The Things I Didn’t Miss — And the One Thing I Found Again: Me

It’s Better on the Other Side (And Here’s Why)

Photo by Morgan Sessions on Unsplash

I thought I would miss him.
After all, nearly thirty years is a long damn time to share a life with someone—even if most of that life felt like surviving, not living. We raised kids together (though I did most of the actual raising), lost people we loved (well, I loved), and collected a lifetime of memories, both real and distorted by the fog of dysfunction.

So yeah, I figured there’d be at least a little ache. A hollow space where he used to be.

But… surprise.

What I felt instead was this:
Relief. Joy. Reclamation. Peace.

I was so busy relishing the things I didn’t miss, I almost forgot I ever thought I’d miss him.

Here’s what I didn’t miss:

I didn’t miss being the only adult in the relationship.
The one who apologized—even when I had nothing to be sorry for.
The one who made sure the kids were clothed, fed, loved, and sheltered.
The one who paid the bills, kept the lights on, got the oil changed, walked the dog, scheduled the vet visits, and ensured we had groceries. While he… what? Played the martyr? The dictator? The emotionally constipated man-child? Pick your flavor.

I didn’t miss the silence—the weaponized kind.
The lack of communication unless it was to bark out a need, a command, or a passive-aggressive jab designed to cut just deep enough to draw emotional blood, but never leave bruises anyone else could see.

I didn’t miss the double standards.
How I had to tiptoe around his moods, but he could stomp all over mine like they were an inconvenience. How my needs were "too much," but his were gospel. How I was "controlling" if I set a boundary, but he was just "being a man" when he tracked my every move.

I didn’t miss the gaslighting.
The eye-rolls. The you’re too sensitive. The way he acted like my opinions were ridiculous, like I was some emotional nuisance instead of a whole-ass human being.

I didn’t miss the way he expected me to read his mind—but God help me if I expected even an ounce of emotional presence in return. I wasn’t allowed to have desires, dreams, or needs. Expectations? Demands? That would’ve been mutiny. I was supposed to be grateful for crumbs and silent about my hunger.

And the sex?
I didn’t miss that, either.
I didn’t miss being treated like a body instead of a person.
Like his pleasure was a right and my discomfort an afterthought.
Like consent was optional because marriage somehow meant ownership.
I didn’t miss the nights I woke up confused, violated, and then gaslit into believing that it wasn’t what I knew deep in my bones it was: rape.
Yes, marital rape is real.
And no, I’m not going to whisper it to make anyone more comfortable.

I didn’t miss the condescension. His superiority. His paranoia. The absurd rules he made for me—rules he himself never followed.
I didn’t miss being cut off from my own life.

And I sure as hell didn’t miss the financial abuse.

I didn’t miss having my hard-earned money drained while he cried broke—only to find out he was hiding stashes, buying toys for himself, or secretly racking up debts in my name.
I didn’t miss the “borrowed” credit cards or the mysteriously empty joint account.
I didn’t miss discovering he’d used my name and information to register illegal vehicles or that he handed out my insurance details like party favors—like the time he and his cousin crashed a car and suddenly I was the one holding the legal and financial bag.
I didn’t miss working my ass off while he played puppet master behind the scenes, manipulating numbers, access, and reality itself to keep me stuck, scared, and scrambling.

Because when someone controls your money, they’re not just controlling your wallet—they’re controlling your freedom. And he knew it.

Photo by Kristyn Lapp on Unsplash

So no, I didn’t miss him.
Because there was nothing of him worth missing.
What I missed—what I finally got back—was me.

I missed laughing without fear.
I missed spontaneous joy.
I missed feeling the sun on my face without checking the emotional weather report.
I missed knowing that I could do whatever I damn well pleased—have coffee with a friend, take a walk, breathe—without fear of consequence.

I missed peace. And now I have it.
I missed me. And now I remember her.

If you’re still on the other side, wondering if freedom is worth it, let me tell you something with every fiber of my truth:

It is better. So much better. On this side.

And when you're ready to come over, I’ll be here cheering you on. Because no one deserves to stay small, silenced, or surveilled. Not one more damn day.