Original it is not, but it still deserves to be repeated: “Denial is not a river in Egypt.” What it is, it is highly addictive behavior.

It starts out pretty insignificant; An incident occurs that I would have preferred had not happened; words are spoken that are cruel and contemptuous, words that you would not have wanted to hear; Behavior appears that you did not expect, which is hurtful and derogatory … Suddenly, you are to blame, although you are probably not quite sure why.

Then it’s gone again. Things return to “normal”, the “problem” is explained or simply not mentioned again. There may be an apology, but equally it may not, you may be told that you are giving too much importance to something nonsensical, or perhaps, although it ‘will not happen again’ (your company), you somehow caused it (your fault ).

And you look at this man in whom you’ve already invested so much emotion (and self-esteem) and you really want to believe him. You probably need to believe him. Then you find an explanation, or a justification, for what happened: I was tired, or stressed, or worried, or jealous or drunk … and somehow you managed to make the situation worse and tip the balance … This is how the story begins. denial.

So denial is not a river in Egypt. It’s actually a snowball heading down a steep incline, getting bigger and bigger and gaining momentum as it goes. Once you’ve started explaining your bad behaviors, just keep doing it, beyond the dictates of common sense and self-respect. Having put it on a pedestal, you stay in the mud and slime under its pedestal; And that’s where you stay, long too long

For a long time, because whether it be months, years or decades, it is always too long, it is the fact that you are stuck in manure that keeps it smelling like roses.

If only women would adhere to the “Three strikes and you’re out” law, and by strikes I mean both verbal and physical assaults, but not us. The statistic is that, on average, women will endure about ten times that number of “strikes” before they finally come out. Once denial is established, fear arises; a fear that corrodes a person.

This week I received an email from a woman, beginning with the bold words, “I love this man and I know he loves me.” He went on to say, “He looks down on me and makes me feel like I’m less than a dog on the street.”

Maybe, just maybe, he loves her sometimes in his ruthless, destructive, and dysfunctional way. Most likely, it is attached to it in the same way that any parasite is attached to what it feeds. No doubt he needs her, even more than she thinks she needs him.

But it is not love that you feel in the sense of caring for and committing to promoting your emotional, spiritual, mental, and physical well-being.

Do you have a severe judgment? Perhaps, but informed; I’ve been there, I’ve done that and I still have the shirt to show that I tried to survive in a relationship where “love” used to be a dead ringer for hate.

If you haven’t been there, you’d think it would be pretty easy to distinguish between poisonous love and hate. But that’s the beauty of denial: You really stop being able to see the obvious that dazzles you. You can keep missing the truth, even when he keeps hitting and slapping you in the face. You keep hoping that what you are desperate to believe will finally come into being. Of course not.

It pains me deeply to think of any woman who wastes her precious life in this way. Denial is not a river in Egypt. If you’ve ever seen a chained dog uselessly trying to break free, then you know what denial is and what it does.