I’ll confess I have no idea what day of the week it was, or even the time of year. But I remember the incident with absolute clarity – a day that had the most profound impact on my life.
Doug and I had been married for a year, maybe two, and he was well-acquainted with all of my idiosyncrasies and soft spots. Although many areas of my broken heart had mended, all the years of trying to please a man who could not be pleased had manifested itself in an unbalanced, never-ending pursuit of personal perfection. Wherever I went, whatever I did, I was constantly looking for ways to improve myself, to stay out of trouble, to get it right. I sought to conceal every blemish, while simultaneously chastising myself for each and every insufficiency and then committing to do better.
Even my preferred escape from a day’s stresses was a long soak in a soothing bubble-bath. Yes, my sweet respite represented a few more minutes in which I might add to my self-improvement duties, a little time spent filling my heart with the stories of incredible people with impressive testimonies. I would soak up tales of inspiration and feed my spirit on each and every devotional. I wanted to be the best me I could be, to know that my life had value and purpose. But in my heart, I believed that I would never ever be good enough.
Minister.” Anyway, I am always baffled when I am around men and they comment about how they seem to have a hard time connecting with their wives. Or when they share their displeasure of their marriage to me. This happened a long time ago in case someone is lurking and being nosy.
Mr. Religious-Abuser,