Hard To Love

Jimilyn Smith Kell

6 days ago

2 min read

I’ve received a surprising number of messages lately that all say some version of the same thing:

“You must have something really special for these guys to act like this.”

“You must have some kind of effect on men.”

“There has to be something about you if they can’t just move on.”

I never looked at it that way.

I looked at their behavior and saw abuse. I felt the desire to hurt me word for word sadistic.

For a long time, that was the only explanation that made sense to me. They must absolutely loathe me to spend this much time talking about me, watching me, dissecting me, reaching into my friendships, revisiting old relationships, and continuing to insert themselves into a life they are no longer part of.

But I’m beginning to see something differently.

Maybe what looks like hatred toward me isn’t really about hating me at all.

Maybe some of that anger comes from losing access to someone they believed would always be there.

Maybe it comes from realizing that I really did walk away.

Because I didn’t leave asking for perfection.

I didn’t ask anyone to worship me, revolve their life around me, or become somebody they weren’t.

I asked for decency.

That was it.

Basic respect. Honesty. Consideration. Accountability. The ability to disagree without deliberately hurting each other. The right to have to safety and doors that don’t get broken in my own home. The understanding that loving someone does not give you permission to punish them at all much less indefinitely.

And when those things became negotiable, eventually I stopped negotiating.

So when people tell me, “You must have something really special,” maybe I finally understand what they mean.

I know what I bring into somebody’s life.

I love deeply. I show up. I remember the little things. I build a home around the people I love. I celebrate them. I forgive more than I probably should. And when I choose someone, I genuinely choose them.

But that doesn’t mean I will stay forever regardless of how I’m treated.

There is a difference between being loved unconditionally and being given unlimited access.

And maybe losing that is what hurts.

The strange part is that throughout all of this, I’ve kept coming back to the same realization: there has only been one man in my life who seemed to understand the word decency exactly the way I do.

My first husband.

He wasn’t perfect. Neither was I.

But I never had to explain to him why cruelty disguised as affection was unacceptable. I never had to convince him that loyalty mattered. I never had to teach him that the person you love is still an individual human being deserving of dignity, even when you’re angry with them.

He already knew.