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killbarbie · 8 months

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I know some of you have been following along and I’ve had so many kind messages throughout my pregnancy, so I wanted to update that my baby girl came August 22nd! It was a pretty traumatic birth and I really have not had the capacity to talk about it with anyone at all, but she is such an angel of a baby and now we get to heal together ♥️

#birth trauma cw #note

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bonebabbles · 3 months

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I keep starting and abandoning posts that go into my drafts, as I try to stay tasteful about how fucking revolted this part makes me. Like, I'm legitimately unsure if the very relevant trauma I have is making me see things that aren't here

But first we see that Star Flower is trying to ingratiate herself to the group, just after she reappears from chapter 5. Chapter 5 is about how Clear Sky is still abusive towards his son, and she comes in after stroking his ego, stressing how alone she is, and appealing to how she'll be loyal unlike his child. (She glances over at Thunder, directly implying this.)

Now in Chapter 9, she's babysitting and trying to care for Milkweed's kits (in spite of discomfort from Milkweed), taking a wet sleeping space away from the others, and pulling more than her own weight "without complaint." Putting herself through harsh sitations to prove her worth.

All while trying to appear extra attractive to Thunder, and later Clear Sky. Basically every man in power who can "protect her"

Like, am I going fucking crazy? With how we later find out that Star Flower was "promised as a mate" to One Eye's subordinate Slash, is... is that hypersexualization? One of the extremely stigmatized symptoms of sexual abuse?

She goes to find Clear Sky alone to throw herself at his paws, and he's very quickly attracted to how she promises to perfectly obey him, have no needs of her own, and finally be the perfect servant that he desires

"I don't deserve your trust because I am dirt. I understand you because I also regret something. I'd die for you. I'll never betray you unlike those who have."

This isn't manipulation. She means this. The story is playing their romance sincerely. She's comparing "betraying" Thunder by telling her own father about an assassination ambush to Clear Sky's history of child abuse, physical assault, and murder

She believes she's on the same level as this; a monster who murdered a childhood friend in a fit of entitled rage. She was a victim of One Eye who really believes that the way her father used her means she "understands" this monster, deserves this treatment.

And Clear Sky LIKES that.

He likes that she will have COMPLETE FAITH in him. That she will follow him WITHOUT QUESTION. That she will OBEY his orders. That's fucking verbatim, that's THE TEXT!!!

WHILE HE'S STILL CRYING ABOUT "ive tried to atone every day" FOLLOWING THE LAST TWO BOOKS WHERE THE ONLY SHITTY THING HE DOESN'T DO IS MURDER INNOCENT WOMEN

Am I insane?? Am I wrong??? Am I missing something here???? Why the fuck is the fandom takeaway "haha sexy girl steals his dad." Did I read the same book

#Csa mention #Did they once again do a misogyny so hard they accidentally gave their woman character trauma #My tip to anyone in a draining relationship. If your partner fetishizes that YOU would never leave or betray them unlike ''all the others''#RUN.#There may be a reason their exes cut ties with them and they're praising you for ignoring red flags #Especially when your partner is significantly older and more experienced #Theres nothing noble about constantly suffering for the sake of 'loyalty'#Star Flower PLEASE get out of here you dont fucking deserve this you did nothing wrong #Bones reads dotc #Dotc hate #I thought i was just remembering things wrong when i was adding the subtheme of thunder having a connection to star via abusive dads-#-in my dotc rewrite. But no it's right there. It's in the text and it's something clear is attracted to #I abuse the shit out of my son and he left me once over it #But i can abuse this girl his same age and she won't run. Finally! A victim who won't leave!#And then they become mates and she births at least two litters #Cw abuse #sa mention #EDIT: I've changed the language just slightly #because the timeline COULD work out that starf was an adult when she was promised to slash for a very brief window of time #and hypersexualization is a symptom of trauma resulting from many types of sex abuse. Even that done when the victim was an adult.#it's just more common in CSA

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ontinetine · 2 months

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a moment away

a Malachi-verse minific from Ivan's POV, set when Malachi's a cabin boy. Originally posted on twitter.

cw for discussion of birth trauma

While the other cabin boys are oohing and ahhing over the real blade Izzy got Malachi for his birthday, Izzy slips away, down below deck. Ivan follows him.

He's taller than Izzy now, has been for a while. Still, the height difference startles Izzy when Ivan catches up with him in the hold. Izzy's not even pretending to sort through their stores. He's just standing there, breathing hard, eyes overbright.

They don't talk about the day Malachi was born. Never, ever. Doesn't mean Ivan doesn't think about it, though. He'd thought he was so grown, but looking back, he was just a fucking kid at 14. Just a fucking kid with Izzy and Mal's lives in his hands.

Just a kid with Izzy's blood staining his fingers every time he checked to see if the babe was coming. 14 years old, not letting himself cry but begging for his mamī in his head because she would have known how to guide the baby out.

She would have known what to do when Malachi came out grey and limp - Izzy gave Malachi his breath, and somehow, that miracle boy lived. Ivan cried like a child in Fang's arms afterward. Because he was a child.

Ivan realizes this now more than ever as Malachi creeps up on the age Ivan was when he was born. Malachi sprouted recently, is drawing close to Izzy's height. He's gangly and awkward. He still sleeps with his silk lovey.

Malachi would deliver someone's baby if he had to. But Ivan wouldn't want him to.

They never talk about that day, but Ivan knows Izzy's memories of it drove him to hide just now.

"You got Mal a wicked good sword, boss," Ivan says quietly. Izzy nods, throat bobbing. Ivan hesitates. Fang would hug Izzy, but that seems too close to acknowledging bad memories.

The door to the deck creaks open. "Ivan?" Malachi calls. "Is Da down there? He said he'd spar with me."

Izzy holds up a finger. One minute, he mouths.

Ivan nods. "He's gotta finish some shit down here," he yells to Mal. "Said I could do warm-ups with you though."

"Alright," Mal says, delighted.

Just this once, Ivan squeezes Izzy's shoulders. To his surprise, Izzy gently bumps their foreheads together before he lets go.

#they speak #fanfiction #my fanfiction #ofmd #izzy hands #trans dad izzy hands #the malachi verse #ivan ofmd #kid fic #cw birth trauma

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autogeneratedkahootnickname · 1 year

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Be forewarned, just SO many spoilers for ALL of Downton Abbey, reader be advised

-------------------------------------------------

I saw this one amazing post about Downton Abbey about the stakes being either super high or incredibly low, and I've given it some thought, and while I agree, I literally cannot think of an episode outside of the 'my god, the flower show's been rigged by tradition!' that is actually TANGIBLY really low stakes.

Its more like the stakes oscillate between 'Mrs Patmore might literally lose the ability to work in a pre-welfare state service economy if her cataracts deteriorate' and 'In a sitcom level misunderstanding where Mrs O'Brien thinks she might be being replaced (she is not), she orchestrates the violent miscarriage of Lady Grantham's unborn son, which happens to be the same episode that WORLD WAR ONE BREAKS OUT.'

The stories are lighter by the end but by that point they're wrapping things up in little bows and even then its like 'will Edith's illegitimate daughter cost her the love of her life?' She won't, but you'll think she will!

#downton abbey #cw miscarriage #just in case #there's just #so much drama #constantly #season 3 they just whip out a gatling gun and start gunning down major cast members #one in the CHRISTMAS SPECIAL #AFTER THE BIRTH OF THEIR FIRST CHILD #although actually both were after the birth of their first child #god this show loves natal trauma

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greyeyedmonster-18 · 2 years

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(also, since im disgruntled, maybe we dont use adoption as a "solution" and pretend that kids arent verrrrrryyy aware when theyre unwanted. and also still makes the issue about 'the children' vs. what its actually about which is bodily autonomy. two things!

greys anatomy does alot of things wrong but one thing it got very right was an argument btween cristina yang and owen. And hunt says " a relationship is about compromise. Cant you just give a little?" And cristina says "you dont give a little on a baby. you dont compromise on a baby.")

#cw: unwanted pregnancy #cw: roe v wade #cw: abortion #we could talk about new wave of mental health crises #or maybe about FEDERAL FUNDING and where money goes because its not towards agencies #nor towards counseling services #or trauma associated with forced birth #but we wont because yall arent ready #we could also talk about how this is a disability rights issue as well #but since were not even being inclusive in our language and using PERSONS instead of women/girls #were not ready to add another layer #also you know. risks associated with pregnancy.

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chaosheadspace · 1 year

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Waves

Square: C3 Free space

Title: Waves

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2041

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Warnings: GRAPHIC CHILDBIRTH

Additional Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Childbirth, Pain, Hob gives birth, that's it that's the fic

Summary:

There's no story, just Hob giving birth to a whole other human being and the dissociative state that comes with that.

Let me reitetate: This is 2 k words about what it feels like to give birth. If you ever wondered, this is the fic for you.

@dreamlingbingo

#cw: childbirth #cw: birth #the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #my fic #dreamling bingo #not me engaging with my trauma in a meaningful way #after SPECIFICALLY asking the lovely mods not to give me prompts like this #clown noises

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teddysterk · 11 months

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Anyone else get major imposter syndrome…… (vent! Cw)

Like your just depressed and then you just kinda feel empty… like your just not you anymore?

Might be the stupid anxiety and ptsd shit from this whole day of birth thing coming up….

#vent #vent post #venting #personal vent #vent tag #cw vent #trauma vent #vent incoming #birthday #i hate birthdays #my birthday #my birth month #day of birth #may 31

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ahundredhundredheartbeats · 2 years

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I am afraid of so many things.

I am of course terrified that this baby will die too. I am scared that this will finally break me, break my husband, break us. I am so scared that we will never recover as individuals or as a couple if we lose another baby.

But I'm also afraid that I'll be a bad parent. I'm scared that this child will feel like a replacement for the brother who died at birth. I am afraid this child will feel like they have to prioritize taking care of me and my fears over living their own life in the best way they can imagine, because I lost my first baby. I am so scared this child will feel like my re-do, my second chance, my last chance, instead of feeling like their own person.

I'm afraid they won't know that they don't owe me anything. I need them to know that I didn't choose to have them as a replacement or do-over. I chose to have them because I wanted to nurture and protect a new life, to allow them to find out who they are going to be and to live and become the life they choose for themself, with my help.

I am so, so scared that love and affection won't be enough. That my trauma will poison their childhood and leave them with a life-long sense of foreboding that something bad will happen if they're not careful or perfect enough.

How am I going to remember all of this every day, to protect them from taking on my fears as their own? What am I going to do?

#infant loss #grief #pregnancy after loss #parenting #family #child death tw #infant death tw #stillbirth tw #pregnancy cw #birth #trauma

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all-my-friends-were-glorious · 2 years

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[ @nxwkid || Continued From Here ]

[ Gary ]

Alex was drowning, and Gary wasn’t sure what he could really do about it.

The one thing he’d always been good at was helping people, and he was fairly adept at comforting others. When he’d caught sight of Alex throwing his phone, he frowned, figuring he knew what was bothering his lover. Pocket and Pip had all but gone silent on him, and Gary was about ready to go off on them for it.

He knew where they lived, and they couldn’t avoid their house forever.

But right now, Alex needed him more than he needed to go have at it with those two, and he was going to do his best for him. The first order of business was to pick up Alex’s phone and set it on the table. After a second, he sat down beside him, rubbing a hand over his back and shoulder.

When he broke down in tears, he scooted closer, gently pulling Alex into his arms. Kissing his shoulder, he nuzzled his nose into the side of his head, pressing another kiss there.

“It’s okay, babe, I’m here.” Gary whispered, “I’ve got you, it’s okay to cry. Do you want me to hold you?” He was willing to lay down and keep Alex close, pet him until he fell asleep if he needed it. He knew Alex and Gregory both hadn’t been sleeping very well since before the babies were born.

#Jesus Loved The Outcasts He Loved The Ones The World Just Loves To Hate (Gary Harrison)#New Boy In The Neighborhood Lives Downstairs And It’s Understood (Gary and Alex - Nxwkid)#I Love Someone I Know Won't Hurt Me Like The Ones That Did Before (Alex x Gary - SouthxParkxAfterxDark)#cw birth #cw male pregnancy #cw pregnancy #cw mpreg #cw trauma #cw childhood trauma #cw abuse #cw chronic pain #cw experiment

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tommysversion · 8 months

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As if I didn’t have enough Birth Trauma to deal with, as well as a relatively decent sized list of physical issues that come with having the birth that I did (namely: abdominal muscle separation, chronic pain, etc) it appears I also have nerve damage in one side of my lower back from my (failed) epidural.

Amazing. We love that. /s

#fuck SAKE #clown shit with rue #cw birth trauma #cw pregnancy

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sstormyskyess · 5 months

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Self-Doubts

author's note: wanted to explore some of the insecurities these fellas would have to get a better feel for how to write them!

cw: hurt/comfort, body image issues, domestic situations, anxiety

word count: 1900+

TF-141 x GN!Reader

Simon “Ghost” Riley [body image]

♡ Ghost is aware that he’s an attractive man. He’s been told as much for most of his life and people tend to put themselves out there for him, so he’s always figured there must be something to him that causes it.

♡ But only he had seen the body under all the layers of black clothing he often covers himself with. His body is more scars than unblemished skin, an eternal reminder that he was beyond saving.

♡ That’s why, when you wormed your way into his lacerated heart, he was hesitant to undress around you. He didn’t want you to see the man underneath the shell of the impenetrable “Ghost,” the man that kept his trauma on a tight leash and hid away from his true self.

Simon shuffles forward further down the bathtub to let you settle in behind him, your thighs resting on his hips. His heart is pounding in his chest, as it often did when he was bare in front of you. Despite the warmth of the bath you’d run for the both of you, a shiver travels up his spine when your hands wrap around his chest.

“You still okay, Si?” You rest your cheek on his back, keeping your hands still over his stomach. All he gives you is a hum, so you prompt again, “I need words, hun.” He responds with a shallow nod and, with a slight shake in his voice, “I’m alright, love.” You nuzzle your cheek against his spine in response, a silent reminder that he’s here, with you.

Things were still for a while, the only sound being the leaky faucet you still needed to get fixed dripping into the bath. You quietly paw at his stomach and move slowly up his chest, tracing over his scars as you did. You halt before you start to kiss the scars on his shoulder blades, the ones that you’ve committed to memory.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when you take hold of one of his hands, pulling it up far enough that you could see it over his shoulder. There was one big scar across his palm that he received in the times before he started wearing gloves to cover his calloused hands. You always came back to it; it was one of the most clear signifiers of his journey through his career, and you loved to appreciate anything and everything that showed you his path before meeting you.

He watches you regard the scar, able to see the face you always make when you admire his body like this. He smiled at the thought and some of the tension in his muscles left. He took your other hand and brought it up to his lips to place a kiss on your knuckles, returning the affection you so graciously gave him.

John “Soap” Mactavish [his future]

♡ Soap has been in his field of work for around eight years and he’s made his way through hell time and time again. He’s a skilled operator and with that comes many dangerous situations, often life or death.

♡ But really, he wants to make it far enough in life to retire and return to civilian society, far away from the turmoil that tainted him day and night, 24/7. The worst part is that he knows it’s unlikely he’ll make it that far.

♡ It got worse when he met you and you solidified in his mind that his true goal was making it to a calm life, free of gunfire, constant deployment, and all of the other struggles that came with a job like his.

“Aye. Love you too, mum.” Johnny hangs up the call and puts his phone on the coffee table with a sigh. His mom was calling to let him know that his sister was going to be having a baby shower in a month or so; his niece’s birth was just around the corner, expectedly two months from now.

Hearing about the lives of his family members makes him feel so selfish sometimes. He knows it’s silly and that he shouldn’t be worrying so much about it, but he just can’t seem to help it. Even when he knows you’re just a room away, making some dinner for the both of you, he can’t help but think about what life could be like were he living the life the rest of his family was. He gets up and looks over to the kitchen before making his way over.

You jump when you feel Johnny’s arms wrap around your waist. He buries his head against your neck and presses some soft kisses there. “Hi, baby. What do you need?” You smile and reach back to run your fingers through his messy overgrown mohawk, earning you a pleased hum. He rests his chin on your shoulder to watch you cooking, a warmth in his heart swelling at the domesticity. “Do you think we’d ever get married, dove?” He asks, rocking you two back and forth gently.

You blink, surprised by the sudden question. “I wouldn’t be opposed. You’re the best guy I could ever hope to be with the rest of my life.” Your smile widens as your mind wanders to the life you and Johnny could live together. Johnny’s soft, dreamy sigh brushes along your neck and it feels like his posture slumps forward just a bit in relief, your words soothing his stormy thoughts. “I’ll keep that in mind, bonnie.”

Standing there in the comfortable silence with you only solidified in his mind that he wanted to be there with you for the rest of his life. All he wanted to do in that moment and every moment after was take care of you, to make you feel safe.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick [perfectionism]

♡ Gaz knows how important the role he plays is. His work furthered the safety of civilians the world round, and he knows he’s good at it.

♡ But along with knowing the importance of his work was a double-edged sword; he knew that if he ever faltered or failed his mission, people would die as a result. The screams of civilians echoed in his mind every few nights he tried settling in for bed, his mind much too overactive for his own good.

♡ Overworking himself was a consequence of his troubled thoughts. He would be lifting in the gym until his muscles gave out on him, firing in the range for hours into the night, running laps around the base, all to your dismay as you watched him work himself half to death.

Kyle’s lungs heave as he bends over with his hands on his knees. You had followed him when he got out of bed earlier tonight and he apologized profusely for waking you up. He’s been on the treadmill for an hour, going on an hour and a half. You stare at him, concerned out of your mind. You’d long since stopped your own workout, the weights left on the rack and a bottle of water in hand.

This was the third time in the past week he’d subjected himself to this self-flagellating exercise schedule. You knew why; this past mission was quite the disaster. Too much destruction, too many civilian casualties, and an escaped terrorist was a perfect combination to make Kyle’s mind run wild with disappointment in himself. He was an empathetic individual and it always came back to bite him after missions like this.

You aren’t sure whether or not he noticed you in here with him, so when you got up to approach him you walked with purposeful steps, loud enough to alert him to your presence. His head perked up and he turned to look at you. He cursed under his breath after wiping his forehead with the towel slung over his shoulder and stepped off the treadmill.

“Sweetheart, I said you could go back to bed.” He frowned when he met your eyes, seeing the exhaustion in them but not realizing that you saw the same exhaustion in his. “Someone needed to drag you back once you eventually collapsed.” You mutter, looking away. You didn’t want to be frustrated with him; you knew that he couldn’t help it. But seeing him with his legs nearly buckling under his own weight hurt your heart. “I’m okay, I promise—”

He’s cut off by your sigh and you take him by the hand to drag him over to the nearest bench, sitting him down. “You’re not okay. I’m getting your stuff and we’re going back to bed.” You state matter-of-factly before walking off to do just that. He knew that you were miffed, but it still felt good to know you had his back.

John Price [his relationships]

♡ Price is a busy man; he’s the captain of a private task force, of course he was. His work basically consumed his entire life, with no room for much else.

♡ Friends and romantic partners were pie in the sky for him, and he sometimes wondered if he would be able to maintain a healthy relationship with anyone outside of work. He had tried before and every time, it ended with things falling apart and him leaving someone broken hearted.

♡ His worries were quelled when you made friends with him and eventually entered a romantic relationship, but still, he was concerned with balancing his relationship with you and his relationship with his work. Sometimes, he wondered if he was even strong enough to pull both sides of himself together into one man.

John picks up the dinner plate that you made for him a few hours ago. It had gotten cold by now, the plastic cling wrap around the plate having settled over the food and sticking loosely to it. He sighs and peels it off, turning to the microwave to reheat the plate. He leans back against the counter and stares at the floor, his thoughts crowding every corner of his mind.

You were already in bed, sleeping soundly. At least he hoped. You had asked him a couple times to come to bed, but he insisted he needed to finish the mission reports he was writing. Every time he pulled this little maneuver, he thought back to every other time he condemned you to going to bed cold. The frown on his face deepens, imagining how you looked right now. Maybe you actually weren’t asleep and were still up waiting for him. The thought made him feel so guilty.

He doesn’t have to dwell on it much longer before he sees you sleepily wander into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing your eyes. John pushes himself off the counter and meets you halfway, resting his hands on your hips. “Head back to bed, doll. I’ll be there soon.” He mumbles the words into the top of your head before putting a kiss there. You shake your head and nuzzle deeper into his hold.

“I’m sorry I woke you up.” He runs one of his hands up and down your spine, the other moving to the small of your back. You hold onto his shirt and take a peek up at him. “It’s okay.” You give him a small smile, trying to soothe his worries. He does so much and you know it was all for you, a fact that warms your heart.

“Come sit and eat your food, hon’.” He huffs a little laugh and nods, taking his plate out of the microwave and picking you up. You giggle and kiss his cheek, letting him carry you to the couch. You let him turn on the TV and settle you in his lap. “Were you dreaming, love?” He asks before starting to eat. Neither of you pay much attention to whatever’s on the screen after that, him listening intently to you recounting your dreams.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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emeraldborealis · 1 month

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Over And Over Again

Pairing: Ex-husband John Price x GN!reader

TW//CW: Angst, flashbacks, yelling, fighting, brief mention of suicidal ideation, manipulation, gaslighting, blood, parental trauma, coerced drinking.

A/N: Hopefully this part will explain some questions about their past relationship.

Words: 5,147

You are currently reading Chapter 4

The Do-Over Series Masterlist - Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Five

Shutting the door behind John didn't feel real. Hearing his car pull out of the driveway again didn't feel real.

Walking into your bedroom and into your bathroom to shower didn't feel real. The water didn't feel real.

Everything felt so distant. Like it wasn't really happening. There was a numbness that had washed over you, making nothing feel like anything.

Sitting on your floor, still naked and wrapped in your towel you pulled out a box from under your bed, opening it you sifted through its contents, past letters and notes from friends and family, your birth certificate, social security card. All of it was here, but you were looking for something in particular.

Pulling out your wedding ring you held it in your hand, feeling the cool metal against the palm of your hand. It was so cold it felt foreign to hold. It was once always warm, always against your skin. A feeling you knew better than almost any other. One you were once proud to have.

All at once the memories came flooding back in. All at once something felt too real.

"Can you do more? Try harder? We all have to help around the house. You're an adult now. I need you to do more. And you need to go to work more, you have rent you need to pay, and insurance." Your mother's lecturing voice clawed into your eardrums.

"I'm trying my best, I do help. I do more than you think I do. I'm working as much as I can." You felt like it was killing you, working so hard and receiving so little. It had always been this way. You were seen as nothing but lazy.

"I never see you do anything. And you could be going into work more, you should be getting forty hours. You're an adult." Your mother continued, shooting down your efforts.

"You don't see everything. I'm doing all the work they have for me. Why does it matter? I pay you, I put money away in savings. I'm doing alright. I've been working since I was fifteen." No matter how often you tried to explain that you were making it, she wouldn't listen.

"Well, you've needed to pay me since you were fifteen. So you needed a job. You want to be someone someday don't you? This is life, this is what we do. We work. This is how you become someone. So unless you marry someone, this is your life, living here until you can move out." You didn't have the energy to argue, she was right. She always was.

Turning the ring over in your hand you felt tears welling back into your eyes as another memory came to mind. You'd cried a lot tonight. Apparently you weren't done yet.

Sitting utterly alone in your bedroom, you were about to be plagued by a parade of memories, forced to watch each one pass you one by one like fancily decorated floats. You did this too often, let your past walk all over you, throw things at you until you had too much to hold.

"I'm going for a walk." You informed your parents, stepping out the front door without protest.

Your feet took you to a familiar path, one you walked often. One you probably shouldn't walk on, you knew it was stupid and dangerous, especially the bridge.

But the walk made you feel better. Especially when you'd walk with music blasting in your ears. Leaving the possibilities of something bad happening open. You knew that thought process was wrong. Which is why you didn't have your music today.

"You shouldn't walk on the tracks, you know. It's dangerous." A voice behind you startled you, making you trip and stumble on the railroad ties, you were able to recover without falling thankfully. You hadn't heard anyone around you. You needed to be better about zoning out.

"Yeah? I had no idea." Sarcasm dripped from your voice, turning around to face whoever it was that was talking to you. It was a man, a few years older than you. A smooth babyface, soft eyes, he was built an abnormal amount for a typical person his age. "Who are you anyways? Why do you care?"

"My name's John. I care because there's so few people in the world who look as nice as you, so it'd be a shame for you to be hit by a train." His response made you roll your eyes.

"Oh, I get it. You're a creepy bum. Stop following me." You turned to keep walking, trying to leave him behind, but he followed you, jogging to catch up and walk beside you.

"You're delightful aren't you? And I'm not a bum." He defended himself, not letting you continue alone. Maybe he could tell you were upset. Maybe he understood.

"Then what are you, John?" You asked a bit accusatorially, stopping to face him.

"I'm in the S.A.S." Suddenly you heard a door opening, a way out. They moved around a lot, didn't they? Looking down you inspected his left hand, no ring.

"You seem a little young for being in the S.A.S." You were skeptical, untrusting. You needed to know he wasn't lying to you. He was no use to you if he really was just a weirdly strong creep.

"I joined the infantry at sixteen." He explained, a small smile coming to his face as he watched you take him in.

"I don't know what that means, but I'm assuming it's an explanation." John was going to become someone, John was going places. You wanted to catch a ride, you wanted out.

Your struggles were a completely different battle when you were young, time doesn't heal everything. But it can take you away from those things, make them hurt less. John made them hurt less.

For a time.

"Who's this? This your boyfriend? He's so sweet looking." Your mother smiled, moving in to hug John, embracing him like she knew him, despite this being the first time she met him. "I'm a hugger."

John seemed a bit awkward and unsure of your mother, he'd heard you rant about her a few times, just small things. But from his own experience he knew what she was probably like. "You have a good kid, good head on their shoulders."

"Don't I? I raised them well." You could feel a bubble of anger rise in you, she didn't raise you. You raised yourself.

You'd carried so much anger and resentment for your mother when you were younger. A lot of it was well earned. But the ways you'd sometimes treat her in return still ate at you. She was trying to overcome how she was raised. Just as you were now.

It just wasn't fair that you had to become a stepping stool for her to find peace for herself. It wasn't fair that she got to believe she was the reason you turned out okay when she was one of the biggest things you had to overcome.

"So, do you like John?" Your mother asked you curiously, sitting on the end of your bed, interrupting you from reading your book.

"I don't know yet. I think I do." You shrugged, putting your book down. Talking about this stuff with your mother made you feel sick.

"You like him, I can tell. You know you could have told me you were dating someone." She nudged your leg, trying to play with you, but you could hear a hint of her lecturing tone slipping through.

"It slipped my mind I guess. Sorry." You apologized. You found it easier to apologize immediately rather than let things keep going, keep escalating. Even when you apologized sometimes she still preferred to keep digging in deeper.

"You know you can talk to me about anything. Anytime." She was trying to be sincere, she really was. It just felt wrong to you. It felt wrong to talk to your mom. It always ended in a lecture of some kind.

"Yeah, mom. I know." You reassured her, really just wanting to get back to reading your book.

Looking up to your ceiling you tried to stop your tears, wiping at them furiously. You were shaking again, but that may have been because you were still just in a towel. You couldn't stop yourself from crying, your bottom lip sticking out in a pout as you ugly cried.

"So, when are you and John going to get married?" Your mother questioned as you walked through the front door after work.

"Mom, it's been six months. Two of which he was gone." You took a deep breath, putting your bag down and taking off your work shoes. "Why are you so concerned about me getting hitched?"

"I was married at nineteen. You could be too. Especially since John is a good man. I think you should marry him." Your mom smiled at you, explaining her reasoning. She wanted you to sit down and talk to her about it. But you brushed her off.

"I don't know yet." You grabbed your bag and started walking off.

"I was talking to you!" Your mom called after you.

Why did you ever let your family get the idea of marriage in your head? Why was that the thing that was supposed to fix you? Maybe if you had decided for yourself that you wanted to be married you could have gotten to that point with John on your own.

You could have actually been ready to get married. You could have learned how the world was supposed to work. How relationships were supposed to work.

"John, I want out of this stupid town. I want out of my parents house." You sat in a tree with him, watching the sunset, there were stars coming out now. Things felt right in these moments with John.

"We could get married, we could move somewhere. I've been thinking I want to be closer to base. We could get married and go together. There's a lot of pros to marrying me." John suggested the idea to you, taking your left hand in his, playing with your ring finger.

"There are..." You held his hand tighter. "You're the first person I've felt this way towards. Maybe that's a sign."

You wailed, curling up on your cold hard floor. You felt pathetic, but you knew you needed to let yourself feel all of this.

To finally fully process and let go of everything that brought you and John together in the first place. Everything he was to you. Everything he did for you. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

"Welcome home, sweetheart." John opened the door to your new apartment for you, holding your hand softly, your wedding band rubbing against his rough skin. "Look around, I'll get our bags from the car."

You walked around your new home, both your families had moved your stuff in while you were on your honeymoon. This was your first time seeing the place, it was nice. It was far away from your family. It was perfect.

"I know it's not much. One day I'll get us an actual house, I promise." John came inside, setting your bags down. You smiled at him, jumping on him in a bear hug.

"No, it's perfect." You reassured him, kissing his face repeatedly. You were the happiest you'd been in a long time. You were happy to be married to John. To be able to call him your husband. To be out of your old home. Things were looking up.

Remembering the good years tore you apart. The few good years when you were just happy to be with John. When things were working out, when the compromise was listening to him and you were happy to do so.

They were all supposed to be good years. It was all supposed to be good. You were supposed to live out the rest of your life happily with John. But all good seasons have to come to an end.

The memory of the first time you broke down and called your mom still stung. When you had a moment of weakness and just needed your mom. You needed your mom like how you saw others need your mom all of growing up. How could she turn you away when she didn't turn them away?

"Mom, I'm not really happy. We fight a lot." You spoke into the landline, wiping at your tears. Feeling guilty for needing to talk to her. Feeling guilty you needed to talk to someone about your marriage.

"You love him don't you?" Your mom asked curiously, sounding mildly concerned.

"Yes." Your voice trembled as you spoke. You just needed your mom. You needed to talk to your mom.

"Then there you go, all marriages have troubles. But since you love him I'm sure you can work it out. Me and your dad fight but we love each other so we make it work. Anyways, I have to go. I'll talk to you later. Okay?" She brushed off your need to talk to her. Your desperation to just be consoled by her.

"Okay. Love you." You hiccupped. Knowing now you shouldn't have bothered. She only cared to listen to your problems if they helped prove her point. This did nothing for her, listening to you now was like listening to a gnat. Inconsequential to her.

"Love you." She hung up on you, leaving the receiver beeping in your ear. Leaving you in shambles alone. Leaving you once again believing you were the problem.

You probably were. You just needed to try harder, work harder to fix things. You loved him. So that was enough for things to work out.

Your screams didn't even make a sound, they were just a rushing of air and a tightness in your throat as you sat up from the floor, sitting with your back against your bed, clutching your ring against your chest.

"I don't want another, I'm okay." You refused another drink, a polite smile on your face.

"Oh come on, you've only had one. I didn't think your wife was a killjoy, John, with the way you talk so highly of them. I thought we could all have some fun." One of John's friends complained, trying to push another drink over to you.

"Come on love, it's okay. You can handle another drink, right? Nothing bad will happen to you as long as I'm here. Just drink a little more, if you can't finish it I will." John tried to reassure you, wrapping his arm around you and squeezing your shoulder, bringing you in closer to him. Away from his buddy.

"Okay." You caved, accepting another glass of alcohol. "But I'm not drinking all of it."

John's friend kept drinking, and then he kept drinking. He was totally pissed, babbling on and on about things you couldn't even understand. He was making you uncomfortable, but John reassured you he was harmless.

"Your wife sure is something John. I see why you married them." John's friend drunkenly giggled, reaching his hand out towards you, John pushed away his hand. Bringing you closer to himself. John's eyes were dark and dangerous, something you'd never really seen with him.

"I think you've had enough to drink. Let's get you home." John stood up from the booth, helping his friend up, putting his friend's arm around his shoulder to help him walk straight. "Come on, love. We'll take him home then we can go home too."

"Oh, okay." You followed close to John, you were buzzed, but you were alright.

"You're such a good man John, being willing to share such a nice thing." John's friend stumbled away from John, wrapping his arm around you. His breath reeked of the alcohol he was drinking, his arm around you was heavy. Felt wrong.

"What?" Your sudden panic of betrayal was short lived. One moment John's buddy was all over you, then the next John was on him, several feet away from you on the ground.

One hit, then two. John just kept hitting him. Over and over again. His knuckles were bloody, each time he pulled back his arm to hit him again you saw them, it wasn't his own blood. "Don't you ever touch them. Don't you ever touch my wife."

"John. John, that's enough. John, he's had enough." You grabbed John's shoulder, trying to calm him down. It was as if he hadn't even heard you, he just kept hitting his friend. "John, John. John! JOHN! Stop!"

The sound of your screaming made him stop, stumbling up off of his now unconscious friend. You were surprised the damage wasn't worse, he was holding his punches and he was still a bloody mess.

"It's alright, I've got you." He wrapped his arms around you, soothing you with his bloody hands, whispering sweetly into your ear, his nose pressed to your temple. The blood on his hands ruining your shirt.

Biting your lip you tried to stop it's quivering. You didn't want to remember that. You didn't want to have to think about that day anymore. It was one of the biggest turning points in your marriage. It was the day things started to get really bad.

"I'm trying to fix things okay?" John yelled at you, running his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry if what I did was shocking to you. I was just trying to get him away from you. I was angry, unbelievably angry."

"John, you're always angry." You cried, trembling as you stood before him. Sobbing like the mess you were.

"Well, who's fault is that?" His tone was biting, tearing into you. "Stop looking at me like that, stop looking at me with that scared face! I have never laid a hand on you. I would never lay a hand on you. So stop acting like a victim."

You could hardly breathe, climbing from the floor you sat on the edge of your bed, adjusting your towel that had started to slip away from your body. Bringing it around you tighter.

"Mom, things have gotten worse between us. We're both tense since the incident." You called your mom, trying to cry to her again.

"That's normal. Fights are scary to see, but he was protecting you. Defending your honor. You're not worried he'd hit you right?" You could hear her washing the dishes on the other side of the line. Your concerns weren't even worth her full attention. You weren't worth her attention.

"I don't know." You ran your hand through your hair, trying to soothe yourself.

"You love him right?" She seemed to be listening a little better now, if only to hear the answer to her question.

"Yes." You sniffled, wiping the snot from your nose on the sleeve of your sweater.

"Then things will work out. This will pass. Just try to work harder on your relationship." Work harder. Work harder. All you needed to do was work harder. Push farther. Be better. Do better.

Standing from your bed you weighed your ring in your hand, screaming, you threw it as hard as you could. It hit your wall, falling down behind your dresser, as you heard it hit the floor you sunk down to your knees sobbing.

"You know how I said I'd get us a house someday? Well, since I'm being moved to another base we need somewhere closer to live. And I found the perfect place, it's everything you've ever told me you wanted. And, I think a change of scenery could be good for us." John announced to you, a smile on his face.

"It's an actual house? Like, our actual house? We're not renting anymore?" You asked, excitement coursing through you. Jumping up you jumped on him, making him chuckle as he caught you.

"Yes, and it's perfect for us. Has lots of character, just needs a little work." He spun you around. This could be a fresh start, somewhere away from everything you knew, a place to make new memories and experiences.

Your fingers traced over a scratch in the hardwood, you couldn't remember how it got there, maybe it was there before you moved in. Something about it felt familiar.

This home was supposed to fix things, as you fixed it, it was supposed to in turn fix you, your relationship. But relationships can't be fixed with recaulking and repainting. You learned that from trying.

"By work I didn't think you meant demolition and rebuilding." You joked, stepping out of the car, seeing the house for the first time.

"It's what I could do, love. And, it's not that bad. Just needs some new paint. We can do it together." John playfully nudged you, pushing you softly.

"Together." You agreed, laying your head against his shoulder, wrapping your arm around his waist. The moving truck would be there soon with your things, but right now you could just take in the sight of your new home with your husband.

You covered your face in your hands, you wanted to hide. Hide from remembering. The snot running from your nose was beginning to suffocate you, you couldn't breathe through your nose anymore.

You were still trying to cry out, still trying to wail and scream. But you had no voice left, you'd barely get a squeak out. There was just too much hurt.

"Mom, things are actually getting better. I think this project together is what we needed. We've gotten most of the outside done, but the inside is still unpainted, it has some old wallpaper, I think John's plan is to peel it. It's nice wallpaper but it's peeling already in a few places." You tried to catch your mom up, actually happy to share good news with her.

"That's great. I have to go, but keep up the hard work." She was never going to listen to you. Not when she had other things to do. Not when you were not the most important thing.

"Oh, okay. Bye." You let her hang up, off to do who knows what.

You often mourned the relationship you could have had with your mother, if you were only more like her. Thought, talked, acted, more like her.

If you would have just let her keep controlling and dictating your life. If you'd never left her maybe she would have loved you as a mother should.

If you reminded her less of your father. Maybe she could have liked you more.

Maybe if it wasn't for her own father, she could have been a better mother.

"Good work, another wall done." You admired your hard work on the outside of the house, putting your hand on John's shoulder mischievously.

"You just got paint on me didn't you?" He looked at your hand on his shoulder before he looked at your face. A knowing look on his face.

"Yep." You laughed, lifting your hand to show him your palm covered in paint, and the spot on his shirt that now had your handprint.

"You little-" You booked it, running away and laughing.

"It's just paint! No need for retaliation!" You watched as John dipped his hands into the paint, chasing after you, you screamed as you ran away. "Stay away from me!"

"Why? It's just paint." He continued after you, much too quick for comfort. "Come on, I just want to embrace my loving wife, you don't want your husband to embrace you?"

"No!" You laughed, slowing down. You did not have his endurance, you felt like your limbs were going to fall off before playing this prank. Now you were sure you'd die with the stitch that was in your side.

"You already have paint on you, what's a little more?" John caught you, wrapping his arms around you, he put his hands on your abdomen, getting paint on your shirt, marking you with his handprints.

You continued to laugh. "Okay, okay. Now we're even." You turned around in his grasp to face him, kissing him tenderly.

"Not yet." He cupped your face, leaving a handprint on your cheek. "Now we're even."

You cupped your cheek, feeling where he'd left the handprint. It was long gone. But a piece of you could still feel it. There was so much good mixed in with the bad.

Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you put in a good fight and still lose. Sometimes holding on too tight is the worst thing you can do. Sometimes the best thing you can do for yourself and someone else is let go.

Acceptance is a small, quiet room. Filled with so much thought and pain you'd think it was filled with angry bees.

"Now that we've finished the outside, are we going to paint the inside together too?" You asked curiously, sitting down with John on your couch, draping your legs over him. He seemed a bit tense, but you were sure you could help him relax. Unwind.

"Actually, I got a call. I have to go, I'm wanted at base. But, you start and I'll help you finish. Pick whatever colors you want." He kissed your forehead, patting your thighs before moving your legs off of him so he could go get his stuff ready to leave.

"Oh. Okay." You watched him leave you. Knowing you'd end up peeling all the wallpaper by yourself. Painting the entire inside of the house yourself.

Even when you didn't appreciate each other anymore he still felt like your other half. Sometimes he still feels like your other half. The half that's missing. The half you'd sent away so many times. The half you'd watched walk out on you. The half that you weren't sure would come back to make you whole.

Things began to get worse again, you were either fighting or ignoring the other. You'd have moments where things were good. But you both were distant. You didn't even notice you were crumbling until you fell apart.

So many years together, so much time and energy spent trying to make things work.

You just couldn't try anymore.

"John." You didn't know what to say, how to speak. All words stuck in your throat.

"Yeah?" He looked up at you from where he sat at the table, a questioning look. You handed him some papers. "What's this?" He took the papers from you, looking them over. Divorce papers. "Oh, I see."

Your mind made you mostly forget what happened that night, but you know you fought, you know he yelled at you, said a lot of hurtful things. You could still remember that pain. But you couldn't remember what exactly it was that hurt so bad.

His yelling went on for so long, so many hours. Then there was the slamming of the door, and he was gone. Truthfully you were still trying to process leaving him, sending him away.

The divorce went fast, he gave you the house, and most other things. All he took was all he needed. Everything else was left to you.

"Mom, I'm divorcing John." You sobbed at your own realization, having now said it out loud for the first time. This wasn't right. But this was what needed to be done. Your marriage was a sinking ship and you refused to let either of you drown anymore.

"Oh. I knew he was no good, I knew he was a bad man. I tried to tell you to be careful marrying young. Told you that you could stay home as long as you needed, there was no rush. This is what happens when you rush relationships and just jump into marriage." Your mothers unempathetic words struck you. The manipulation, the lies. The gaslighting.

"Mom, you-" You tried to argue, tried to call her out.

"So, are you going to move closer to home? You should." Your mother continued, ignoring you completely.

"No, John left me the house. Said I put in more work on it, so I could have it." You were honestly shocked how much John just gave to you freely in the divorce. How defeated he seemed. He just wanted to get it over with quick and easy. He didn't want to take anything more away from you.

"You really want to stay there in that house?" Your mothers tone was skeptical, unbelieving.

"I do, Mom. I have to go. We can talk later." You refused to let her drag you back home, you were never going to live with her again.

"Oh, okay. Love you." You should have known better, your mom was always like this. Always placing the blame onto you. You didn't know when it was going to stop surprising you.

The aching in your chest wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, you knew it well. At one point you were sure you'd die from it. But you hadn't, you'd just kept living.

Day by day you'd just kept living. You were still living. You'd come so far, too far to be letting these things still hurt you the way they did.

You stood at the window, watching John put his last box into the moving truck, pulling the door down and securing it.

It was the truck that was going to take him away. It hurt, watching him. This was really it, you were watching him actually leaving your life. He was going to be gone for good now.

It felt cruel, being left here without him. Even if you were the one who decided he needed to leave. A life without John in it just didn't sound right. Though you supposed it was time to figure out how to live a life alone.

"No." You'd felt relief then, watching him leave. But you didn't now. You'd changed. He'd changed. You didn't want to miss out on meeting the new him. You didn't want to let your past self stop you from moving on from that hurt.

You weren't going to lose something you couldn't replace.

He really had changed. He didn't fight with you, even when you were screaming in his face. He expressed the desire not to control anymore, he was truthful even when it was damaging to him. He wasn't just trying to change like he once said. He had changed.

Desperately you moved to your dresser, pushing and shoving at it, it wouldn't budge. It was far too heavy.

Tearing your clothes from the drawers you threw them on the floor, ruining how neatly folded they were. Once it was empty you pushed again, getting it away from the wall, using your legs you moved it enough to get behind it. Grabbing your wedding ring you held it in your hands.

You didn't want to let go of someone who put in the effort to change. Someone who's trying to change for you. If you don't allow him grace, if you don't allow him to change, all it does is prove that you too, are incapable of changing.

You had too much love for him, where was that love supposed to go? Even if it was a complicated love, it was still love. Love worth trying again for. Love worth trying again for with equal effort on both sides.

After so many years your love still remained, you were still stuck with all that love. So why not try? Why not let the love try to find a home in someone one more time?

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