The Things We Hide From Ourselves

Beautiful day in sanford

Having a blog makes life a little bit more interesting. I got an email the other day that someone commented on an old post. Out of curiosity, I clicked the link and started reading through my public journal — a snapshot of my life in the middle of the 2010s. All the bad dates, my eventual marriage, and the mask I wore to survive some of the narcissistic behavior I endured.

Eventually, I landed on the part where I wrote about getting married and how I felt at the time. Looking back now, I can see there were things I was hiding from myself, avoiding the red flags that were already waving. Yes, there were good times — we genuinely had fun together — but it was the daily, quiet moments at home that slowly wore me down. And to be honest, I wasn’t exactly innocent either.

My construction job during that time was exhausting, not just because of the long hours but because of how toxic the environment was. I was the only woman in an office full of men. I was excluded from conversations simply because of my gender. I was on display every single day. It didn’t matter if I wore a turtleneck or an oversized t-shirt; the male gaze was constant. Sometimes I’d go out into the yard to do inventory or quality control, driving the golf cart past workers who would literally stop what they were doing to stare.

One coworker, in particular, would hit on me weekly. There were times we’d be the last ones in the office, and he’d corner me, asking to take me to a hotel. And while I never acted on it, I won’t lie — I was tempted. He was offering something I wasn’t getting at home. My fiancé didn’t pursue me sexually; he didn’t make me feel desired. And here was someone I found attractive making me feel wanted — it took everything in me to say “no.” But I knew I needed to leave that job. The more rejection I faced at home, the more I craved validation elsewhere.

So I quit, under the cover of pursuing a new career in digital marketing — which was only partly true. I did want to change careers, and this gave me the push. Luckily, I landed two clients who paid me enough to get by. But another red flag I ignored was how my husband and I handled money: everything was split. We didn’t share accounts, and he had zero interest in managing finances together. That only changed later, when he became a radical Christian.

Eventually, I lost both clients — one because of a business falling out, the other switching to commission-only pay, which wasn’t sustainable. I hustled for new clients, but it was hard. Many people don’t value content writing; they want to nickel and dime you for everything. As a writer, you have to price everything — writing, editing, admin — into your hourly rate. Getting to $50 an hour was a victory. But during the hard times, my finances took a hit. I asked my husband for help. His response? “I don’t have enough to help.” And that was that. No solution. No conversation. I was his wife, yet left to fend for myself. In that moment, I knew I could never trust or depend on him financially — and that’s heartbreaking for a marriage.

To make things worse, around that time, he forgot to pay the electric bill and the power was shut off. For someone who’s been broke before, that hit a nerve. It triggered my deep need for financial stability. If my own partner wouldn’t support me, who would? I was abandoned — again — like so many times before.

Truthfully, our marriage was doomed from the start. I tried to savor the good moments. People liked him. I convinced myself I couldn’t do better. Never mind that, according to him, I wasn’t even physically his type (his words, not mine). He once told me I had bad breath, facial hair (thanks PCOS), gas in my sleep, and that I wasn’t sexually enticing. I found those words in an email he wrote two years before we even got married. I should’ve left then. But he said he loved me unconditionally. Funny how unconditional love always seemed to come with conditions. I settled for less than I deserved.

His words haunted our entire relationship and colored how I thought he saw me. And yes — I’m not innocent. In my lonely moments, I sought attention elsewhere. When things got bad, my addiction to validation only grew. I wanted to feel wanted. That’s part of why I knew I had to leave the construction job — it was feeding into something dangerous.

It’s strange, stumbling across these old blog posts — entries written during what should’ve been a happy time. I had just married someone I thought was my forever. But beneath the surface, it was already broken.