There is light at the end of the tunnel

Hola (semi) lockdown peopleeeeeee!

So following on my last post, which I know was a bit deep and sensitive, there were other things that I had experienced and wanted to touch on, but just didn’t have the capacity to include it all in one post.

I also realised that when I read it back, it probably doesn’t sound as bad as how it felt experiencing it...I feel like in today’s society, we have all been desensitised to pretty much anything and everything. We are so used to hearing about people being abused, raped and even murdered, that when someone talks about these things, it’s just another thing.

However, we should never normalise these things because the suffering that comes as a result of the trauma can be long term.

I know it actually seems wild to just to put my business out there for the entire world to see, but there’s something soooo dis-burdening about sharing my truth openly, acknowledging it and moving on from it. My previous post; Why you should never ignore red flags, just proves my point. I was so relieved after posting that. The feedback I received from people too, was just overwhelming (in a good way). I really appreciate every single message and every comment, so thank you for that.

On the flip side, there is also the part where I’m actually having to relive some of the trauma I experienced and through writing and sharing this, I’m unlocking and having sit through all the feelings I previously felt, resurfacing. Fear, the hurt, the pain....it’s a lot. I cried so many times while writing my previous post and I still feel that a part of me held back in order to protect myself. I’m so glad I did it though. The more I write, the more the weight of this trauma lifts.

This time around, I’m going to be as open as I can be. It’s uncomfortable and it will get awkward, but this is my truth.

So one of the things that inspired me to speak unapologetically on this subject, was one of the many counselling sessions I had as a result of some of the things I was put through.

I had entered the relationship with my abuser a confident, bubbly, outgoing young woman with a lot of hope for the future.

Within the first year, I had been manipulated, abused -verbally, mentally, emotionally, so you can only imagine how that would have affected me.

One of the things my ex, ‘John’ used to do, which is soooo personal, but I want to talk about it as these things don’t often get spoken about.

He would often ignore/reject my advances for sex and tell me that I was too keen.

Now prior to him, I was not someone who struggled to find sexual partners. In fact, I was the one turning down offers. Yet, here I was, in a relationship with a man who didn’t want to have sex with me and would even go as far as calling me a sex maniac because I wanted to have sex more than once every couple of months.

I tried everything - dressing up, setting the scene, cooking romantic meals. I literally lay out a red carpet once, lined with candles and candles. Only for my advances to be shut down.

Whenever I would ask him why, he would say because he was depressed or (this was his favourite) that I got too wet which put him off, or that I was desperate. Wild.

This really knocked my confidence and I literally felt at a loss. None of my previous partners had ever complained, yet there I was, with the man who is supposed to love me, complaining about normal bodily functions that happen when you’re attracted to someone.

I genuinely started to question whether he was might have been gay...I digress.

In my previous post, I pointed out that my ex was white. This was necessary in order to explain the next part. I recall him saying to me on a few occasions, that I was quite dark skinned.

He would sometimes say “your colour is the darkest I would go. Any darker than that, it’s a no from me.”

I know I should have ran for the hills when he said this or/and even challenged his arse, but I didn’t. Instead I internalised it and started to feel that maybe I shouldn’t sunbathe in case he would no longer be attracted to me.

I would often think about this comment. I could literally unpick his words and what he really meant for hours for hours, but that in itself could be a whole other post .

At the time I remember thinking, my mum and 4 of my 5 sisters are all darker than me. Did this mean that when he looked at them, his first thoughts were disgust? Man.

You know when you look back on a situation and wish you had said something or reacted differently. This is DEFINITELY one of them.

Prior to being with him, I wasn’t a very anxious person. During the course of my relationship with him, I can honestly say that my anxiety that I still live with to this day, is a direct result of the way I was treated.

I previously talked about how he began to isolate me from the majority of my friends and family.

Eventually, I started to become scared of going out without him, or doing things without him, through fear that something terrible would happen if I attempted to do things on my own.

I would still occasionally do things socially , but would always cut the time short or leave early.

He created a false sense of “safety” when I was with him and pretty much made me dependent on him for all my social & emotional needs.

I even got to a point where I was anxious about going to work, because he would often pick arguments with me that would affect me so badly while I was at work, that I would need to leave through stress.

John would often would call in sick at work and take long periods of sickness, playing on one of his existing health issues as an excuse. This meant that he had all the time in the world to harass me and cause drama.

There was a period of time when I would sometimes be in-between jobs, as I wasn't sure what my next steps were career wise. I was taking on temporary roles, as I had left my really good job in the city due to anxiety with commuting to and from work.

Anytime I was in-between roles (usually for a week or 2), John would take periods of sickness at work, to be with me. He did this to make sure he knew where I was and what I was doing at all times.

Another form of control and possessiveness.

He was stupidly controlling and jealous when it came to any men- even if they were family! I can’t tell you how many times he accused me of lying about my male cousins, because he thought I was just calling them my “cousin” to hide the fact that I may have had a sexual relationship with them in the past.

Do you know how sick this is?

The only reason that thought even entered his mind, was because he had previously lied to me and told me someone HE had a sexual relationship with was his cousin -when she wasn’t. I can’t make this stuff up.

John would often get annoyed if I ever had to speak to my ex, Jay. I should point out at this stage that Jay is my daughter’s father, so of course I had to speak to him.

I remember once, my mum had called Jay to help her with a plumbing issue.

John got annoyed with ME, cussed me about it and hardly spoke to me for 2 weeks. He also did not stop bringing it up throughout the duration of our relationship.

Any time I spoke to Jay, it was a problem. John would tell me I could only answer the phone to him, when he was around, because he thought it was shady and weird for me to speak to Jay when he wasn’t around.

So any phone-call's concerning Jay, I had to do/or take with my him sitting right next to me throughout the entire conversation, listening in.

He would try to control the length of time I spoke to him and after every call would literally tell me all the things I did wrong. An e.g of this; If Jay called and I asked how he was (common courtesy when you make a phonecall) my boyfriend would say “why are you so concerned with how he is. You don’t need to worry about that. Just make the arrangements and hang up. I don’t even see why you need to speak to him to discuss this. It can be done via text.”

There would be an argument after every call, so I got to the point where I just started ignoring the calls. They were important, but I just couldn’t be dealing with the agg that followed, so I would take or make the calls in private when he wasn’t around.

To say it was stressful would be an understatement. Anything and everything I did was always wrong.

***

During the course of my relationship with John, I had a miscarriage, just a couple of days after we had had a physical fight.

Yeah. By this time it was 2015 and the mental abuse escalated into physical at times.

I can’t even remember what triggered the argument that particular time, but by that point the relationship had become even more toxic and even more unhealthy than previously mentioned.

I was actually in the nail shop when it happened. I remember telling the nail lady that I was pregnant and she congratulated me.

The nail lady asked me to go and wash my hands...as I was walking towards the sink I felt pressure in my abdomen and felt like something was coming out. I was wearing a dress at the time.

Any woman who’s been to a nail shop will know how shiny their white tiled floors are, so you can imagine my shock when I looked down at the ground and saw a trail of blood and a red puddle forming inbetween my legs on the white floor.

I was wearing a peach dress at the time and quickly closed my legs. It was a Sunday afternoon and the nail shop was busy.

I desperately tried to signal to John who was sitting on the chairs on the other side of the room.

What happened next felt like a dream.

I can’t remember who or how, but I ended up in a back room in the nail shop. Rolls of blue tissue had been laid onto the floor and I sat there while John called 999.

I remember the room being, small with no windows. The room's purpose was to store all the customers jackets in.

Every minute or so, I was feeling the urge to push and was having to push out large blood clots as if I didn’t, they were getting stuck and it felt SO uncomfortable. I was literally sat in a pool of my own blood and clots, which closely resembled raw kidneys on display in a butchers.

Every few minutes staff members were in and out checking on me and also collecting customers jackets. To say this entire situation was surreal and bizarre, would be a complete understatement

I knew I was losing the baby. I sobbed and sobbed. My peach dress was now soaked in my own blood. It felt cold against my skin.

I remember asking John to take me outside as I needed air and felt a panic attack coming on.

I don’t remember how I got outside, but the next thing I remember is sitting/laying on some black bin bags and seeing a trail of blood run down Eltham High street. I was in and out of consciousness. I vaguely remember John’s mum being there? Not sure how, but I recall seeing her.

I was sat on the floor, outside the nail shop, bleeding for 2 hours before an ambulance turned up.

Next thing I remember is being in the ambulance and having my blood sugars tested and they were very low. I was given some sort of gel to put in my mouth. I can’t remember what happened after, but the next thing I remember was being in Queen Elizabeth Hospital, Woolwich.

Again, my memory of this part is sooo shaky.

Long story cut short, I had to be taken into theatre urgently and I had a blood transfusion due to the amount of blood lost.

After this ordeal, John of course made it about himself.

“It’s not my fault, is it Soph” “Do you blame me?” “I can’t believe this happened” “It can’t have been what happened the other day, there’s no way”

Imagine dealing with the trauma of losing your baby, and so publicly, nearly dying from excessive blood loss, yet having to console the person that potentially was responsible for your loss and tell them it’s not their fault just to make your life easier.

I still have pictures of my injuries from the physical attack just days before I miscarried and I feel anger whenever I see them.

The absolute audacity.

3 months later I found the strength to leave him. It had been a week or so since I had left him, when I found out I was pregnant -again.

I knew exactly when I would have conceived. I believe we had only slept together once in the time between my miscarriage and leaving him. I ended up staying.

It was another 18 months before I finally left him for good and it was the most difficult but the best decision I’ve ever made!

There was a series of events and realisations that lead me to finally take that step and leave him for good.

The main being, that I ended up having a child with him and in that, I found strength to do better not only for Faith, but for my son too.

Faith would sometimes hear arguments or notice the tension and saw the demise of her mummy as she knew me before.

How could I have allowed the relationship to go on as long as it did?

When I eventually did have the epiphany to leave for good, my children were the one’s who motivated me to stay strong in my decision, despite his numerous attempts to get me back (for a solid 3 years after we split).

I have harboured and carried so much guilt all these years for not leaving sooner. It has been crippling at times. I’ve never openly discussed my feelings of guilt with anyone surrounding how it may have affected Faith at the time and especially what kind of example I was setting for her in terms of how women should be treated and how unhealthy the relationship was.

This is one of my life’s biggest regrets, but it’s something I have been working on and I’ve learned more and more to no longer dwell in the past and do all I can in the present to guide her in the right direction.

After leaving him I had several conversations with Faith surrounding healthy relationships and what’s ok and what’s not ok, in terms of expectations of how we should be treated by others and plenty of words of affirmation.

I still do, to this day.

By the time I gave birth to my son, I had signed out of the relationship emotionally and mentally. Another thing that pushed me to get out, was that he had lost his job at a time when financially we needed security (I had just had my son) due to the extended periods of sickness I mentioned earlier and I couldn't stand being around him.

You’d think I was free from the moment I left him, right? No. It was another THREE years of him trying to get me back in various ways, then FOUR simultaneous years of mental and verbal abuse, (including him calling social services on me because he was jealous of a male friend I had- I will touch on this in another post) before he stopped harassing me for good.

In total it was 7 years of abuse & stress from this man. I tried to involve the police on several occasions, but instead they took little action and John got smarter in the ways he would contact me.

Anyway, I’m now free from this man and his bounds and for the first time in forever, I finally feel like I can breathe again.

Sometimes sh*t happens and clearly life doesn’t go the way you planned, but you have to remember, that there is always light at the end of the tunnel.

Soph xoxo

#ISaidWhatISaid