Toxic love feels so good.
Until it doesn’t.
You gotta love Amber Heard and Johnny Depp's stressed-out, vaping-in-his-car doorman. (With these two, who wouldn't be stressed-out and vaping in their car?) He testified that "everybody's got problems." Ummm, yeeaahh...like a lost-my-job problem, my-child-is-sick problem, or my mother-in-law-is-coming-to-visit-help!-problem. But their giant mess of a toxic relationship?
Chernobyl.
On steroids.
Growing up with domestic violence, I saw all kinds of love: Valentine boxes of chocolate love, sacrificial love, protective love, hugs and kisses love, I-bought-you-a-new-dress-for-no-reason love. Love, love, love. Love always. Love you forever. Love you to the moon and back.
I also saw hitting, slapping, screaming, and slamming love, humiliating-you-at-the-holiday-dinner-party love, drunken love, jealous and controlling love, financially abusive love, broken dishes, broken door frames, and broken hearts … love.
Of course, I preferred chocolate love (still do), but I accepted all forms of this often heart-wrenching emotion–I had to if I wanted to survive. At ten years old, what the heck did I know? I had no outside frame of reference, no other exposure to toxic love, no defamation trial to tune in to on Court TV.
Sadly, toxicity followed me into adulthood.
By the age of twenty-two, it had found its way into my tiny world of romance. It showed up subtly, packaged as repeated put-downs and the undermining of my dreams.
By thirty-two, I was well on my way to the Toxic Hall of Fame. I found out firsthand what The Real Housewives of New York's Carole Radziwill meant when she said "alcohol equals problem." (My Housewives can be very wise.) Sitting with the one you love on a barstool night after night does not a healthy relationship make.
And by the time my forty-second birthday rolled around, I'd been on the receiving end of verbal and emotional abuse–more than once. Luckily, my secret childhood feeling of there's gotta be something better than this kicked in and extricated me from the clutches of toxic love–forever.
So what is the pull that high drama has for us? And why do so many people choose to stay and actively participate in craziness?
Toxic love is a peace, joy, and happiness killer masquerading as real love. You know how a synthetic T-shirt feels different than one made of 100 percent cotton? Well, name-calling, controlling behaviors, drunken rages, and physical abuse feel way different than respect, freedom, understanding, and safety.
But you're not thinking of that when you're diving headfirst into a toxic love pool. For the first time in a long time you feel alive. You're seduced by chemical attraction and driven by the heat and intensity of a whirlwind romance. Sometimes you're led into this lion's den by your low self-worth, sometimes by alcohol or drugs. And if you grew up in dysfunction, you can finally exhale. Ahhh ... you're back, once again, surrounded by chaos and confusion, an environment where you feel most at home.
And then what happens?
You awaken one morning to find that you're up to your neck in toxic quicksand. You're sinking. You are slowly disappearing.
You've developed a high tolerance for inappropriate behavior, including some of your own. You're living for the relief after their verbal or physical attacks are over. When the belittling and humiliating stop, and the last dish is thrown, you can breathe again. Your well-being depends on them now. In fact, everything in your ever-shrinking world depends on them. It's them 24/7. What do they want? You'd better hop to it. What do they need? You should know. What will they do next? Uh-oh, something's coming. Better get ahead of it. Fear is your constant companion. Your stomach's in knots, and your heart's in your throat. You're sick ... You're tired ...
You're done.
And yet you stay.
Why? Because you're used to it. You can't remember a time before them when you experienced peace, joy, and happiness. You've been beaten down. Leaving would take too much energy. Maybe you'd be walking alone into the unknown. Maybe they stole from you, took every penny you had. How will you support yourself and your daughter? Besides, you love them.
But real love doesn't hurt, remember? Oh sure, loving makes you vulnerable. There are disappointments, misunderstandings, and losses along the way. But real love doesn't set out to cause harm. Ever.
As a kid, I witnessed the good, the bad, and the ugly faces of love. I had quite an education that, in the end, has served me well. One whiff of toxicity in the air now, and yours truly is immediately–whoosh!–gone with the wind.
I suggest you do the same. You can do it. Make a decision. A simple I’m not doing this anymore works. Whoosh! You're outta there before it even starts. Live in the toxic-free zone. It's a place where the air is clear, the T-shirts are 100 percent cotton, and the love … is real.