I met my ex while working part-time in a coffee shop. At the time, I was juggling work and studies, just trying to keep everything afloat. He walked in one day, all charm and swagger, and within a week, we were officially boyfriend and girlfriend. Now, looking back, I realise I was completely love-bombed: extravagant dinners at expensive restaurants, lavish gifts of nice clothes, thrilling nights out, and exhilarating adventures in his convertible. He was in a band, and everything about our relationship seemed like an exciting dream. But dreams can quickly turn into nightmares.
Three months into our whirlwind romance, I discovered that he was married. Yes, married. He claimed he was getting a divorce, and like a fool, I chose to believe him. This blatant red flag waved furiously in my face, but I ignored it, blinded by my desperate need to feel loved and cherished. Seven months into the relationship, I found out I was pregnant.
The news of my pregnancy hit me like a tidal wave, a mix of fear and excitement. I imagined a beautiful future with him and our child, and for a moment, I allowed myself to dream of a happy family life. But those dreams were quickly overshadowed by reality. During my pregnancy, I moved back in with my mother. Her house was closer to my workplace, and I was suffering from terrible morning sickness. It was an incredibly tough time, but having my mother’s support was a small blessing in a sea of growing dread.
After our son was born, I moved in with him, naively hoping we could build a happy family. However, the illusion shattered almost immediately. Just an hour after our son was born, he vanished to go shopping with a friend. He returned five hours later, demanding that we be discharged from the hospital immediately, snapping at the midwives to hurry up. I was left stunned and hurt, feeling abandoned in a moment that was supposed to be joyous and bonding. In hindsight, there were numerous signs that something was deeply wrong, but I chose to ignore them.
As time went on, the red flags continued to wave, but my love-blinded eyes refused to see. When our son was 18 months old, my ex was diagnosed with a neurological condition. This diagnosis marked the beginning of a new nightmare. He lost his driving license, and I became his carer, responsible for collecting his medication and driving him everywhere he needed to go. I also took him to his doctor appointments and chauffeured his adult daughter around. My role expanded to include cooking, cleaning, and providing emotional support. Our relationship, already on shaky ground, began to deteriorate further.
He started regularly screaming at me while I was driving, criticising my every move and making me feel utterly incompetent. His words cut deep, and each insult chipped away at my self-esteem. One night, he woke me up in the middle of the night just to start an argument. The next day, he made me drive him to Brighton to see his daughter, verbally abusing me the entire way. I convinced myself that his abusive behaviour was due to his medication and tried to endure it, rationalising his cruelty.
He then made a new female friend, whom he “rescued” from an abusive relationship. She had a son the same age as ours, and he convinced me that their friendship would benefit our son. One night, the three of us ended up in bed together, something I was deeply uncomfortable with. Despite my protests, he ignored me and continued to pull her closer. Over the next three years, she became a constant presence in our lives, visiting every weekend, joining family holidays, and even shutting themselves in the living room while I looked after both children downstairs.
This is when the gaslighting started. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him. The house was never clean enough, and he restricted social interactions, making it hard for my friends to visit. Eventually, they stopped trying. The neighbours’ kids were no longer allowed to play with our son, and he even stopped me from listening to music I liked. He started asking for money despite having his own, leading me into overdraft. Our sexual relationship diminished significantly, leaving me feeling isolated, unloved, and utterly trapped.
I began to feel like a shadow of my former self. The person I once was – confident, happy, and full of dreams – seemed like a distant memory. The love and care I once felt for him were replaced by a growing sense of resentment and bitterness. The man I thought I knew had become a stranger, a manipulative and controlling figure who sapped the joy from my life. Each day felt like walking on eggshells, constantly fearing his next outburst or criticism.
The emotional toll was immense. I found myself withdrawing from everyone around me, ashamed and embarrassed by what my life had become. I avoided social gatherings and stopped confiding in my friends, fearing they would judge me for staying in such a toxic relationship. The isolation only deepened my despair, and I felt trapped in a cycle of abuse with no way out.
Then came the final straw. After what I thought was a lovely date, he abruptly demanded I leave the next morning. He was aggressive, and I left in tears with our son, moving back in with my mother. He spent the next week calling and abusing me over the phone, blaming me for all our issues and claiming to be the victim. He accused me of being emotionally cold and neglectful. Each call was like a knife to the heart, filled with accusations and venom. I couldn’t understand how someone I once loved could turn so cruel.
I reached my breaking point and ended the relationship. I told him I loved him but couldn’t take any more pain. His reaction was one of fury, accusing me of scrounging off him for five years and living rent-free. He threatened to take our son if I couldn’t find a home. He harassed me with multiple calls and threatening messages, and even turned up at my mother’s house, demanding a conversation. During a 45-minute conversation in his car, he belittled me and insisted everything was my fault.
The next day, I presented as homeless to the council. The housing officer recognised the signs of domestic abuse and referred me to the local domestic abuse service. Initially, I didn’t believe or accept that I had been emotionally abused, making excuses for him, thinking it was the medication or a midlife crisis. I was encouraged to attend Drop-In sessions, and gradually, I recognised the signs of abuse through listening to others’ stories and sharing my own.
As I began to see the situation more clearly, my anger started to fade, replaced by a calm determination to rebuild my life. The council housing team found a private landlord willing to rent to me, and I am confident I can secure a good job. I have minimal contact with my ex now, only texting about our son and doing quick handovers. My ex tries to joke and laugh during these handovers, but I brush it off. I am not interested. I have seen the real person behind the mask, and I know that I deserve better.
In the months that followed, I focused on healing and rebuilding my life. I started attending therapy sessions, where I could unpack the trauma and begin to understand the depth of the emotional abuse I had endured. Each session was a step towards reclaiming my identity and my strength. I also found solace in reconnecting with old friends and making new ones, people who offered genuine support and reminded me of my worth.
I threw myself into finding a job, determined to create a stable environment for my son and myself. Every rejection letter felt like a setback, but I refused to give up. Eventually, I landed a position that not only paid well but also allowed me to use my skills and passions. It felt like a significant victory, a tangible sign that I was moving forward.
Our new home, though modest, became a sanctuary. I took pride in decorating it, making it a warm and welcoming space for my son and me. We established new routines, and slowly, the scars from my past began to heal. My son thrived in this new environment, and seeing his happiness gave me the strength to keep pushing forward.
I continued attending the Drop-In sessions, where I formed a bond with other survivors of domestic abuse. Their stories of resilience and courage inspired me, and I found myself offering support to new attendees, sharing my journey and encouraging them to seek help. It was empowering to see how far I had come and to be able to give back to the community that had helped me so much.
The handovers with my ex remained brief and business-like. His attempts to joke and rekindle a friendly rapport were met with indifference. I had no interest in engaging with the facade he presented. I had seen the real person behind the mask, and I knew better than to be drawn back into his web of manipulation.
As time went on, I learned to find joy in the little things. The sound of my son’s laughter, a sunny day at the park, a quiet evening with a good book – these moments became the foundation of my new life. I discovered a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in years, a calmness that came from knowing I had taken control of my destiny.
My journey from bitterness and anger to calm and empowerment wasn’t easy. It was filled with moments of doubt and fear, but it was also marked by growth and self-discovery. I emerged stronger, wiser, and more determined than ever to create a better future for myself and my son.
The support I received from the domestic abuse service and the connections I made there were invaluable. They provided a safe space where I could express my feelings without judgment and receive advice from those who had walked a similar path. The sense of community and understanding was a lifeline during my darkest days, and I began to build a network of supportive friends who understood my journey.
I also took steps to improve my mental and physical health. I started exercising regularly, finding that physical activity helped to clear my mind and reduce stress. I began practicing mindfulness and meditation, which brought a sense of tranquillity and focus to my daily life. These practices helped me regain control over my thoughts and emotions, allowing me to respond to challenges with a clear and calm mind.
Through therapy, I explored the deep-seated issues that had led me to tolerate such abusive behaviour for so long. I worked through feelings of low self-worth and learned to set healthy boundaries. My therapist helped me see that my value was not determined by someone else’s treatment of me, and that I deserved to be treated with respect and kindness.
I became more involved in advocacy work, using my story to raise awareness about domestic abuse. I participated in local events and spoke at community gatherings, sharing my experiences and offering hope to others in similar situations. It was incredibly rewarding to know that my journey could inspire and help others, and it gave me a sense of purpose.
The bond with my son grew stronger as we navigated this new chapter of our lives together. I made a conscious effort to create positive memories and provide him with a stable and loving environment. We spent weekends exploring parks, reading books, and doing activities that made him smile. His resilience and joy reminded me of the importance of moving forward and creating a bright future for both of us.
As I continued to heal, I found myself dreaming again. Dreams of furthering my education, traveling to new places, and perhaps one day finding a partner who truly valued and respected me. These dreams were no longer tainted by the fear and doubt that had once held me back. Instead, they were fuelled by the strength and confidence I had gained through overcoming adversity.
Looking back, I no longer feel the same anger or bitterness. Instead, there is a sense of gratitude for the lessons learned and the strength gained. I am proud of the person I have become, and I am hopeful for what the future holds. My story is one of survival and resilience, a testament to the power of hope and the possibility of new beginnings.
As my journey of healing continued, I became increasingly involved in community support networks for survivors of domestic abuse. I volunteered my time to help others who were just beginning their journey to recovery. It was both a way to give back and a therapeutic process for me, reinforcing my own growth and resilience.
I also began writing about my experiences, both as a form of therapy and to share my story with a wider audience. Writing allowed me to process my emotions and reflect on my journey, and I hoped that by sharing my story, I could reach others who felt trapped and alone. The feedback I received was overwhelmingly positive, with many people expressing gratitude for my honesty and courage.
In my professional life, I continued to excel and take on new challenges. I sought out opportunities for further education and training, always striving to improve myself and provide a better future for my son. My hard work paid off, and I received promotions and recognition for my efforts. Each success was a reminder of how far I had come and what I was capable of achieving.
Socially, I rebuilt my network, forming new friendships and rekindling old ones. I surrounded myself with positive, supportive people who uplifted and encouraged me. These relationships were crucial in maintaining my mental health and well-being, providing a sense of belonging and community that had been missing for so long.
One of the most significant changes in my life was my newfound ability to set boundaries. I no longer tolerated behaviour that made me uncomfortable or disrespected me. I became assertive in expressing my needs and expectations, both in personal relationships and professional settings. This newfound confidence in my voice was empowering and helped me build healthier, more respectful relationships.
As my son grew older, I made sure to teach him about respect, empathy, and kindness. I wanted him to understand the importance of treating others with dignity and to recognise the signs of unhealthy relationships. Our bond remained strong, and I continued to be a source of stability and love in his life.
Throughout this journey, I remained committed to self-care. I prioritised activities that brought me joy and relaxation, whether it was spending time in nature, reading a good book, or simply enjoying a quiet moment of reflection. These practices helped me maintain a balanced and positive outlook, even during challenging times.
As I stand on the other side of this journey, I am filled with a sense of accomplishment and peace. The anger and bitterness that once consumed me have been replaced by a deep sense of gratitude and resilience. I have learned that I am capable of overcoming great adversity and that my worth is inherent and undeniable.
My story is not just one of survival, but of thriving. I have built a life filled with love, purpose, and joy, and I am determined to continue growing and achieving my dreams. I am a testament to the strength of the human spirit and the power of hope and determination.
In the end, my journey through love, betrayal, abuse, and resilience has shaped me into the person I am today. It has taught me invaluable lessons about self-worth, strength, and the importance of surrounding oneself with positivity and support. My story is one of triumph over adversity, a beacon of hope for those who feel lost and powerless. I am living proof that it is possible to overcome even the darkest of times and emerge stronger, wiser, and ready to embrace the future with open arms.
