As I think through all this today, I realize there was much more that made me feel diminished as a person.
For example, almost every time we were together the last several months, he made a dig about my weight. Now, I'm 5'5" and wear a size 8. Not exactly skin and bones, but certainly normal weight. I was proud that I still had a figure at my age and after bearing so many children, but found myself dissatisfied with my appearance, and just waiting for the next comment. He finally told me he would prove to me that I was heavier than when we met by showing me pictures of two years ago. I might be a pound or two heavier, but nothing significant. Still, it left me fighting to feel OK about my physical appearance.
If I picked out the movie, it was almost never any good. If I was reading something, he'd ask me why I always had my nose in a book. He picked out the TV shows we watched. Mine were always "awful". I had a contract to do some professional writing. He criticized it, telling another person, in front of me, that my writing style was terrible. My children were irresponsible, my house was plain, my hair was too short, my waist too thick, my driving was terrible, and so on. He once cursed at me, using the f word, for accidentally putting a stick in a wood stove that was his special fire stirring stick. Accidentally burning his 20 year old can opener's cord on the stove was another offense that deserved a tirade. He called me "Blubbering Gail" when I shed a few tears after being terrified about driving in a snowstorm when I couldn't see out of the windshield on an unfamiliar freeway, then ridiculed me about it in front of someone else. He told me repeatedly that I had too much self confidence--that I thought I could do anything, but really was inappropriately sure of myself. Most of my decisions he second guessed--important ones like how to sell my old house, or what employment I should choose.
Of course, it didn't start out like this or we wouldn't have been together for 2 years. We had some really wonderful adventures together. We enjoyed each other's company. We'd talk for hours at night on the phone about all sorts of different, interesting topics. Isn't that what makes letting go hard--when there is so much good that it almost makes the bad bearable?
It helps to get it all written down where I can see it.
Gail