I had confused so many things, over those seven years, and untangling them was as much a part of my recovery as any restitution check.

I had confused endurance with strength, believing that the more I could bear without complaint, the stronger and better a person I was, when in truth all that bearing was doing was teaching the people around me exactly how much they could take from me before I would resist, which was, they had learned, nearly everything.

I had confused patience with loyalty, believing that my refusal to leave was a virtue, a proof of my commitment, when in truth it was often just fear wearing the costume of devotion.

And most of all, I had confused being needed with being loved.