(You’re not sure, but something doesn’t feel right anymore)
You’ve heard the word.
ABUSER.
Maybe someone said it to you — quietly, angrily, or in a moment you’ll never forget.
Or maybe no one said it out loud. They just changed. They got quieter. More distant. Less like themselves.
And now… you’re here.
Not because you believe you’re the villain. But because something in you knows: This isn’t working.
You tell yourself:
- “It’s just how I am.”
- “I was raised differently.”
- “I only act that way when I’m pushed.”
- “I just want respect.”
- “They never listen unless I make them.”
But still… something doesn’t sit right.
You’ve felt the way the room changes when you walk in. You’ve seen your partner’s body tense — even if they don’t say a word. You’ve caught that flicker of fear in your child’s eyes. You’ve heard your own voice get sharp, seen them freeze, and tried to pretend you didn’t notice.
You’ve watched tears fall and told yourself, “They’re just emotional.” But they weren’t. They were scared.
And even now — you feel it.
The weight in your chest. The guilt that hits after the storm. The silence that follows the shouting. The confusion of not knowing how things got this way — and the shame of knowing exactly how they did.
This isn’t about blame.
It’s about recognition.
It’s about realising that fear is not respect. Obedience is not love. Silence is not peace.
And control — even when you call it protection — still breaks something in the people you care about.
You might not have meant to hurt them. You might feel like you’re the one who’s misunderstood, provoked, not supported. You might have grown up in chaos and promised yourself you’d never become that.
But if people in your life are constantly trying not to upset you, if they cry in secret, lie to keep things calm, walk on eggshells, if your child knows how to read your moods better than their own feelings…
That matters.
Because even if you didn’t mean to hurt anyone — you have.
And the fact that you’re here, still reading, means something too.
You’re not too far gone.
You’re not broken. You are not the worst thing you’ve ever done — unless you refuse to change.
You can become someone they feel safe around. Someone who is steady. Kind. In control of himself — not everyone else.
You can become the reason they breathe easier, not the reason they hold their breath.
But first — you have to stop justifying. Stop minimising. Stop waiting for it to get worse.
And start asking the question:
What if this is my turning point?
If you can feel that truth — even just a flicker of it — don’t bury it.
Follow it.
Get help.
Tell the truth.
Change the story.
Start again.