sticks and stones and other comeback cliches

Everyone is familiar with the old cliche: "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me."
In may case, it was taught to me by my father when I was a kindergartner, upset because some "big kids" had called me names on the bus. I know my father meant well, just as every parent who teaches it to their own distraught kindergartner as some sort of mantra to help them cope with the harsh realities of recess, school bus rides and summer camp.

However, recently I have began to question its utility. The truth is, words do hurt. A lot. And unlike a pummeling with sticks and stones, or even a good flogging, their pain never quite goes away. Bruises fade. Scratches heal. Broken bones set. But hurtful words stick in the memory and assault us repeatedly until they've damaged us to the point that we will never fully heal.

Last night my (soon to be) ex said some things that hurt. I mean really hurt. In fact, to use another cliche, like the trite metaphor says, they cut like a knife. They stung like salt rubbed in a deep, festering wound. Because, in reality, he was rubbing metaphorical salt in proverbial wounds. I won't go into detail here about what was said, because it's irrelevant. What matters is that he knew exactly what my weak points were and used them against me. And seemed to derive pleasure from that.

And today, it's stinging. Those words are resounding in my ears, even at this moment, and nothing, not the clack-clack-clack of the keyboard, not the drone of the air conditioner, not even my personal mantra chanted over and over again can silence them.

If they had come from someone else, I would be able to blow it off. But then again, someone else would not be able to push those buttons because they wouldn't be able to find them. Over the course of our marriage, I had confided things in him that I needed him to know. And he had listened, offered words of comfort, care, and love... only to suddenly throw them back at me like a weapon, trying to destroy me.

So, I will deal with the pain in a constructive way - countering it with yet another cliche: "I'm made of rubber, you're made of glue. The words bounce off me and stick onto you." Because he must be feeling really low to feel that he needs to hurt me in the first place. I get it.

I will turn the other cheek. I am woman enough for that.
But next time, may he just pelt me with pebbles instead.