The Word Was "Compromise"

Healing Avoidant
Apr 22
3 min read

Early in my healing journey, starting therapy, and renewing my faith in Jesus, this is a story, a letter, a journal entry I wrote. The words you’ll read below were written months ago, and never with the intention of her seeing it, while secretly hoping that she may want to one day. I have come to terms that she will never see it, but I thought it could help someone else struggling to find their way.

It started with a voice—one single word: “Compromise.”

I was 3D printing something for my kid late one night, mind elsewhere, when I heard it. No thunder. No bright light. Just a word whispered into my soul.

And then, a memory: being a kid again, sitting in the backseat of my dad’s car. We weren’t allowed to touch the radio. His car, his rules. No conversation. No compromise. Just silence or submission.

That’s when it hit me like lightning:

I never learned how to compromise. Not really.

Not in childhood.

Not in marriage.

Not with the one woman I loved more than I knew how to show.

This is a letter I will never send, and she has made it clear she never wants to speak to me again. But these are the truths I carry now:

I know you’re hurting. I know what I did to you.

And though our heartbreak is different, I’m just as broken.

You might think I threw you away like trash. And if that’s how it felt—then I won’t argue. You’re allowed to feel that. To hold onto that truth. I gave you every reason to.

And you’re probably wondering—how could someone who said they loved me so deeply also hurt me so badly?

The answer is simple. There’s no justification. No excuse.

Just accountability. Just grief. Just… this.

If I could go back and undo it all, I would.

But healing doesn’t happen in reverse. And I can’t live the rest of my life in self-destruction. I’ve made that mistake already.

So now, I’m here, learning. Facing the patterns that shaped me.

Facing the fact that I never made space for your voice. That in our relationship, I was all or nothing—my way or the highway for a lot of it.

It was control disguised as confidence. Fear dressed up as pride.

If this is where our story ends, I pray you find someone who chooses to meet you in the middle.

Who doesn’t just say the right words, but does the hard work of compromise.

Because I know now—I had that in me all along.

You saw it in me before I ever did.

And maybe I had to lose you to finally see it for myself.

You never said we couldn’t figure out a way forward. I just assumed we couldn’t.

I made decisions without conversation, without trust.

You once told me you didn’t like where I live. I took that and ran with it—built a whole narrative in my head that we couldn’t live together until my kids were grown, 7 years down the line. You never said that. I did. Out of fear.

What I wish I would’ve done instead?

Offered a compromise.

Maybe we could’ve found a home together near my kids’ school—one that didn’t carry the echoes of a past marriage. One that could have been ours. Even if just for a season.

But I never gave us that chance. I never gave you that voice.

Now, all I can offer is this:

My honesty.

My sorrow.

My hope that one day, maybe you’ll forgive me—not so we can be together again, but so your heart can breathe freely again.

And if not… then I’ll keep praying. For your peace. For your joy.

For the healing I once robbed from you—and that you deserve more than anything.