The One With Their Version of You and the One Your Still Reclaiming

Note to the reader: This is a longer read—but if you’ve ever experienced psychological abuse or you’re in recovery from it, or trying to understand it from the outside, I believe it’s worth your time.

This piece is layered—like the experience itself—and it’s written for survivors, for those still figuring it out and for anyone who’s ever wondered if their pain was real.

There’s the story they tell about you.

And then there’s the one you’re still trying to make sense of—because it was never just one thing.

Psychological abuse isn’t always loud.

It doesn’t always come with screaming or bruises or broken doors.

Sometimes, it shows up in whispers.

In gossip.

In carefully shared "concerns" with other people behind your back.

In the way your words are twisted just enough to make you sound unstable, dramatic, or hard to love.

If you’ve been through it, you know.

And if you haven’t—it’s easy to miss.

What Psychological Abuse Actually Looks Like

It’s not always yelling.

Sometimes it’s being left out of conversations about your own life.

It’s someone telling your story for you.

It’s a partner or parent who talks about your emotions like they’re problems to be managed.

It’s subtle put-downs.

It’s emotional withdrawal when you need comfort.

It’s jokes at your expense in front of others.

It’s acting calm while you break down, just so they can later say, “See? You’re always like this.”

It’s a slow, quiet way of making you doubt yourself.

It can come from a romantic partner. It can come from a parent. Sometimes both.

The Rebrand: From Abuser to Role Model

After the control, the threats, the chaos—sometimes the person who hurt you changes their image.

Now they’re the “better parent.”

The “present” one.

The one who shows up calm, polite, composed.

The one who says they’ve grown, healed, matured.

And people believe them.

They don’t see what happened behind closed doors.

They just see the polished version.

But you remember.

Even if the memory is foggy, even if you can’t recall every word—they were there.

The moments that broke your trust.

The nights that made you question who you were.

And now they act like it never happened.

Or worse—they rewrite it.

When the People Who Should Protect You Join the Performance

Sometimes, it’s not just the partner who rewrites the story—it’s your own family.

Maybe a parent.

Maybe someone who’s harmed you in their own quiet ways for years.

Maybe someone who stood by when they should have stood up.

Now they’re helping rewrite history.

They lie for him.

They say you’re dramatic.

They say you always overreact.

That kind of betrayal doesn’t just hurt.

It breaks something inside of you that was already struggling to heal.

When You’re Not Even Sure What Really Happened

Here’s something survivors rarely get to admit out loud:

Sometimes, after psychological abuse, your memory is a little broken.

Not because you’re making it up—but because your brain was trying to protect you.

When you’ve been gaslit over and over, your mind starts to fog.

You might remember something more intensely than it really was.

Or forget details entirely.

Or mix up timelines.

That’s not lying.

That’s trauma.

Your memory might be messy—but your pain is real.

You were still hurt.

You were still surviving.

When Your Reactions Are Used Against You

When you've been under threat long enough—verbally, emotionally, or psychologically—you eventually break.

Sometimes it looks like rage.

Sometimes you shut down.

Sometimes you explode from the pressure of having to hold it all in for so long.

And then that moment becomes the story they tell.

They don't talk about the years of being called manipulative.

Or groomer.

Or dangerous.

They don't talk about the fear.

The control.

The emotional exhaustion.

They just point to your breaking point and say: “See? That’s who they really are.”

But those reactions were survival responses—not character flaws.

You weren’t unstable.

You were trying to hold your centre in the middle of emotional warfare.

When You Start Mirroring What You Hated

It’s even harder when you start seeing pieces of that same behaviour in yourself.

You catch yourself shutting down in arguments.

Raising your voice.

Controlling little things because you’re scared of big outcomes.

Saying things that sound a lot like what someone once said to you.

And at first, you brush it off. You think, "This is just how relationships are."

But later—maybe after the dust has settled—you realize: No, it’s not.

You hated how it made you feel.

And now you’re doing it.

That realization is painful. But it’s not the end of the story.

It means you’re waking up.

It means you’re unlearning.

That’s part of the healing, too.

If You're a Survivor: You're Not Too Much

People may be tired of hearing you talk about it.

They may roll their eyes when you bring it up again.

You might even catch yourself thinking, “Why can’t I just move on already?”

But you’re not talking too much.

You’re trying to reclaim something that was taken from you.

Your voice. Your clarity. Your peace.

You’re not a burden.

You’re a survivor.

If You’ve Never Been Through It: Here's What You Might Miss

Psychological abuse doesn’t always look like abuse.

The person who caused it might seem calm.

Rational.

In control.

Meanwhile, the survivor might seem emotional.

Frantic.

Confused.

That’s the point.

Abuse often makes the victim look like the problem—and the abuser look like the solution.

If you’ve never lived it, listen anyway.

Ask questions.

Be slow to judge.

And remember that being composed doesn’t make someone trustworthy.

Being emotional doesn’t make someone unstable.

And From Me, To You—Who’s Been There

I know what it’s like to question your version of events.

To wonder if maybe you are the problem.

To see other people believe someone who hurt you—and feel like you're screaming into a void.

But your truth matters.

Even if it’s messy.

Even if your memory isn’t perfect.

Even if you’ve made mistakes too.

You’re still allowed to name what happened.

You’re still allowed to heal.

Their Version Doesn’t Get to Be the Final One

Let them tell whatever story they need to.

But know this:

The version that matters is the one you’re still reclaiming.

The one where you lived through things most people couldn’t see.

The one where you’re learning how to show up without fear.

The one where you’re breaking generational patterns, even while carrying the weight of them.

Their version is a performance.

Yours is the truth.

And it’s more than enough.