If you are a verbal abuse sufferer, your abuser tells you how selfish you are on a regular basis. You listen to your abuser's opinion on this matter with bated breath, waiting to hear how you are acting selfishly so you can stop doing it...right now! The backwards thing about it is that you martyred yourself for the relationship by sacrificing so many of your own "selfish" desires that you are now creating a confined, tiny life full of limitless impossibilities.

During my abusive marriage, I learned a disordered and negative coping mechanism. The coping mechanism made me behave manipulatively. It sometimes made me wonder if I was the abuser. This coping mechanism kept me blind to the real danger I lived in but very aware of how much I blamed only myself for causing so much pain. Some call this particular disordered coping mechanism codependency.

There are stages of abuse called the cycle of violence, then there are the stages of abuse that the victim controls. These stages of abuse range from victim to hero, and include the labels of target and survivor along the way. What stage of abuse are you in today?

The stages of moving from Victim of Abuse to Hero of Your Abuse-Free Life includes transitory phases of Target and Survivor.  Some people get stuck as a Target. How do you know when and how to move on?

Will would often tell me that I would never find another man like him. I did not stop to consider if I would want to find another guy like him because deep down, the answer was "No, I never want to know someone like you ever again." Instead of answering the real question, I chose to listen to him tell me why he was so great. Honestly, I agreed because when it came to work, Will was great. Will works diligently, and held two jobs in the early years. I did not worry about income. I was able to stay at home with the boys without once being asked to take a job. He willingly put up with work he hated to provide for his family. Will wanted to be married, wanted children, wanted a family. He wanted to keep us neat and tight like collectible robots on a shelf.

During the time I was trying to save my marriage, I made quite a few mistakes. One of them was naming the type of verbal abuse he used as he said the words. After educating myself with many books (mostly by Patricia Evans), I made a list of the abusive techniques he has at his disposal. I learned them (hint: great idea) and posted them on the fridge (hint: terrible idea). Then, when he'd pull one of those tricks out of his hat, I named it, told him that I would talk to him when he was NOT trying to control me, and then turn on my dainty heels to leave the room.

Although unseen in the tumultuous immediate aftermath of The Day I Left Him, justice was served. Nevertheless, in my pain, I felt slighted by my son who ran from me betrayed by my husband who wouldn't admit the truth punished by the judge who gave custody to my abuser unable to see where my actions caused him any tragic feelings remotely similar to my own (I wanted him to hurt, and he didn't) It seemed he'd won. I felt justice wasn't only blind, but also the stupidest philosophical idea ever imagined by mankind.

I remember crawling into my soft bed, fan blowing softly but enough that I tucked my hair behind my ear to keep it from tickling my nose. The covers were heavy, cool with a hint of Downy April Fresh; my pillow cradled my head in a mother's embrace. I fell asleep happy with the day, quietly looking forward to his return late in the night. The house was spotless and smelled fresh. The children were quiet in their own beds for a change. Not one sound in the whole house that shouldn't be there. I drifted to sleep so slowly I consciously noticed the change in my breath as I fell deeper and deeper into dreams. I let myself go. BANG! I moved so fast my brain didn't know I was sitting. BANG! "What?! What is it?" I said, my heart pounding in the darkness. A shadow crossed in front of the window headed toward the other dresser. It was him. I read his body language in the split second it took for him to pass through the moonlight. He was pissed. BANG! BANG! BANG! Three more drawers opened and slammed. "Where are my f@c&i*g socks, KELLIE?" he yelled.

The whirling emotions of the day I left continued into the next months. I continued to hold on to the positive feelings and thoughts with the help of my sister, mother and friends. Without them, I wonder if I would have succumbed to begging forgiveness from Will, begging him to come home, knowing I'd only find myself worse off in the long term.

Just when I think I'm healing along nicely, POW - an insightful Facebook friend raises an important question: Am I engaging in self-blame? Um...yes. Self-blame (and self-punishment) comprise a large portion of the answer to the question "Why do you stay in that abusive relationship?!" But I thought I was beyond self-blame. I can (now) laugh at my ex's nasty comments instead of wonder how I managed to cause him to say them. Isn't that a sign that I no longer blame myself for his behavior?