Weird title, I know.

Maybe I should just hang out with my sister and brother-in-law and be done with it. I get along so well with them. My sister, Belinda, is my ride or die.

But getting back into the dating world after the last disaster?
Yeah… not exactly thrilling.

I hadn’t really dated in decades. After Kerry died, the breakup was still too fresh. But as I’ve started to put myself out there again, I’ve realized something important — and honestly, a little unsettling.

I suffer from what I can only describe as relational PTSD.

No, I’ve never served in the military, and no, I haven’t been injured by an IED. I have deep respect for those who have. What I’m talking about is the kind of trauma that comes from living for years in a relationship that slowly erodes your sense of self.

Losing Myself

I was with Kerry for 25 years. Somewhere in there, I lost myself completely.

I put all my energy into making sure he was okay. That he was happy. That his needs were met. He ran the relationship — every decision, every dynamic.

Which, looking back, is funny. I’ve always been a take-charge kind of guy. But not with him.

If we disagreed, if I said something he didn’t like, he’d get in his car and disappear.
It could be for hours. Sometimes days. No texts, no calls. Just silence.

When he finally did respond, it was with sharp words that cut deep.
And instead of defending myself, I’d apologize. Beg him to come home.

He never apologized back.

He’d sometimes drive by the house to check on me — to see if I was cheating. (I wasn’t. I never did.)

The Show Must Go On

It always seemed to happen right before big events — pool parties, fundraisers, things we were hosting together. He’d leave, and I’d be stuck playing host, pretending everything was fine.

I’d smile, laugh, and fake my way through it.

When people asked where Kerry was, I’d say, “He had to go help family in Idaho on urgent business.”
Let’s just say his family needed a lot of help.

Close friends knew bits and pieces, but no one knew the whole truth.
Still, they showed up. Helped when I needed it. Stood by me. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.

The Modern Dating Mess

Fast-forward to now. Dating feels strange — it’s all texting. Nobody calls anymore.

I’ve never even had a phone conversation with a guy yet. It’s all typed words and emojis.

And that’s where my old scars show up.

If someone doesn’t respond right away, I spiral.
I wonder what I did wrong.
If I said too much.
If I’m not attractive enough, funny enough, enough.

That’s when I realize I’m still reacting to Kerry — to years of emotional conditioning.
Back then, silence meant punishment. Now, a delayed text can trigger the same panic.

Seeing It Clearly

During those 25 years, I didn’t even realize I was being emotionally abused.
You can’t see the whole picture when you’re stuck inside it.

Kerry was the life of the party. Charismatic. Funny. The guy everyone wanted to be around.
He had a story for every situation, and he told them with flair. People loved him — and I loved that side of him too.

But they never saw what happened once the crowd disappeared.

They didn’t see the silence in the car.
The shut-down.
The cold, punishing quiet.

I’d come home, pour a glass of wine, and tell myself it was fine. That it would pass.
But I was hiding — from my pain, my depression, my loss of self-worth.

The Work Ahead

I’ve always said I want to fix myself before getting into another relationship — and I mean it.

Maybe that means stepping back completely for a while. Focusing on me. Getting stronger.

But not so I can lose myself in someone else again.
That’s the pattern I’m breaking.

And just to be clear — I’m not saying these things to drag Kerry.
He had his demons.
He was also a good person in many ways.

This isn’t about blame.
It’s about understanding.

Recognizing what triggers me.
Learning how to respond, not react.
Giving others grace — and giving myself even more.

Because healing isn’t about forgetting the past.
It’s about finally seeing it clearly.

— Standing on the Edge