Content warning: This letter discusses domestic violence, including emotional, psychological, and physical abuse, stalking, and controlling behavior. If this topic feels triggering, please give yourself permission to skip it or come back another day. Although I share my experiences as a woman, men and women can experience abuse, and every survivor deserves support.

Purple Thursday 2026 💜

Thursday · October 15, 2026 · A personal letter from Jenn Board

When Love Looks Like a Hallmark Movie, Until It Doesn’t

By Jenn Board, Certified Menopause and Wellness Practitioner, author of Silent to Spoken

Hey You, It's Me!

Today, when I sat down to write you, I glanced at my calendar.

There it was. A little purple heart sticker marking October 15.

And just like that, I was taken back to a chapter of my life I don't often talk about.

You know that feeling when something you thought you'd worked through catches you off guard? When a memory you haven't thought about in years suddenly feels a little closer than you'd like?

That's exactly how I felt this morning.

And I thought, if there's anyone I can talk to about this, it's you.

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month, and today is Purple Thursday, a day to wear purple in support of survivors.

I'll be wearing purple today. Will you?

I wish I could tell you this was going to be an easy conversation. But some of the most important conversations aren't.

So grab your coffee, pull up a chair, sweet friend. I want to tell you something about my past.

Because sometimes love looks like a Hallmark movie. Until it doesn't.

When I think back on some of my past relationships, they started with it all: the attention, the long conversations, and the feeling that I'd finally met someone who understood me without needing an explanation.

I shared what mattered to me, what I'd been through, and what I hoped love could be. Looking back, I wonder if I gave them a roadmap to my heart without even realizing it. At the time, I wasn't suspicious. I was happy.

We made plans. I pictured a future. Then, little by little, things began to feel different.

A comment would sting, but I'd try to let it roll off my back. Somehow, every argument ended with me apologizing. When I needed comfort, the conversation could shift to why my feelings seemed like too much. Even so, I held on to the person I'd met at the beginning. Every glimpse of that tenderness gave me hope that things could feel the way they once did.

I know how easy it is to lose years waiting for that version of a relationship to return. The good memories don't disappear just because the relationship turns painful. That's part of what makes it so confusing.

There's one night I still think about. A deer ran into my car, and I was shaken. I called the person I was seeing because, after an accident, isn't that who you'd hope to hear from? When we finally spoke, I tried to explain why I was upset. He didn't understand the fuss. People get into car accidents every day, he said. Before I knew it, I was listening to everything he'd been dealing with: work stress, the kids, and a difficult situation with his ex. Somehow, his problems became the emergency.

The people-pleaser in me wanted to show him I cared. So guess what I did? I borrowed a friend's car and drove roughly 45 minutes to comfort him. I'm getting mad at myself just typing that. Jennifer, what were you thinking? You'd just been in an accident! But at the time, I couldn't see how backward it was.

Even now, I wonder how I got there. And that night was hardly the only one. One small incident led to another, and I always ended up saying, "I'm sorry." I'd tell myself, Okay, now he understands. It won't happen again. He loves me. But it wasn't one dramatic moment. It was a thousand paper cuts: each one small enough to explain away, until I looked up and realized how much I'd been hurt. I got so good at understanding him and his needs that, somewhere along the way, I forgot what I needed.

I wish I could tell you that was the only unhealthy relationship I experienced. Unfortunately, it wasn't. I've lived through different forms of abuse at different points in my life. When I was younger, trying to leave a relationship led to stalking and physical aggression. In another season, I became isolated, pressured to give someone my full attention, and criticized when I stood up for myself. Later, I encountered intense affection followed by emotional manipulation that made me doubt my judgment. What surprised me was how different each experience looked. Knowing what one harmful relationship looked like didn't mean I'd instantly recognize another. None of that made the behavior my responsibility.

There's another layer people don't talk about enough: the fear that no one will believe you. Others may have met only the charming, thoughtful version of the person you knew. You try to explain what happened, but the story doesn't fit neatly into a sentence. Then comes the response that makes your stomach drop: "But they seemed so nice."

Or, "I know them. Are you sure?" And suddenly you're wondering why you said anything at all.

It's often easier to spot warning signs in a friend's relationship than in your own. When you're the one living it, you remember birthdays, inside jokes, promises, and the life you imagined together. Walking away can mean grieving all of that, not just the person standing in front of you today.

Faith complicated things for me, too. I prayed. I questioned myself. I wondered whether forgiveness meant giving someone another chance and whether setting a boundary meant I wasn't trusting God enough.

Here's what I believe now: faith and boundaries can coexist. Prayer doesn't require you to ignore danger. Forgiveness doesn't obligate you to remain in harm's way. Seeking help doesn't mean you've failed spiritually.

If you're unsure about a relationship, consider what happens when you say no. Can you disagree without fear? See your friends? Ask for support without being punished for needing it? You don't need a label for the other person to take your experience seriously.

And if parts of this letter sound familiar, I want to be careful about what I say next. I won't tell you to pack a bag tonight or demand that you decide by tomorrow. I know how complicated it can be when love, fear, children, money, and a shared home are involved. Leaving can also carry risks, and safety matters more than anyone else's timeline.

Maybe today you simply recognize a pattern you've never had words for. That matters. If you want confidential support or help thinking through your options, the National Domestic Violence Hotline is available at 800-799-7233, by texting START to 88788, or through thehotline.org. You can reach out even if you're not ready to leave.

On this Purple Thursday, I'm wearing purple for people who have left, people who are still figuring things out, and people whose stories may never be told publicly. Abuse can happen to women and men.

Hey you, before you go, there's one more thing I want you to remember.

If you recognize yourself anywhere in this letter, I hope you'll remember that recognizing what's happening is a beginning. You don't have to know what comes next to acknowledge that something isn't right.

And if you're not ready to talk about it, that's okay too.

If this letter made you think of a friend or someone you love, consider sharing it with them privately, if it's safe to do so. You never know what someone might be quietly going through.

And please remember, you deserve to feel safe, respected, and loved without losing yourself along the way.

Till next time, stay sweet out there.

I love you,
Jenn 💜

Don't quit in the quiet.