‘Do you know something, I really hate my life. And some days, I hate myself too. So…you don’t mind if I just go ahead and punch you in the stomach, do you? Because I hate my life and/or I hate myself, but I can’t admit to it, so I see no other recourse but to desecrate your dignity.’

Ahh, if only abusive people were upfront and enlightened enough to be truthful. But I’ve never met one who is.

Instead, they sucker punch, I drop to my knees, catch my breath, and stand up as if nothing happened. 

That was the scenario until very recently. Now, as scary as it sometimes feels, I gather myself, breathe deeply, stand tall, then verbally notate the punch and the fact that it’s a foul and inappropriate act.

Whether the action is an insult, invasive question, a dig veiled as a joke, or the all-too-frequent act of unapologetic interrupting, it’s imperative that I draw a line in the sand. If I don’t…who will?

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