. When fear didn’t work, he used guilt. And when guilt didn’t work, he played the victim. But it was never really about me. It was about his need to control, to be admired, to feel superior.

When he finally got a job, I felt a small shift. There was less intensity, fewer drunk calls, fewer demands. I dared to breathe.

Until one day, he called out of the blue.

He needed money. He hadn't saved for his taxes. Meanwhile, I was drowning in debt - debt in my name, accrued for his businesses. I had moved back in with my parents. I was living paycheck to paycheck. He, on the other hand, was living in a fancy apartment, going out, wining and dining a new girlfriend, taking her on the same trips he had taken me on when we met.

That was my breaking point. For the first time ever, I said no.

He raged. But I was unmoved. I had nothing left to give. No more enabling. No more sacrificing my future for his comfort. I told him not to contact me anymore.

This whole period was a psychological minefield. I had internalized the belief that I was incapable of functioning without him. He had made sure of that. I genuinely believed I wouldn’t be loved again, that I wasn’t capable of taking care of myself.

But...

I started dating again.

I got a job.

I rekindled relationships he had convinced me were toxic or lost.

I began finding my way back to myself.

What society, parents, partners, and even friends define as "you" can often overshadow your true self. I was forced to rebuild from the ground up. What part of my personality was truly me and what was a consequence of survival? What did I enjoy doing on a weekend on my own? What food do I like? How do I want to dress? How do I like to wear my makeup? My hair? What career aspirations do I have?

I got to make each and every single decision consciously. Decisions which had always been controlled and vetted.

With time and distance, the fog cleared. I saw through his manipulation and I started to get tired and unimpressed by the same story over and over again. I saw how he always played the victim. Nothing was ever his fault. Everyone else was always to blame. Even when he admitted to hurting people, he framed it in a way that made him the one who was suffering most.

That clarity was freedom.

The less I respected him, the less I feared him.

And one day, I realized: he had no power over me anymore...