I talk a lot about authenticity and being yourself. And I feel like I really haven’t 100% honest and open with the world. Not that I’ve lied about stuff…..but I’ve definitely held ‘stuff’ back.
For a long time I’ve harboured a secret. A secret that I used to feel ashamed over. Embarrassed over. I’ve really decided that enough is enough. Because, I’m not afraid anymore of this stuff coming out.
No longer am I afraid of what’s going to come out of the woodwork. I REFUSE to let these stories hold me back from achieving what I want. Time to take the control back. I dedicate this to YOU.
I had the most ‘normal’ upbringing known to man. My parents were absolutely amazing parents. I always felt loved. I was consciously aware that even though they didn’t have a lot of money when I was growing up, I never went without. Most importantly, I knew that I was loved.
Somehow along the way, though, things got a little wonky. I was involved in drama as a kid (I know! Surprise, surprise) at school and just loved it. The ability to get onto stage and ‘pretend’ to be someone else was fun. I wasn’t a very confident teenager. I knew how to appear confident, though. It was a mask I knew how to wear well!
Throughout high school, there were girls that I was friends with, and they were awesome. However, because we lived in the country, I was really out of the ‘swing past my house after school’ type scene. I felt like I didn’t have the connection with my friends that they all had with each other. I always felt like I was on the outer. The fifth wheel. They’d all catch the train together to go home, and I had to wait for the late bus, because we lived so far away.
One friend that I had, we’d hang out waiting for the late bus. This chick was awesome. We were ‘after school’ friends more than ‘during school friends’. I was in awe of her creativity! She was awesome. We’d often lie down on the school oval, waiting for the bus to come and stare at the sky. Dreaming about what our lives were going to be like. Feeling quite insignificant.
Then, there was a guy who showed a bit of interest in me. I was 14. He was a couple of years older. I did things that I didn’t want to do because I thought that I ‘had’ to. Because if I said ‘no’, he’d tell everyone anyway…I FELT like I didn’t have a choice.
I found out later that it wasn’t just me that this guy had preyed upon. In fact. About seven years ago, I found out that after he left school, he was still preying upon younger girls….I found an article in a paper when I’d gone to visit my parents and discovered this. He’d been charged with multiple counts of statutory rape with a large number of girls. I felt awful that I didn’t do ‘something’ back then. I might have been able to save those girls.
Later on in high school, I started going out with a guy who I adored. My world revolved around him. I lost myself in him. We were together for a couple of years and then, seemingly out of the blue, he broke up with me. This was a break up that I very nearly didn’t make it back from. I was heart broken. Broken. Destroyed. I couldn’t eat. When I did it was hardly anything. My mother, at one point, decided that enough was enough and took me to hospital where they put me on a drip due to being severely dehydrated.
Around the same time, I was going out with some friends of mine from school that I’d reconnected with. I was clubbing every Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday night. I’d started smoking as well.
One of my best friends at the time was a guy. Let’s call him John. He was just amazing. His girlfriend was lovely, too. I hadn’t had a lot to do with them in the past couple years and I kept seeing them out when I was out. One of John’s mates, who incidentally was also mates with my ex, seemed like a great place to start to recover from the break up. A ‘bad boy’. With a good dose of revenge thrown in as well. Revenge against the ex…with one of his friends “Roger”. I was giggling on the inside.
I still had problems with eating. I don’t know how I wasn’t diagnosed with anorexia. I must have been so borderline. I couldn’t eat. I didn’t want to eat. When I ate I felt sick. I went through a stage where I tried to make myself vomit but couldn’t.
Mum ended up taking me to a gastroenterologist who diagnosed me with a ‘faulty reflux valve’. I was so painfully thin. I weighed about 46-47kg. I was put on medication to keep it under control. I started to notice that I was feeling a bit healthier. I was having a bit more fun. I stopped taking the medication and it was like the valve had fixed itself. As if by magic. Looking back, it must have all been in my head.
It was kind of like the four of us were in a relationship! We saw each other all the time. Had dinner together most nights. We lived just round the corner from each other for ages. “Joanna” and I were great friends. “John” and “Roger” were great friends. It was really really easy to just do everything together rather than it always being me and Revenge-guy-Roger.
The four of us would go out clubbing. The thing was this, though. I knew the clubs that we went to, was where my ex was going to be. Another chance to compete with the new girlfriend and show him what he was missing out on. I thought that I had to be skinny. My ex’s new girlfriend was tiny. I was in constant competition with each new girlfriend that came along.
There was some experimenting with drugs. I’d drink when I went out. I’d go out on the Friday and Saturday nights till all hours of the morning and then go back to normal through the week. “Roger” was drinking a lot. Everyday. We didn’t have a lot of money at the time, because he was either smoking it, buying dope with it, drinking it and then pissing it against the wall. This was around the time that the violence started.
My friends, John and Joanna, left to go and live in the UK for a couple of years and I was left to deal with Roger on his own. Nobody knew what was going on. I chatted now and again to John and Joanna on the phone, but there was nothing that they could do from the UK! None of his other mates could talk to him about it. He’d just end up in a punch up with them if they tried to say anything.
At this point, the violence wasn’t landing on me. It was the walls and the doors. Torrential verbal abuse constantly. Punch ups with ‘friends’ on nights out. One night, the girlfriend of another mate ended up in the middle and copped a punch to the face. He ended up in jail that night.
Then. I fell pregnant. I was 22. By surprise. And, for me I realised that I had two choices. I could keep up the partying, being unhealthy and irresponsible and not keep the baby..or..I could step up, make some changes and do the right thing for me and my child. I chose to step up. Unfortunately though, Roger didn’t want that. And things spiralled out of control.
Somehow we ended up being approved to build a house! Bless the government and their first home owners grants!! For me, I hoped that this would change things. Settle things down. A place of our own. That maybe, he’d finally grow up. It didn’t change anything. The drinking got worse. The violence became targeted at me rather than around me. The psychological attacks that were mounted on me were insane. It got worse and worse. My self confidence went down the tube. I felt worthless. I had distanced myself from my family because I felt ashamed and I didn’t want them to think any worse of Roger than they already did.
This next bit is going to sound silly. And, looking back, I don’t know how I didn’t see it.
I went to a counselor through work, who handed me a brochure. It was a booklet about “The Cycle Of Abuse”. She asked me to read it and said that we’d talk about it the next time that I came in. I looked at the title of it and kind of laughed! And I said I don’t think I need this. She asked me to take it home anyway.
Driving home that afternoon in peak traffic…stuck at a set of traffic lights I picked it up off the passenger seat and started reading it. Perched on my steering wheel. I struggled to stop reading it, because EVERYTHING that it was saying was describing my life and where I was at. I got home and tried to forget about it. I went back to see the counsellor and said that it wasn’t really that bad. I even managed to get Roger to come to a session with me….he walked out after ten minutes YELLING to her that it was a conspiracy and we were ganging up on him. That it was all in my head. I was sitting there, feeling embarrassed and humiliated all over again.
A few months passed. My daughter by this time just turned one. He didn’t make it to the birthday party till late. He was AWOL, drinking in a carpark somewhere I think. My whole family and his family came around for to celebrate her birthday and he was nowhere to be seen. To make things even better, I hadn’t been able to get out to the shops before the family arrived. I didn’t have a cake yet. I’d run out of toilet paper. I didn’t have things in place to actually celebrate her birthday. I was left with no money in the house or on a card. I called my Mum and Dad and asked them to bring around some stuff because I couldn’t get out of the house to get it. I was humiliated.
Roger rocked up about ten minutes before everyone was due to leave. After everyone left, we had a huge fight, of course. It was ‘my fault’ I was told, because I should’ve had it sorted sooner. He’d been home since 9am in the morning, mind you! He said that he didn’t want to be there when everyone else was there. It was ridiculous.
I kicked him out numerous times. Called the police and had him locked up. And still I took him back. Called his Dad around to try and talk sense into him. His Dad told me time and time again that I should just get rid of him.
It wasn’t until New Years Eve, I’d put my daughter to bed, and ‘Roger’ had passed out on the couch by 7.30pm. He woke up around 9pm or 10pm and realised he had no alcohol left. Decided to drive to the bottle shop and buy more. Drunk. He came home and of course a fight ensued.
This was the night that I realised he could actually kill me. He’d chased me around the house. Tried to rape me. Somehow, and to this day I still have no idea how, I managed to get away and lock myself in the toilet. I have NO IDEA how he did not get that door open. To keep the door lock locked, my fingers were on the lock. Desperately trying to not let the lock come undone. One of those locks that you have turn the thing on the door knob. He’d walk away for a minute and then come back, stabbing and waving a knife underneath the door in the hopes that it would get me. I couldn’t climb out the window because I knew he’d be in there in a flash and get me. I couldn’t unlock the door. My daughter was in the next room and I couldn’t protect her.
I actually don’t know how much time passed…I’d have to guess at it being about an hour. I called out quitely asking what would happen if I opened the door. There was no response. So tentatively, I opened it. We’re now at about 1am. When I opened the door, there was Roger, naked, lying on the floor passed out. Knife in hand. Dressing gown tie, tied around his neck loosely in a noose. Unconscious.
Long story short….I called his mother asking her to come to the house, pack her son up and take him home. I STILL did not want to call the cops. I was hoping she’d get there before he woke up. He woke up before she got there, because she called back when she was on the way. I paid for that. And it escalated. I’d hidden the knives, so that was ok. It was just the ‘usual’ violence without weapons.
I ended up having to call the cops at 6am. Roger trying to swing at me over the top of his mother while I picked up the phone. I couldn’t remember their number. I had a complete memory and brain freeze. I didn’t want to dial 000 because I didn’t believe it was an ’emergency’. I just wanted the police there. So I called the operator!!! She stayed on the line with me, and put me through to the Police station and had someone there to help me. I wished I could remember her name. There are times that I think she probably saved my life.
The Police came, he was taken away and I had to go through all the details of everything that had happened. Embarrassingly, one of the cops was a guy I went to school with. Excellent. More humiliation. I called my parents to come around after that. We changed the locks and finally I was free….and my daughter was safe. There was a tough couple of months ahead where stalking became the flavour of the day. I stood my ground and did not let him back in.
I’d met Dom, now my husband, at work. And in May of that year we started seeing each other. A gentleman. Someone who treated me with respect and love. Who showed me that not all guys are arseholes who are going to fuck you over. A guy who fell in love with my daughter as well. Despite the baggage. Despite some old patterns that needed to be broken. We got there.
We now have a beautiful family. Three kids and a life that I didn’t really dream was possible for me.
My history held me back for a long time in my business. I was SO SCARED of him finding me. Of ruining my business and my life. It wasn’t until two years ago, that I decided that I could actually work around the country and advertise….and if he found me, he found me. I was so scared of secrets from school coming out. What if everyone found out? What would they think?! What if he found me?!?!?
I received a call yesterday morning on my mobile from a private number. I answered it and it was a guy on the other end of the phone asking me if I remembered him. It wasn’t ‘Roger’, but my stomach dropped to the floor and I felt ill. It made me realise that I was still holding back.
That was what has prompted today’s post. In the hopes that it will help some of you girls.
‘THEY’ CANNOT HURT YOU. ‘They’ cannot bring stuff up against you, if you air it out before they can. You ARE more than worthy of everything amazing that’s coming your way.
Today I’m sitting on the backend of a $150,000+ week.
I have the business of my dreams.
I have an awesome family.
A husband who treats me and his family with love and respect.
Clients who are fucking amazing.
I will not let others dictate what I will and won’t do in my business.
I CHOOSE to live my life without shame.
I CHOOSE to live my life without feeling humiliated.
You have the choice.
You always have a choice.
No matter how bad it is, you always have a choice.
What are you going to CHOOSE THIS YEAR?
I say FUCK THE SECRETS.