When my ex and I separated, I took one look at the pork chops in the supermarket and began shaking and sobbing: I had been vegetarian for years, but had cooked meat for him, or else he’d have thrown a wobbly. I looked at those pork chops, and they represented a whole lifetime of pandering to his royal highness, putting my own beliefs on the back burner and putting him first, only to be treated like nothing. But I felt sad thinking my daily shop wouldn’t include picking his dinner foods.
Mad, eh? Because the reality is that he made me buy all the food, and he more often that not put down my cooking. So why did I feel such grief? Trauma-bonding, pure and simple.
Now? I buy meat for my eldest without much pain at all, and I’ve started to take the care over my food that I previously surrendered to him.
It truly does get better. Someone once said its like a wound that heals and a scab is left behind which causes you some discomfort. This is exactly how it is. The dreadful, searing pain does lessen hugely xxxxx