Boiled Frog, Poisoned Air: Naming the Slow Creep of Abuse

Being in an abusive relationship doesn’t always look cinematic.

It doesn’t start with screaming, slammed doors, or bruises you can point to.

Sometimes, it starts with the water just a little too warm.

At first, it’s discomfort.

Then confusion.

Then self-doubt.

Because nothing “bad” has happened yet.

You’re just too sensitive.

Too reactive.

Too much.

You laugh too loudly.

You talk too long.

You make everything more complicated than it needs to be...

or at least, that’s what they tell you.

So you adjust.

You shrink.

You hold your breath longer.

You start doing emotional gymnastics to keep the peace.

It’s like sitting in a room slowly filling with poisonous air.

You don’t even realize you’re breathing it in.

You just feel tired. Foggy. Wrong.

And somehow, it’s always your fault.

Until something shifts, not toward you, but toward someone you love.

Your dog. Your child.

Someone defenseless.

And in that moment, you finally feel what you’ve been numbing out.

But instead of leaving, you double down.

You tell yourself:

I just need to try harder. I just need to keep everyone safe.

So you try.

You become smaller. Softer. Quieter.

You walk on eggshells so no one else has to.

And it takes time, longer than it should, to understand the truth:

Fawning doesn’t protect you.

Self-erasure doesn’t de-escalate harm.

Your silence doesn’t make them kinder.

It makes them stronger.

Abuse doesn’t end when you sacrifice yourself.

It ends when you believe in yourself.

Naming the slow creep of abuse helped me understand that nothing was ever ‘sudden’; it was progressive, intentional, and designed to keep me doubting myself.

A Slice of Humble Pie

You were never “too much.”

You were too conditioned to believe survival required silence.

Reflection

What roles did you take on to avoid conflict or keep the peace?

When did you first realize that fawning wasn’t protection—it was postponing the inevitable?

Affirmation

I do not have to become smaller to stay safe.

I trust what I saw and felt.

I will not trade my truth for someone else’s comfort.