A Lesson Dressed Up as Destiny

To: The Woman Who Comes After Me,

You may not believe me.

You may not think you have any reason to.

In fact, if you are at the beginning of your relationship with a man like this, he has probably already made sure you won’t. He has likely painted me the way men like him always paint the woman who came before you: bitter, crazy, unstable, impossible to please, impossible to love. He has probably told you he gave me everything and that I was the problem. That I ruined the marriage. That I left. That I was selfish. That I was cheating. That I was emotionally damaged. That I was the reason everything fell apart.

I know this because that is exactly what he told me about the woman who came before me.

And maybe you believe him.

I know I would, because once upon a time, I was you.

I was the woman who believed I had finally found my person. I believed everything I had gone through in my first marriage had somehow prepared me for this seemingly beautiful relationship with a man who understood me, protected me, and made me feel like I was the center of his world. I thought he was my reward after pain. I thought he was proof that love could come back around and finally get it right.

I thought he was my soulmate.

Our wedding tagline was meant to be. It was written on the invitations. It was written on the wine box where we placed our love letters. It was written on the card box where our guests dropped their wishes for us. That phrase was everywhere because I believed it with my whole heart. I believed that this love story was destiny. I believed that somehow life had brought us back to one another because we were always supposed to find our way here.

And in the beginning, he gave me every reason to believe it.

The Love Bombing

It started with the love bombing.

The getaway to Niagara Falls. The tickets to see Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Hockey games. Beautiful gifts. The perfect fragrance—YSL Parisienne. Beautiful jewelry. The best electronic device to make my life easier, safer. He would buy me clothes, things that felt thoughtful and chosen just for me. He was full of surprises, including a proposal on the Eiffel Tower. Everything was expensive, intentional, over the top. He made me feel studied. Seen. Adored.

There was even a time he gave me a dress he had sarcastically told me he had “found in the closet,” as if he had chosen it for me and placed it there hoping I'd find it. It was brand new, tags still on. Later, I would realize it wasn’t mine at all. That it had been left behind by the woman who came before me.

I never wore that dress. It hung in the closet, tags still on, for the entire 13 years I knew him. The day I moved out, I left it hanging there. Untouched. Because something in me knew it was never mine to begin with.

And if there is another woman after me, I can’t help but wonder if that same dress is still there waiting to be handed to her the same way it was handed to me.

At the time, I saw it all as love. Looking back, it feels different now. It reminds me of when a child is distracted with something shiny, so they won’t notice what is happening in the other room. Because while I was busy feeling cherished, something else had already begun.

The deceit, lying and cheating had begun. But I did not know that then.

Then, he was my Mr. Wonderful. My Prince Charming. My hero. My family loved him. My friends adored him. I told people he saved me after an abusive first marriage. I told people we were soulmates. I told them we had dated when we were younger, gone off to live our separate lives, learn our lessons, and somehow found our way back to each other because we were meant to be together.

But that is the thing about men like this. They do not enter your life looking dangerous. They enter your life looking like healing and safety.

Physical Affection & Control

There is something else I want you to understand, because it was one of the most confusing parts for me. In the beginning, the physical affection felt like real love.

The way he touched me, kissed me, held me, it felt intentional, passionate, reassuring. After coming out of a marriage where that kind of connection had faded and turned into abuse, it felt like I was finally being loved the way I had always needed to be loved.

I thought it meant something.

I thought it meant we were meant to be.

But over time, something shifted. What once felt mutual began to feel expected. What once felt intimate began to feel like obligation. And what I once believed was about connection slowly revealed itself to be about his needs, not ours.

There were times it felt forced. He was obsessed with physical touch; constant comments about my body, compliments that at first felt flattering. And maybe that’s why I didn’t question it in the beginning. I wanted to feel wanted. I wanted that kind of closeness.

But over time, something shifted. The comments started to feel cheap… even a little raunchy. What once felt like intimacy began to feel like expectation. And when I didn’t feel like it, that wasn’t simply respected. It became something I had to explain, justify, or feel guilty for.

And that’s when you know something isn’t right. When your “no” requires a reason. When your comfort needs defending. Because real intimacy doesn’t make you feel obligated. It makes you feel safe.

But you don’t see it clearly then.

Because you remember who he was in the beginning.

Because you believe that version of him is the real one.

Because you think if you just love him the right way, things will go back to how they were.

And then, just as you begin to change—to grow, to feel stronger in yourself—something shifts again. The same man who once couldn’t keep his hands off you becomes distant, detached, and uninterested.

And you’re left trying to make sense of it.

How you became more confident, more disciplined, more aligned… and yet somehow feel less desired than ever before.

That confusion is not an accident.

It’s part of the pattern.

The Conditioning You Don’t Notice

Slowly, subtly, almost invisibly at first, the boundary pushing begins.

It starts with a hurtful comment followed by, I was just joking.

Then, Don’t be so sensitive.

Then, You take everything too seriously.

Then, I didn’t mean it like that.

And eventually, the “jokes” become the truth he wants you to swallow.

It started with, 'You need to lose weight.'

I will never forget the time he told me he wished I could ride on his motorcycle with him. I said, “Yeah, that would be fun. We haven’t done that in a while.”

And then he said without apology, “Well, you weigh too much.”

The cruel irony was that I did not weigh any more than I did the last time we rode. But men like this do not speak to reveal the truth. They speak to create insecurity. They plant wounds, create doubt and confusion and then stand back to watch what you do with them.

At first, those comments only happened in private. Behind closed doors. In the quiet spaces where no one else could hear them and where no one else would believe they happened.

Because that is another thing narcissists understand well: IMAGE.

In public, he is charming. In private, he is cutting.

In public, he adores you. In private, he corrects you, belittles you, and chips away at your confidence one remark at a time.

And those remarks can push you in one of two directions.

Either you become more compliant. Smaller. Easier. More devoted to meeting his needs while abandoning your own.

Or you begin trying to improve the very things he criticizes, believing that if you just fix yourself, the tension will go away and the loving version of him will return.

I chose the second path.

When he criticized my body, I worked harder on myself. I got healthier. I became stronger. I became more disciplined. But here is the problem with that: when you start improving yourself, you start feeling better about yourself. And when you feel better about yourself, you begin to notice the inconsistencies.

You begin to question the put-downs. The excuses. The projection. The lies.

At first, it was, You need to lose weight.

Then it was, You spend too much time at the gym.

Then it became accusations. Suspicion. Control.

You must be cheating on me with your trainer.

You only post pictures of yourself for male attention.

And just like that, the switch flipped.

Suddenly, you are the problem.

Not him.

Not his behavior.

Not his infidelity.

Not his dishonesty.

You.

And when you finally confront him. When you speak the truth out loud. He turns it back on you. He uses your progress, your discipline, your healing as weapons. He twists the very things that are making you stronger into evidence that you’re doing something wrong.

The Script

That is when another realization hit me.

I had become the woman before me.

I had become the “crazy” ex-wife. 

The “bitch.” 

The “loser.” 

The “cheater.” 

The “unstable” one. The ‘abusive’ one. 

The woman he warned the next person about.

The very same narrative he once used to gain my sympathy and trust was now being used against me.

Because it was never about her.

And it is not about me.

And one day, it will not be about you either.

It is a script.

And if you stay long enough, you will hear your name in it too.

The Warning

So, this is not a letter written out of jealousy.

This is not bitterness.

This is not an attempt to ruin your relationship.

This is a warning from a woman who once stood where you are standing now—who believed the charm, defended the contradictions, and mistook manipulation for love because she wanted so badly to believe it was real.

So, if you are involved with a man like this, watch carefully.

Watch how he talks about the women who came before you.

Watch how admiration turns into criticism.

Watch how confusion becomes your normal.

Watch how often you are explaining his behavior to yourself.

Watch how often you are shrinking to keep the peace.

Watch how often your intuition speaks—and how often you silence it.

Watch how many bridges he burns to avoid accountability.

The red flags are there. They are always there. I saw them too. I just didn’t want them to mean what they meant.

And that may be where you are right now.

But if any part of this letter feels familiar, if any part of it stirs something unsettled in you, do not ignore that. Your intuition is not your enemy. Your confusion is not proof that you are broken. And his version of you is not the truth.

One day, you may look back and realize that the man you thought was your soulmate was simply a lesson dressed up as destiny.

I hope, for your sake, you learn it sooner than I did.

Love, The Woman Who Came Before You

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