How our theological narratives can reinforce abuse

I sat in the therapist’s sparse office, looking out the window. I wasn’t trying to avoid eye contact. I was trying to focus on her words. I let some bad habits slip into my marriage, and I was sorting them out. Mainly, I was reluctant to make decisions and inappropriately acquiesced to Brian. Not that he wanted me to. I had just brought so much from my childhood into our marriage, and I had nurtured co-dependency in our relationship.

So, the counselor walked me through some very basic steps on being human. I read a lot of Melody Beattie. I had to learn to make choices—simple things like declaring my favorite color or what kind of shirt I liked best. I had to ask myself how I felt. I had to listen to whether I was hungry. I needed to make a determination on what I wanted to eat. Occasionally, I needed to fight for things. Our marriage depended on it. It wasn’t good for either of us for me to become a non-human in our relationship. Plus, I was a mother, and I didn’t want to model my habits to another generation.

I had to learn to do these very basic things because I grew up in a complementarian home, which means that my parents believed that a wife should submit to the authority of her husband. In our home, my father had the final word on things, and the rest of the family’s opinions didn’t matter. It was a violent home. So out of self-preservation, I lost touch with very basic needs and wants. I wasn’t allowed to have them as a kid, and then I brought all of that self sacrifice (unbidden) into my marriage.