Abigail Grace

jesskaps
Oct 16
6 min read

Wednesday, October 15, 2025 @ 22:42 EST

*Jess with niece, baby Abigail: November 26, 2021*

Four years ago today, I experienced one of the happiest moments of my life. I learned of the birth of my niece, and became an aunt for the first time.

The overwhelming feelings of love and elation I hold in my heart for her began on that very day. I wanted to share this gleeful moment with my friends, especially someone who I considered my closest friend at the time.

My excitement was met with flat, uninterested affect and sarcasm. Using our one-liner inside jokes as responses to the exciting news I wanted to share. Soul-sucking and hollow.

Four years ago, two of my dear friends from out of town were visiting El Paso and specifically this aforementioned close friend, and to this day I am fairly certain they have no idea how awful the days I spent with them were. This was entirely due to the emotional abuse I was enduring from the very friend they were there to visit, who they held on a pedestal, who I held on a pedestal or more like a precipice, and who subtly and insidiously jabbed at me in ways only I could understand for the entirety of their trip.

I spent many moments crying silently, quietly, feeling confused unsure hurt depressed this heaviness deep within my chest and so completely all alone, during what should have been collectively fun times with friends together, combined with celebrating the birth of my niece. What was additionally frustrating was the energy he emitted was readily accepted by these friends, and my voice went unheard or disregarded. Or laughed at. Poked fun of. Him as the puppet master and all of us his playful subservient puppets. Conforming to his whim. Naive. Ignorant. Unaware.

It was often like this, is the thing. The lonely times I spent hidden in shadow and secret while others were off celebrating right in front of me became a regular pastime and integrated part of my reality.

When I suggested that his cat’s behaviors were concerning and maybe she should be taken to the vet, I got made fun of by all three of them. There’s nothing wrong with her. How could you be DUMB enough to even think that!? She is obviously fine and is just reacting to unfamiliar visitors in the house.

His cat died only days later. And I was there for him during that time. After enduring all this emotional abuse. From him. Because he asked.

*assholeface telling me his cat died via text and me responding by offering support*

It is not the only cat he allowed to die. He had a kitten, a kitten, who would run outside often in the night. Personally if this were my cat after the first time I noticed this was an issue, I would have done everything in my power to ensure she stayed inside. She was a kitten. Helpless. Trusting.

She was killed by some wild animal in the night.

I digress.

I felt alone and so fucking depressed four years ago this very day, when it should have been one of the happiest days of my life. The moment of joy at my niece’s birth was fleeting, as I was robbed of it by the person I considered my dearest friend at the time. Someone I trusted with my life.

*Kina Grannis “It’s Hard to Be Human” album cover*

I look back on how grateful I felt that my favorite musician, Kina Grannis, unexpectedly dropped a full album during this exact time. I listened to that album on repeat every day and night during this time, as a tremendous source of comfort, connection, and hope. I rely on her music from this album particularly still to this day. “It’s Hard to Be Human.” Because it is.

And why tell this story?

Because all of this was not one day, one moment of unhappiness or confusion I experienced. These moments were not the exception. This involved years, literally decades, of this man’s emotional and verbal abuse, gaslighting, casually eroding my self-esteem for his pleasure, and doling out punishment whenever he deemed fit— often when I would express my feelings to him or seek clarification. Sometimes seemingly randomly.

And I endured it. Because I loved him. Or thought I loved him. I loved him as a friend first and foremost and to me that was all that mattered.

I used to say to him (what I say to all my friends and family)— “I am always on your team.” I am always on your side. It is not me versus you ever in my mind; it is US versus this problem or challenge. That is how it should be in any healthy relationship.

When we were young, I attributed many things to emotional immaturity on the part of us both. As we aged, there were times I was so sure I needed to part ways or separate myself from him but I just could not do it. I almost did. Once. In 2012 when he chose to hit on me, physically, when he knew I was in a satisfying relationship with a partner for whom I cared deeply at the time. While she was literally upstairs asleep.

I felt like I needed him. I isolated the good moments and placed them on a pedestal along with this man, even though as the years passed the “good moments” became few and far between. Especially once I moved to El Paso. I noticed things I could no longer ignore and attribute to “just a bad day for him” or “maybe I got it wrong in my head” or write off as “he’s not always like this” or consider that “he’s such a good person who does so much for others and the community; this could not possibly be true that he is also this bad.”

If there is confusion in your head and your heart, it is most certainly this bad. He is this bad. Despite all the wonderful things he has done for strangers and neighbors and coworkers and family and friends and the community and yourself over the years… this does not override the fact that he is an abuser and misogynist. You are not wrong in your thinking and feeling the way you do. He wants you confused so you are easily manipulated and controlled.

Getting out of this situation was one of the toughest experiences I have ever had to go through. I would never wish it on anyone, though I am infinitely grateful for the person I have become and am becoming because of surviving this.

October is both Domestic Violence Awareness Month and Mental Health Awareness Month. I share this story because most abusers do not look like abusers. They are your neighbors, your best friends, and your family. They are teachers and community organizers and political leaders and kind church-going folks. They are charming and charismatic and funny and witty and people you know and respect and love.

This is why you defend them. You say you would never, yet you do. I know this because I have done it.

I defended him with my life for years. Part of it was denial. I refused to see what was right in front of me. I could never consider that there were so many stories behind his lies that had yet to be told. By others besides myself.

Believe survivors. Someone’s life and livelihood and ability to thrive may depend on it. We have nothing to gain by coming forward and sharing our stories, as we are rarely believed and constantly questioned. Often by well-intentioned people. “If it was really that bad, why didn’t you…?”

You could make the difference for someone right now who feels alone and petrified and confused. Because the truth is— it is often WORSE than it appears, rarely better.

Be brave. Be the support you would like to see in the world. Ask questions if you are concerned, and let people know that you are there if and when they are ready to talk and willing to accept help.

For survivors — there is always someone here to support you, and always something to live and hope and fight for. For me, it was my niece. Thoughts of my niece kept me alive and moving forward these last four years.

I could not give up; I must live for her and do better for her. Be better for her and others like her.

Please, everyone— Take care, stay safe, look out for one another, and know it does and will get better. ❤️‍🩹