Yelling Isn’t a Love Language-How Love Made Me Ugly
Apparently… yelling isn’t a love language. Who knew? Certainly not me.
I thought I’d escaped toxicity when I finally left my emotionally abusive marriage. I was supposed to be the strong one, the woman who rebuilt her life, the single mom comeback story. Instead, I turned into what I can only describe as the human version of a fire drill – loud, chaotic, and guaranteed to go off at the worst possible time.
And here’s the thing: I didn’t even realize it. I thought I was just stressed. Exhausted. Hormonal. You know… “normal” working mom stuff. Spoiler alert… it was NOT.
Anxiety doesn’t always show up to the party wearing its nametag on its forehead.
When my son was born, my body went through the wringer. Seven weeks of bed rest due to early labor…twice. A scheduled induction that led to an emergency c-section for what the whole OR politely called a “big boy”. Translation: he came out looking like a linebacker that could carry me to the car instead of the other way around.
After we got home, I felt…off. Not “new mom tired” off. More like “everything makes me want to scream”…off.
But I didn’t think anything about it being anxiety. I wasn’t having panic attacks or meltdowns. No racing heart, no gasping for air, no curled-up-in-the-corner moments. Instead, my anxiety showed up in a way I wasn’t even aware it could. It came dressed up as anger (but like the Wish version on Halloween). Rage. Yelling. And irritation so sharp I could cut glass with it.
I chalked it up to “hormones” (thanks post-partum and PMDD…iykyk) and trudged on. Except those “hormones” lasted two more years. And then five and half more years of staying in a marriage that was picking apart my soul at every turn. Survival mode became my default setting.
When love made me ugly.
Eventually, I met someone new – a genuinely good man. Sweet, steady, safe. The kind of man rom-coms promise you, minus the boom box serenade outside your window.
And then… I became a monster. Just ugly.
Not physically ugly (although the raccoon eye circles and unwashed hobo hair probably didn’t help). I mean emotionally horrid. I yelled. I snapped. I went from zero to rage crying in under sixty seconds.
Arguments escalated, spiraled, and went nuclear – and I couldn’t even remember what set them off. And weeks later, all I knew was that we had argued, I yelled, and we were both hurt and confused. The actual reason? Gone. Lost somewhere between the laundry pile and my short fuse.
Basically, it was like starring in my own reality show: “Extreme Overreactions: The Series.” Every episode ended with yelling and a nonexistent plot.
Mirror Moment – a carnival fun house mirror
The turning point came mid-argument – one of the big ones. The kind where neighbors don’t know if they should check on you or just call for back up.
I heard words coming from him… the exact same words I’d used before to describe why I left my marriage. “Abuse.” “Manipulation.” “Disrespect.”
Then it hit me…like a wrecking ball straight to my gut.
I wasn’t the victim anymore. I’d become the villain.
Plot twist!
Do you know how humbling it is to realize you’ve become the same person you once had to flee from? I was the person to be fled from. I was the person I would have told anyone else to “get away” from. Let me tell you – its not a fun kind of self-discovery. Its more like tripping over your own red flag and face planting into the whole pile.
Changing Echoes
We love to talk about cutting toxic people out of our lives. About naming them, shaming them, and swearing off anyone who doesn’t bring you “positive vibes only.”
But here’s the less Instagram-able truth: Sometimes the toxic person that needs to be cut off… is you.
The hardest kind of change-making isn’t trying to fix the world “out there”. Its facing the parts of ourselves that quietly hurt the people we love the most.
Turns out… hurt people don’t just hurt people. They yell at them. Dismiss them. Roll their eyes at them. And sometimes, convince themselves that they are still the “misunderstood comeback hero” while doing it. Trust me – I had a cape and everything.
But villains come with capes too. And I never stole his voice in a fight… but I became so loud that he no longer felt safe to use it. He was walking on eggshells every day, and I was just putting dollar tree bandaids on the cuts it caused.
Not a glow-up… yet!
I’d love to tell you that this is where the story is wrapped up in pretty paper with a big bow. That I went to therapy and healed wounds and discovered inner peace. And that now I only speak in calm, mindful, gentle tones like I’m marketing a meditation app.
But that would be a whole lie.
This realization. This self-awareness. This deserved gut punch – its brand new. As in, this week new. I don’t have it figured out. It’s not a switch I can flip on an off. The changes haven’t actively happened – but the steps to make them have.
And they may look like tiny baby steps to some, but even the smallest steps can take you forward. And right now, going forward for me looks like:
· Admitting I was the problem (OUCH!).
· Recognizing that my anxiety shows up as intense anger, not panic (double OUCH).
· Learning to recognize the triggers and how they feel before I explode (much harder than it sounds).
· Figuring out how to create safety, calm, and peace instead of fear, noise, and chaos for the people closest to me.
Its not glamourous. Its not inspirational. And its not easy. But it IS necessary.
So this is where I am – not fixed, not finished, but aware. And awareness is where change begins. I don’t know exactly how this story ends yet. But I do know this: the world doesn’t just need more people fighting the BIG fights. It needs more of us quietly working to stop breaking the people we love. I thought I had escaped toxicity. Turns out I had packed it in my carry-on.
Because apparently, yelling isn’t a love language. And sometimes the boldest thing we can do for our family, for our futures, is to put down the cape, admit we are not the hero, and before we try to change the world – check to see if we’re the one that needs changing.