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I remember it like it was yesterday: I was pulling my car into the grocery store parking lot to pick up a few items for my young daughters and myself, lost in my thoughts. As I got out of the car, I spotted her. HER. The one who had the gall to come into my home. Into my marriage. Into my world. She took as her own what belonged to me.
“She” was “the other woman”.
Hatred came over me like an electric shock surging through every fiber of my being, and before I knew it, I was on her, screaming at her, clawing at her, and ripping her hair out by the roots. I felt empowered. Expressing my rage felt energizing, which was in complete opposition to the victimized weakness I had felt for so long.