An Open Letter to My Ex-Husband

This episode is exactly what it sounds like: an open letter to my ex‑husband. I’m talking directly to him about the invisible chains, the fantasy I never actually agreed to, and the moment I finally chose to walk. 

If you’ve ever been told you’re “too sensitive” or “the problem” while your whole body is saying, “No, something is really wrong,” I think you’ll hear yourself in this. It’s raw, it’s not neatly tied up, and it’s part of how I’m closing that chapter so my nervous system can breathe again. 

Links:

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• https://www.tiktok.com/@515alchemy
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Transcript

Speaker 0:01

An open letter to my ex husband. The fact that I must use the words ex husband for you still turns my stomach. On paper we were married. In reality I was bound to the invisible chains you shackled around my waist. I thank every god and every ancestor that those chains did not stay invisible for long. What we had was not a marriage, not even a relationship. I did not consent to be a character in your fantasy world. I did not consent. People like you don't show up as a red flag at first. You show up as everything we ever said we wanted. You listen, you mirror, you study, you feel safe until that safety becomes the net you tighten. What felt like care slowly turned into pressure. What felt like attention slowly turned into monitoring. You chained me to you through trickery, through performance, through pretending, and none of it was real. I want to be very clear. I did not choose wrong. I was being read. I was being targeted. You matched yourself to my softness, my loyalty, my sense of responsibility, not to love me, but to manage me. By the time it stopped feeling right in my body, you had already learned how to keep me quiet. My silence did not last long. You murdered my mind, but you did not slaughter my spirit. I negotiated, explained, begged for repair and respect far longer than you deserved. That doesn't make me weak. It makes me someone who tried every door before accepting the house was on fire. Eventually my anger and pain stopped folding inward and started standing up. Through resentment, I could no longer look at you without feeling sick. That's what happens when you are treated like a possession. You accused me of things you were doing yourself and called it intuition. You thought I was seeing someone else. What a pathetic projection. I stayed loyal to you in my isolation and despair, and when I stopped feeding your ego, you punished me. I refused to give you the emotional supply you needed to prop up your overinflated sense of self, and instead of reflecting, you doubled down. You had me writing recipes that quickly turned into eulogies. I was only your effigy, I listened anyway. I pawed and clawed for a pathway into your soul. You thought I glistened this way, but I should have known. If I'm honest, you probably could have kept those chains on me longer than the five months it took for your mask to fully crack. If you'd been more careful, but you got sloppy. That's the thing about predators who think they're smarter than everyone else. Arrogance makes them careless. Maybe you are used to your victims being unaware of themselves and unaware of the mind of a predator. I don't fault them. I applaud them for getting away from you when they finally can. My heart goes out to the women who came before me and the ones who will come after, because I know the script now. And let me guess, every four to six months of crisis, especially with whomever you're dating, you can't keep your mask on for longer than that, can you? Here is what I need you to understand. Not for your redemption, but for my closure. You did not break me because I was weak. You broke me where I was generous. You exploited my willingness to see the best in people, my training to take responsibility, my belief that relationships can be healed if everyone tries. You turned my empathy into a leash and my commitment into a cage. But I am not that woman anymore. The chains you wrapped around my waist are gone, and so is the version of me who thought your chaos was love. I see you clearly now, not as a monster under the bed, but as a man who survives on illusions, control , and other people's light. I'm taking mine back. So this letter is not an invitation, a plea, or a promise. It is a boundary. It is a gravestone for the fantasy you force me to live in, and a birth certificate for the reality I choose now. I release you to your patterns, your crises, and your mirrors. I release myself to my healing, my truth, and the people who know how to love without chains. That is all you get from me now. The truth in my absence. May your mask slip faster and your karma become swift.