Updates

it has been a very, very long time since i’ve posted here. life has been busy, hectic, and life has been safe and kind. two years ago today i moved hemispheres, returning to the land of my birth. reverse culture shock floods the bones from time to time, and in all honesty it’s taken all this time for the heart rate to slow down. if i half close my eyes, i can almost imagine that, like dorothy in the wizard of oz, it had all been a dream.

regarding the stalker, the court case in italy took a very long time, but it passed through last september and he was found guilty on all counts of death threats, revenge porn (ie, taking and distributing images and video without knowledge and consent). but he lives in switzerland, where he boastfully rorts the system and they seem ok protecting slugs like that, usually because if you don’t, you’re called out for being a bad and fascist place.
not much can be done from italy – although I have it on good authority he comes in and out of there willy nilly. the last time I actually heard anything directly from the stalker was in march 2023, just as I was confirming my decision to leave the northern hemisphere and make the huge move to the antipodes. he’d barged on in through instagram, announcements of marriage and child, and apologising for “the inconvenience”.
yes. the inconvenience. what a wank. what a cockholder. what a cockroach, you might say – and, indeed. i made that into a public post including his “stage name” and he pinged off like a flea. haven’t heard a peep since. although, the stats on the usually reveal that he still lurks, slug-like, there in the dark.
we leave it all behind, and we leave karma to do the accounting.

flash forward, to all things joyful: in 2023, after I’d made my decision to come back, i reconnected with a lovely man i have known for a very long time, he has always been a friend, in the periphery. my mum introduced us all the way back in 2006. he knew my story, he’d followed my departure point – and beyond – and in the time since my return, we have travelled, motorbiked, cycled, eaten and drunk our fills…and married and bought a home together.

my experience and much therapy have brought me home to myself in ways i could not have imagined, six years ago asking for help from the bathroom floor while the terror raged on the other side of the locked door. it’s a lot of constant work, still. my husband has been patient, and it hasn’t been easy to live with a headshy horse. but here we are, and life has grown and blossomed in the places inside that i had thought i might never find joy again.

i’ll keep posting the drafts i’ve written and update links and resources on this blog, as it was always personal stories were what I found useful to free me from that hell. and then I let it all go to the past, while I move on forward-facing and in love with life.

i am not there

fight
i very nearly killed you
your saliva in my hair
your foot against one cheek
the hard pane of floor against the other
roared forward from me a fire
so ready to tear out your throat
rip your head off
disembowel you.

you seemed surprised.

that part of me still washes her face
in great gouts of your blood
scorns your whimpers

if i’d known then the harm you’d done to others
all your extravagant lies
all your cruelty while you spouted your goodness

the obscene future circus you’d planned for me
i’d not have hesitated in the face of that limbic creature
i’d have buried you as the carcinognic ash you are
i’d have cured you in the belly of a wild boar

flight
that spike of horror
apalled i could house a primal creature
hunkered in the dark
foaming salt for the kill.

i ran from her
ran at her
battered her down
beat her up
barred the gate
flew from you only so far
took wing from me through a forest
nightly
after the last train had passed
to the river, who said, “not yet”

freeze
“not yet”
i split four ways
on the compass needle’s pivot
stuck fast in
liminal glitch
eyes fogged thick
as cold honey
feet frozen to the gravel
they later told me my eyes had lost their light
it was only the frost of terror
so numb i couldn’t
feel the shape fear
it takes a long time
for that kind
of brine to thaw.

fawn
in she stepped, at last
barely caught her arrival
she stepped in
silent as a morning after

the beast’s familiar

no! the beast herself

doe-eyed, of course
cast down, idling

scheming
sweetfaced in survival

she would make herself part
of the furniture
keep herself small
curled like a kidney bean
on the end of appraisal
into something to appease
snuggled into your complacence

one evening
the river said nothing
the next it hushed
“almost”

freedom
comes in snowmelt
trickled in at first between iambic meter
in noted absence
in long blinks and things unsaid
hard earned
for years to come
then
here
the “not yet”
the “almost”
already archeology

autumn light
throws a milky way through my dirty window
and the cats fight over a lean sunbeam
slicing into liminal space between lands, seasons, hemispheres
belongings are dustmotes
freedom quasars in the lengthening light between memory
the fire-eyed beast curls up with the cats
over my feet
warm and welcome
i am here, now
i am not there

i am not there

the unDisney business of support

without connection, it’s just beige old survival mode with cognitive musings that there must be something wrong with my insides. the trope most often dressed in spiritual garb, that everything we could ever require beyond food, water and shelter is found on the inside of us – strength, resourcefulness, love – is a tired one. it’s not wholly untrue, but i’m a firm believer that the inside for some of us (probably most of us, post-pandemic) needs a kickstart or some sort of regular injection of validation from the external. having worked in the veterinary industry and animal shelters I was sorely aware of death by pining kitten/puppy syndrome: nutritional needs met, but not with a loving connection. they need play, joy, kindness to ignite theirs and then they flourish.
and just look at how well a houseplant will do without some form of external resource other than light and water, in comparison to how that plant thrives under the care of someone with a “green thumb”, who perhaps sings to that plant.
deeply connected, consistent, compassionate external support is key to healing the inside.

in the case of domestic abuse and its fallout, the inner world becomes simultaneously a sanctum of all resources based on retreat and safety, and the source of all relived horror, so the external, and how it presents plays a vital role to feathering the internal to aid in healing. and it’s a precarious balance of trust in which there is no guarantee that it’s safe. that can only be proven with time, consistency and action, which the same can be said for healing the inner world. in my situation, and that of friends who have been through similar experiences, we’ve noticed an overarching theme of people giving up, and the looming sense that sooner or later that was going to happen. and so we do the pushing away when we begin to see the signs of it happening again, and we retreat from the hurtful exterior to the still-raw interior.

i’ve posted ad nauseum that healing takes different forms and takes the time it needs to take, and that it will tend to trigger some folks’ impatience and outright exasperation. this can take the form of advice that is unsolicited, or suggestions from a place of not understanding (due to not having lived the experience), and that kind of “help” doesn’t actually help a person who needs a soft place from an external source to rest the heavy load of their vulnerability. or worse, offer that safe, soft place only to whip it out from under them at the last moment because healing is taking too long. it is shattering, then expected, and up go the walls as they reach a point that they’ll either cut you out of their lives or simply out of the emotional equation because they realise you’re not safe.

an important point to note is this: their trauma isn’t about you and your traumas. it’s not a competition, and a person going through the healing, still raw, does not want to know right now about your relative who died 20 years ago and how that made you feel – not in this moment of crisis, and very much not for comparison’s sake.
if you love and care for someone who has been through abuse and has come out the other side and is going through the shaky pushpull of healing in whatever form that takes, here’s a list of dos and don’ts if you intend on being on hand for someone who is going through the unDisney business of healing:

the very important don’ts when supporting a loved one through their healing:

don’t remind them that hopefully they’ve learnt their lesson.
don’t proclaim to them it’s their karma.
don’t tell them they’re accountable for their actions, their reactions, that it’s their fault or that it takes two to tango
don’t say things like, “you made your bed, you can lie in it.”
don’t promise that you’re a friend, that you’ll be there, and then say that you can’t be involved. love and friendship are verbs. you show those things by doing the actions, not by saying that you’re doing them.
don’t fill silence with platitudes or spiritual reasoning.
don’t get angry at their triggers or try to fix them, and then get angry at them when you realise they can’t be fixed.
don’t ever call them stupid, crazy, or any other names, and don’t compare them to others.
don’t judge them for the fact that they are intelligent and therefore how could they have let themselves be fooled? that’s another example of victim blaming.
don’t remind them of all the things you’ve done for them. believe me, after they’ve come out of their experience of abuse, what you’re doing isn’t going unnoticed. it’s deeply appreciated. sometimes we find trouble with the words to express the graititude adequately. part of our healing is learning how to accept that we are worthy of the basic kindnesses shown to us, that we are all deserving of. to be told “look what i’ve done for you”, then, is like rubbing our noses in it, and we already have had that done to us by our abusers.
don’t give unsolicited advice unless you have had a similar experience, or you are a trauma informed coach or therapist.
don’t invalidate their experience as “not as bad as you’re making out”, or exaggerated, or that the moods are to seek attention or play the victim, or that it’s all in the past, or that there was growth to be had in it.
don’t brush things off as being dramatic. if a person fears for their life, has been shamed with revenge porn, or been threatened in any way, these things are serious psychological damagers. self harm and harm from the perpetrator are two very real directions of threat. if you think your friend or loved one is in danger, or in a very bleak place indeed, please call the police or a doctor.
don’t invalidate any feelings or needs or actions or rituals that make the person feel safe (i still check under my bed, lock the end room, check that windows and shutters have been secured, and that space below the stairwell is empty and the door to it locked).
don’t tell them to forgive their abuser. they know that route and the whys and wherefores, so you don’t need to do nudge that at them; they don’t need to forgive. and if they ever do, it will be done on their terms and in their time.
don’t fear the triggers. don’t judge the triggers. don’t judge the person for having panic attacks. don’t get angry at them for having panic attacks… they really don’t know they’re going to have them, i assure you. sometimes we get good at being able to see the signs that can lead to them – sometimes. but triggers can be set off from hearing a song, a place name, a smell, a raised voice, or how you react to something they say or do. with triggers there can be a few days lead time of anxiety, or they can flash in an instant. remember that they pass.
don’t say, “wow your premenstrual symptoms are bad this month”. just don’t say that ever to a woman, seriously! it belittles her, turns her into a pile of emotions at the whim of only her hormonal chemistry. she’s a thinking, feeling human being that might be triggered, or might actually be pissed off at you for something you said or did.
don’t take the silence or the depression and anxiety personally. it’s not about you.
don’t lose patience. walk out and take a breath of fresh air. in the instance of abuse and violence and the story surrounding it, this isn’t about you. you can’t fix it. your story of how you fixed your trauma doesn’t pertain to their story. your feelings are valid, too, and there will be time to take the limelight. unless asked directly about your experiences, in this moment it’s not about you. right now your loved one needs to be shown love to displace the terror, not hear “yeah, I have trauma too.” seriously, that is not helpful, and they are depleted and they cannot fill your cup, and they’re not expecting you to fill their cup. they just need you to be there.
don’t expect apologies for outbursts borne from triggers and panic attacks. a victim/survivor does not need you to demand an apology for their triggers. they will likely feel like shit after an attack and will likely work through their own inner processes in their own time if and when they feel safe and secure. then they might want to talk to you about the feelings surrounding the outburst. if you badger or are mean and impatient, they won’t feel safe enough to be vulnerable with you. they owe you nothing in terms of the story of abuse. they have every right to feel protected and safe with you and if you cannot provide that then, as previously stated, you need to be honest about that. don’t ever make out that it is their fault and that they’re too difficult to love.

here’s what you can do in the support of your loved one while they are healing:

learn to differentiate triggers from other real moods and pms! triggers lose their effect with therapy and within a place that allows for healing. after a forest fire has died away, look how green the new shoots are when they growth returns. in that moment they need to be tended to, not introduced to fire again.
during a panic attack, remind them that you are there with them. hold them, let them out of the embrace, let them cry, shout, whatever. keep safety in mind – if they want to bolt out the door don’t stand in the doorway, keep them talking, ask them to stay. ask them to wash their face to induce the diving reflex, which is what happens when a mammal submerges its face in the water – heart rate slows and hyperventilation returns to normal breathing. when you’re sure they’re coming down, try again with that hug, and make it last as long as they want it to.
be a soft and sacred place to fall. that means, be consistent. hold the space of trust open so that they realise they can lay their vulnerability at your feet and they know they can let themselves be themselves, without repercussions, shifting sands and consequences. they don’t need you to try to fix that for them. unless asked, they don’t need your opinion or advice on what they tell you. if you feel that you can’t be that in full (we are only human) then help them to find a trauma informed professional who can fill those spaces that require impartiality.
be clear, apologise and take accountability if you don’t understand something, and especially if you lose patience with them.
treat them as sacred beings (anything going through a type of metamorphosis is sacred and vulnerable in its nature) and ask things: ask permission. ask if you can run a bath for them. ask if you can hug them, or give them a massage. ask if they’d like to watch a movie or listen to music or go for a walk. this fosters their agency to make a tiny, easy decision without having to make a full-on big decision. they are little questions that can be answered with yes or no, that make them feel worthy and deserving of the love that is being shown to them.
listen to them. and i mean, really listen, like your life (and theirs) depends on it. listen to how they speak and what they are asking or telling you. you don’t need to do or say anything to fix it, you just need to do the listening.
show up. bring tea and poetry, or the newspaper or a novel, or chocolate, a houseplant. open a window. light incense, a candle. bring things that create brightness and change the energy for the better in the house.
when there is nothing to say, when there are tears, when the fatigue overcomes, when it is bleak: just be there. this, too, shall pass.
lastly, you can’t pour from a leaking cup. consider seeking out a therapist for yourself. you are equally as deserving of support as the person you are supporting. it can be tough to carry the stories you’ve heard and the fallout of the trauma from cruelties inflicted on someone you love. fill your cup first.

bioluminescence

my eyes these months
have been an unseasonable desert
cried out, cried out
into blooms
voluptuous
waves of bioluminescence

“dive right in,” they say,
“you’re still young
you should know better
you’re too old
you’re going to die anyway
why not die in the light?”

and i am, i am
i am mourning this death of me
a self-hurled sphinx
coloured and riddled
neither one nor other
winged, anchored
not young
still bleeding
not mother

I grieve these things
as woman
the current death
in a long line of femicide

but it’s how I let him kill me
that rankles
that rises tides
drowns whole deserts
border swaggering
into territory clearly marked
“trespassers will be shot”
he comes here
to woo
to sift my grains
compare them
to the ones he brought in on his feet
tongue forked tutting,
“you did not try
you did not try
like you tried with that one and that one and that one”

oh my fibres behind my eyes
my nerves and tendons arcing
the lightning neurons turning sand to glass
my liver and spleen
even my womb
wants to tear the throat out of him
throw him to the eels

but the child, I think
the child he was
is

and instead of erecting the barbed wire
higher round my shoulders
in a spray of phosphorescence
I turn the gun on myself
the trespasser in her own land

[useful resources]