Tag Archives: mental-health

Damaged Goods

Definition of damaged goods: inadequate or impaired. Products that are broken, cracked, or scratched. A person considered no longer desirable or valuable because of something that has happened—someone whose reputation is damaged.

Are you damaged goods? Do you feel unworthy?

You don’t have to remain that way, regardless of your past or your present.

Was that ever me?

You betcha!

Read on…

Hollow. Pure loneliness. Dark, like a bottomless pit. Ripping in my chest. Piercing my heart. Again, he stays out all night. Overcome by torment. Abandonment accompanies me. Consumed with depression, isolation wraps itself around me. My mind races with wild imaginations of where he has gone, what he is doing, and with whom.

Instead of going to bed to sleep, I am wearing a hole in the couch. Every time a car approaches, I spring like a jack-in-the-box, peeking out the window, hoping he has returned. With every disappointment, my stomach turns into knots. My own sobs mock me until I cry myself to semi-consciousness. Hideous lies will follow after he returns and add to my anguish and emotional decline. 

Broken. Flawed. Undone.

That was me back then, living with a cheating husband. His words, like rubbing alcohol poured over fresh wounds, stung!

There were no quick fixes. No bandages for emotional wounds. I sank deeper and deeper into a dark abyss, convinced I was beyond repair. For years, that was my reality.

But I know now, it didn’t have to be.

So what was the problem?

I was overwhelmed by abuse—physical, verbal, and emotional. My self-esteem was nonexistent. My sense of worth? Gone.

I believed the lies about who I was and what I deserved. I convinced myself this was just my life, my portion, my fate. I had seen the cycle before in my own family, yet somehow I couldn’t recognize it in myself.

“I made him mad again… maybe I deserved it.”

That’s what I told myself.

That’s what co-dependency sounds like.


How do you see yourself?

Have you been lied to? Torn down? Made to feel small and insignificant?
Do you feel like you’re drowning, gasping for air but never quite reaching the surface?

Maybe you’ve been trying so hard to please someone else that you’ve lost yourself in the process, compromising your values, your peace, your health, your identity.

Enough.

Do not allow someone else’s brokenness to rob you of your joy or harden your heart.

You are worthy.
You are valuable.
You matter.

There is nothing wrong with being fragile, but be like fine china: delicate, yet precious and worth protecting.

You are not damaged goods.
You are not disposable.
You are not a forgotten memory.

Do not become someone’s victim because you believed their lies.

I am living proof: God does not discard what He intends to restore.


Get up.

Rediscover yourself.

Feel your wrist, do you feel that? A pulse?

Then you still have purpose.

Allow God’s hand to lift you, to place you in higher places. He will wipe your tears and gently restore what was broken inside you.

If He brought me out of the pit, He can bring you out too.

But it takes a decision—a made-up mind—to believe that today can be the beginning of something new.


What’s in your hands?
What’s in your heart?

A dream?
A gift?
A child?

You have something worth fighting for.

Choose your battles wisely, but don’t give up the fight for yourself.

If you don’t know my pain, you may never understand my praise.

But my praise? It was born from surviving what tried to destroy me.


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Filed under psychology

Daggers in the Heart

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Loneliness ate away at me. Insecurities consumed my mind. He came home whenever he wanted to. He expected me to ask zero questions. The more I clung to him, the more he shrugged me off like a neglected child.

On one dreary evening, in the foyer of our second-story apartment, I leaned on the window wall, glaring down at him sauntering out to another conquest. I felt like my heart had split in two.

He paused, turned, and glanced up at me, with that smirk of his. Like a proverbial slow twist of a knife lodged in me, his ominous grin cut and curdled my blood. His haughty expression loomed before my eyes, blinding me. My insides burned.

I flung my fist at him as if to punch him in the face–

Glass! Shattered into a million pieces.

A glistening shard of windowpane sliced across the tender flesh of my forearm, smearing crimson blood across my skin. My clutched fist of course never reached him and had only gone clear through the window.

He raced up the stairs and wrapped a towel around my wound, berating me for being a harebrained fool. But I didn’t balk. Even though he must have been more concerned with his own interest than in taking me to the emergency room for stitches, at least he stayed home that night.

Excerpt from Chapter 23 “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace”

TRANSLATION

La soledad me consumía. Las inseguridades agobiaban mi mente. Donny volvía a casa cuando quería. Él esperaba que yo no hiciera preguntas. Cuanto más me aferraba a él, más me ignoraba como si fuera una niña abandonada.

​Una noche, parada en la ventana de la entrada de nuestro apartamento de dos pisos, observé a Donny irse tranquilamente. Sentí que mi corazón se había partido en dos.

​Él se detuvo por un momento, se giró y me miró con esa sonrisa suya de satisfacción. Su siniestra sonrisa detuvo y me heló la sangre, como si él hubiese girado lentamente un cuchillo enterrado en mí. Veía su expresión altiva, y me quemaba las entrañas.

​Pegué con el puño para darle en la cara.

¡Vidrio!

​El vidrio de la ventana se destrozó en un millón de pedazos.

​Un brillante fragmento del cristal de la ventana cortó la tierna carne de mi antebrazo, manchando mi piel con sangre carmesí. Mi puño solo había atravesado la ventana.

​Donny subió corriendo las escaleras y envolvió mi herida con una toalla mientras me reprendía por hacer una tontería descabellada. No me resistí. Aunque debió estar más preocupado por el interés que tenía en irse que en llevarme a la sala de emergencias para que me tomaran puntos de sutura, al menos se quedó en casa esa noche.

Extracto de capítulo 23 “Running In Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace” https://a.co/d/el1zxRM

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Filed under domestic abuse, Memoir