The Power of Vulnerability: My Personal Story of Triumph over Trauma - Part 1

The strength I found in falling apart

I’ve alluded to my wild and crazy decade - now it’s time to spill the tea on what those years were really like! Buckle up. And bear with me, this is going to be a longer post and maybe even spread across a few, but it lays the foundation of explaining who I am today, and for everything I believe in. It’s the heart behind my mission: building a community rooted in empowerment, raising awareness, and doing whatever I can to make a difference.

Like every great story, it all started with an innocent little love story. I had just graduated, totally clueless about what I wanted to do with my life. I’d gone from living it up during some wild, intense university years on campus to suddenly being back at my parents' house, questioning everything. One minute I was convinced I’d work in hotels forever, the next I was equally convinced I absolutely would not. I was also knee-deep in a “situationship” born purely out of boredom. Basically, I was in full-on existential-crisis mode.

And what do you do when life makes no sense? You hit the club with your bestie, obviously.

That night, we got introduced to a few people - him included. Nothing major happened at first since I was preoccupied with some other drama (don’t worry, that’s a juicy story for another time). Cut to me outside the club, absolutely raging, venting to my friend and unleashing every curse word in my arsenal.

Then he walks over.

“You do know that swearing shows a lack of vocabulary?” he says.

Red flag? Yep. But not for me.

I was first shocked, then completely intrigued. No one had ever spoken to me like that before. And little did I know - that was just a tiny taste of what was coming...

The first few weeks of getting to know each other were intense - in every sense. Things kicked off hot and heavy; we’d have these deep, soul-baring conversations where he spoke so openly about his dreams, goals, and what he wanted out of life. I’d never met a guy our age who was that emotionally transparent - it was captivating. On top of that, the way he’d whisk me away on surprise weekend getaways and pull off these over-the-top romantic gestures? Yeah… I fell hard.

But what really got me was his vulnerability. He opened up about his traumatic and abusive childhood, and the stories he shared were absolutely heart-wrenching. I remember feeling this overwhelming urge to protect him, to make him happy, to somehow fix what had been broken. Naive little me truly believed that if I just loved him hard enough, I could love him back together.

As if all that wasn’t already heavy, he also revealed that he’d been diagnosed with bipolar disorder just a few months before we met. The night he told me, I didn’t flinch. I looked him in the eye and said, “I’ll stick by you no matter what. Just promise me one thing: when you’ve got this under control, you’ll use your story to help others.” I had zero clue about mental health disorders—I grew up in this super sheltered, “picture-perfect” world where those things just weren’t talked about. Sure, I did the usual Google deep dives, bought a couple of books, tried to educate myself… but nothing, nothing, could’ve prepared me for the emotional rollercoaster I had just willingly strapped myself into.

Everything about him was intense - and completely unlike anything I was used to. He lived to stand out, to do things differently, to break the mold. He asked me to move in with him almost right away. He launched his own business from scratch after getting let go from his cushy finance job (all because he told his boss about his diagnosis and that he’d be taking longer lunch breaks for therapy). One moment he’d be showering me with grand, sweeping gestures of love, and the next, I’d catch glimpses of sudden, unpredictable anger, always directed at others in the beginning. It was all-consuming, chaotic… and strangely magnetic.

I’ve always had a hard time pinpointing exactly when things started to go wrong. It reminds me of that classic analogy about the frog in the pot. You know the one - if you drop a frog into boiling water, it’ll jump out right away. But if you place it in lukewarm water and slowly turn up the heat, it won’t notice what’s happening until it’s too late. That was me. Slowly, subtly, the temperature kept rising… and I didn’t even realize I was getting burned. It started out with what could be interpreted as being taken care of; subtle hints about how I could improve my dressing style, my makeup, my eating habits, my discipline, my career ambitions - it was like having a personal coach.

The big difference with this “coach” dynamic? There was no room for disagreement - ever. Before I knew it, I wasn’t allowed to make a single decision without his say-so. I couldn’t leave the house without getting his “approval,” and even my emotions were under constant surveillance. I always had to be in a “good mood,” because he was going through so much with his mental health and his entrepreneurial hustle. If I wasn’t smiling and “sucking it up,” it was seen as a betrayal.

“I do so much for you, trying to make you a better person,” he’d say. “And the one time I need support, you can’t even show up for me?”

Sometimes it came out of nowhere. We’d be watching TV, me quietly focused on the show, and suddenly - “Why are you distracted? All I want is to enjoy this with you.” I’d have no idea what set him off, but I’d spend the next few days tiptoeing around the silent treatment, just trying to keep the peace.

Even gifts - something that should feel joyful - were laced with manipulation. And don’t get me wrong, he was excellent at gift-giving. At first, I was swept away by it. But it didn’t take long to realize the pattern: I’d be hit with an extravagant gift, shortly thereafter I’d do something wrong (like forget to grab something at the grocery store)… which led to being used as a prop in a monologue about how ungrateful, careless, and undeserving I was. Every “present” came with a price.

This went on for years, slowly chipping away at my self-confidence and self-worth. Bit by bit, I started to believe the things he said. Was I really that stupid? That ungrateful? That incapable? His requests always seemed so “simple” - so why couldn’t I just get it right? Why did I always end up upsetting him? Why was I always the problem?

The more I questioned myself, the more uncertain I became. And the less confidence I had, the easier it was for him to keep me in that loop - a never-ending, vicious cycle that slowly broke my spirit. What made things even easier for him was the way he slowly, strategically isolated me from the people who loved me most. He’d either start conflicts with my friends and family or come up with reasons why they were “bad influences” or “holding me back.” And somehow, over time, I believed him.

I used to have strong, loving relationships - with my parents, my brother, my best friends. But he managed to convince me to cut ties with every single one of them. Five years. Five years of no contact with anyone. I was completely alone, with no outside perspective, no one to hold up a mirror and say, “This isn’t normal.” Connection is what makes us human and being cut off from all my closest connections was chipping away at my humanity.

And yet, to the outside world, we looked like the perfect couple. He made sure of it - always so attentive, so charming, so gentlemanly when we were around others. And me? I became an expert at hiding the cracks. Smiling through the pain. Playing the part.

Of course, I was also working full-time during all of this—but my days looked a little different than the average 9-to-5:

Before work: wake up, get ready, and dive straight into brainstorming sessions for his business.

Workday: head to my job and actually do the work I was being paid for

Lunch break: no real break - I'd spend it sending emails or handling tasks for his projects

Afternoon: back to doing my job

After work: pick up groceries, come home and immediately jump back into brainstorming/problem-solving mode with him. Then cook dinner, followed by - you guessed it - more business talk and emotional labor.

Sleep: barely any. He snored like a freight train, but I wasn’t allowed to leave the room—because that would be "abandoning" him. So I’d lie there, wide awake for hours, listening to the human tractor beside me.

Then the next day? Rinse and repeat.

And the rare times we did manage a holiday or road trip? It was never really a break. I was still expected to be his support system - engaging him in stimulating conversations, keeping him entertained, always “on.” And if he drank too much, my job shifted to walking on eggshells, trying not to trigger one of his outbursts.

So what does one do in a relationship like that? Naturally—you get engaged and married, right?

Six years in, he proposed, and I said yes. I was still holding onto hope. Hoping that if I just tried a little harder, if I messed up a little less, if his businesses finally succeeded, if his passion project finally took off - then maybe, maybe things would change. I convinced myself that his unhappiness was just circumstantial. That once life got better, he would get better. That we would finally find peace.

And then came another grand gesture. Remember how I had told him at the beginning I’d stand by him through his bipolar diagnosis, on the condition that he’d use his journey to help others? Well, he kept his promise. He built a whole business around using your "weaknesses" as strengths and even gave a TEDx talk revealing to everyone the big secret about his bipolar disorder. In front of a full audience, he shared his story and surprised me with a public declaration of love. Romantic, right? I was floating. I thought this was the turning point.

I had no idea things were about to get even darker. Because after the wedding, the emotional and psychological abuse was joined by something new: physical violence towards me.

It started subtly - objects thrown across the room, never quite at me, but close enough to make a point. Then came the pushing, the grabbing. And the twisted justifications: “I’m only holding you so I don’t do worse.” As if that was something to be grateful for.

But it didn’t stop there.

It escalated into choking. I remember one night, he was unhappy with the dinner I’d made. He backed me against the wall, wrapped his hand around my throat, and lifted me off the ground. I remember the sheer panic - the feel of my feet dangling, air cut off, terror flooding every cell in my body. Over a hamburger.

After that, he began "protecting" me from himself. He made me sleep on a tiny, uncomfortable couch in the living room, and in the mornings he’d text me to go into the basement - before he even got out of bed. I’d sit down there, alone in the cold and dark for hours, until he left the apartment. I wasn’t just walking on eggshells anymore - I was surviving in total silence, waiting for the next storm to hit. The twisted thing he used to say was that a lesson he'd learnt from the environment he grew up in, was to hurt a woman without leaving a mark. So any violence was carefully aimed at places that wouldn’t show, and the bruises? He always made sure there was a “reasonable” explanation for those, too. The scariest escalation was the night he put a knife to my throath. I remember looking into his eyes, and I could see he was trying his very best not to use the knife. What was my infraction that warranted this? I forgot to put my glass on a coaster…

Exhausting and soul-crushing doesn’t even begin to cover it. By this point, I was in full-on survival mode and nearing a mental breakdown, barely hanging on. My own mental health was in shambles - constant anxiety, fear pulsing through me 24/7, and a suffocating depression. I had become a ghost of the person I used to be.

Every little task felt monumental. Even something as simple as boiling water for tea felt overwhelming - because I had been broken down so thoroughly, I second-guessed everything, even the “right” temperature. He had stripped away every bit of confidence, clarity, and strength I once had. I was running on empty, just trying to make it through the day.

Ironically, it was him who ended up saving me - though not in the way he ever intended. Leaving had never felt like a real option. I was trapped in every way: physically afraid, financially dependent, terrified he might hurt himself (which he’d already tried once). He’d planted the idea in my head that I was nothing without him, that I couldn’t survive on my own. And I believed him.

But then, after years of slowly breaking me down, he finally got what he wanted: I was completely hollowed out. I had nothing left to give. I could barely manage to send an e-mail for his business, barely keep the house running. In his eyes, I’d become useless.

That’s when he made a surprising suggestion - he told me to reach out to my parents, to take a break, recharge. The plan was simple: go home, get some care, come back stronger... for him.

Neither of us could’ve guessed that this would be the moment everything changed.

I still get chills thinking about that phone call. I hadn’t spoken to my mom in years, and yet, when she picked up and heard my voice, she simply said, “Just come home.” And I did. I went back to my Mom and Dad - and I never left.

The contrast between the two worlds was overwhelming. On one side: peace, love, safety. On the other: chaos and fear. It finally hit me just how bad things had gotten, and for the first time in nearly a decade, I knew - I had to choose myself. No matter the consequences.

And so it was.

I ended things with him. It broke my heart, but it also set me free. I still remember the moment I closed the door to our apartment for the last time. I could hear him sobbing on the other side - and still, the weight lifting off my shoulders was undeniable. I felt lighter. Liberated. And yes, terrified.

I had no plan, no job, was buried in debt, and back living with my parents. But I knew one thing for sure: anything was better than the hell I’d just escaped. And step by step, I started rebuilding. A new chapter had begun.

“In the cracks, there is gold. In the healing, there is beauty."(Inspired by Kintsugi – the art of embracing brokenness)

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