“What are you going to do with your newfound freedom?”

As he started listing off bucket-list ideas and all the things he finally wanted to experience, he suddenly paused and said something that shifted the entire conversation.

“It’s hard to process. I was such a different person before I got married.”

Then after a long silence, he added:

“I think my wife was tearing me down for years. She really made me feel like I was an awful person.”

Another pause.

“Why do people tear others down?”

I wish I had a simple answer to such a painfully complex question.

But what stood out to me most wasn’t the question itself.

It was the heartbreak behind it.

Because once again, I was sitting across from someone trying to process the realization that the person who was supposed to love them, encourage them, and protect their spirit had instead spent years slowly dismantling it.

And the truth is — that kind of damage rarely happens all at once.

It happens quietly.

Gradually.

In comments that seem small at first.

In dismissals disguised as jokes.

In criticism framed as “help.”

In the slow erosion of confidence until someone no longer recognizes themselves.

Honestly, if I could choose any superpower in this world, I think it would be the ability to stop people from emotionally destroying the ones they claim to love.

Because I have seen firsthand just how deeply words, manipulation, shame, and emotional control can alter a person’s identity.

There are so many layers to the anger I’m carrying right now.

Every time I open another email from my attorney, it feels like fuel being thrown onto a fire I am desperately trying to extinguish.

And maybe that’s part of what hits me so hard about conversations like this.

Because at the center of so much of my own pain is this truth:

I genuinely tried to show love and care to someone I believed was starving for love and care themselves.

Someone who felt exactly like “Mark” had just described.

Unseen.
Unappreciated.
Emotionally diminished.

And unfortunately, this dynamic happens far more often than people realize.

Not every unhealthy relationship looks explosive from the outside.

Sometimes it looks like:

Potshots at your partner’s success.

Snide comments about their dreams, goals, or passions.

Subtle digs disguised as humor.

Attempts to control how they dress, look, behave, or present themselves.

Constant criticism masked as “honesty.”

Emotional withholding.

Making someone feel difficult to love unless they shrink themselves to fit your comfort.

The list goes on and on.

And one of the hardest parts is this:

When you live inside those dynamics long enough, they start feeling normal.

You adapt to them.

You excuse them.

You minimize them.

Until one day you share a story with someone else and the look on their face says everything you have been unwilling to admit to yourself.

I’m asked often during podcasts and interviews:

“How does someone know they’re in a toxic relationship?”

And honestly, sometimes it’s that moment right there.

The moment someone outside the relationship hears what you have normalized and responds with complete shock or concern.

Because you became so accustomed to the treatment that you forgot it was never healthy to begin with.

Still, despite all of that, I am genuinely happy for Mark.

There is a long road ahead of him as he navigates this major life transition. Healing rarely happens quickly, neatly, or linearly.

But the fact that his eyes are opening now?
The fact that peace is beginning to replace confusion?
The fact that he is reconnecting to who he was before years of emotional erosion?

That matters.

It puts him miles ahead in the healing process.

Then, toward the end of the conversation, he casually mentioned:

“I bought all the moms champagne and roses for our game today. I do it every year.”

I remember just staring at him for a second.

Because people who are truly “awful” rarely move through the world looking for ways to make other people feel appreciated.

And I made sure to tell him that.

Awful people do not consistently lead with generosity.
Awful people do not naturally look for opportunities to make others feel seen.
Awful people do not carry kindness this instinctively.

So I reminded him gently:

Lean into those parts of yourself.

Not the voice that spent years trying to convince you that you were hard to love.

Not the criticism that became embedded in your inner dialogue.

Not the shame someone else handed to you.

Lean into the evidence of who you actually are.

I think one of the saddest things emotional damage steals from people is not just their confidence — but their ability to accurately see themselves.

And maybe healing is partly about reclaiming that vision.

Learning to separate who you truly are from what someone repeatedly told you that you were.

Remembering your softness is not weakness.
Your generosity is not foolishness.
Your kindness is not something to be ashamed of.

Because the right people in your life will never need to tear you down in order to feel powerful themselves.

Real love does not diminish people.

It restores them.

With all my love, xoxo J