Invisible chains

I used to think fear wasn’t something “real” men admitted to. I thought fear was for people who weren’t strong enough to push through difficulties, too weak to tough it out. But the truth? Fear had me trapped in a toxic relationship I knew was destroying me.

It started with the idea that I just had to try harder. Men hear that message everywhere: bottle up your feelings, carry the weight, don’t quit. “Maybe if I try harder, I’ll be worthy of love and respect. Maybe they’ll see I’m not a failure. Maybe things will get better.” That line of thinking was a trap, and I fell into it over and over again. White-knuckling my way through life, taking the hits without complaint, felt noble when I equated strength with self-destruction.

Then there was the fear of losing my children. Lying awake at night, endless questions would haunt me. Would the threats to “make sure you never see them again” become real? How could I be the father I wanted to be if I didn't get to see them every day? What if shuffling between two homes left my children angry, resentful, or unsafe? What if I truly was the problem, like I'd been accused so many times? I'd seen other young fathers systematically cut out of their children’s lives or drowning in expensive legal battles. I was terrified I would end up the same. The horror of missing out on raising my children kept me frozen in place.

Maybe the most crippling fear of all was the worry that I'd end up more miserable than I already was. Voices inside my head whispered, “What if this is just what marriage is? What if the grass really isn't greener on the other side?” Growing up in a household shadowed by domestic abuse, I didn’t know any happily married couples or families. Chaos, conflict and disfunction were normalized. The possibility that leaving might make things worse was paralyzing. Transitioning out of the military was already a high-stakes leap. How could I rebuild a life from scratch, as a single father? Fear of the unknown felt safer than freedom.

When I first met my now wife in early 2020, she too was burdened by the weight of invisible chains. Would her ex retaliate with violence? Could she learn to trust again? Would she get a second chance at the big, happy family she'd always dreamed of? The specifics were different, but the pattern was the same. Fear convinces you that the harm you know is better than the harm you don’t.

Here’s what I wish I’d known sooner: fear isn’t a mark of weakness and courage isn't pretending to be tougher than the punches life throws at you. If you’re reading this, stuck like I was, entangled by invisible chains, I hope you realize you don’t have to endure until there’s nothing left. Its okay to be scared and it’s okay to ask for help. Hyper-independence (thanks, childhood trauma) doesn’t earn you a pat on the back and there’s no shame in saying, “I’m not in a good place. I need help getting out.”

Fear may have held you hostage, whispered lies, and kept you asking "what if?", but every step you take away from what harms you is a victory. The decision to exist on your own terms is proof you are stronger than you were told. The chains that bound you may have been invisible but your courage is as clear as day.

Fear argued staying was safer but fear doesn't get the final word. Not anymore.