So here I go, my first blog post. I thought I’d start with a
little story about myself. I want to share my reasons for writing my novel, The
Chameleon.
The story starts with a moment in time, a day that I had
been dreaming of and working towards for many years - my first day as a
qualified midwife, the first day that I wore a blue uniform and a badge with my
name and the word MIDWIFE emblazoned across it. That day should have been the proudest one of
my life; I’d worked damn hard to get there. In reality it’s a day that I look
back on with pity and sadness.
I made sure that I was up nice and early and that I had the
children organised. Finally I’d be earning a living. I took the children to my mum’s and then I
went to Asda to buy a cardigan to hide my bruised arms.
I arrived at work, worried that I’d be expected to remove my
cardigan. It was a community placement,
so I hoped that I’d be able to work independently and keep my arms hidden. The midwife that I was working with had been
my mentor as a student, she knew me well.
She was happy for me. I’d
qualified and I’d also recently set up home with my new partner. Life was looking good. However looks mean nothing and the reality
was very different. So that was it, my
special first day out there in blue, paranoid, bruised and on the verge of tears
all day. Not what I had been imagining in the seven years that it took me to
get there.
I’d met my partner through mutual friends. They’d know him for 10 years. He was a good guy, I could be sure of that. The
first 9 months were fantastic. He was
attentive, caring and funny. He was
gentle, witty and adoring. He was
fantastic with my children. My family adored him and his family adored me.
Result! I’d finally landed on my feet.
Onwards and upwards for me!
He’d cried tears of joy with me when I heard that I had passed
my degree, he had celebrated with my family and friends and toasted my
success. Pride had shone from his eyes
at the mere mention of my achievement. I
was so lucky. Little did I know that this was the first tactic. Worship me, become indispensable, lull me
into a false sense of security and seduce my family and friends with his charm.
But his charm was an act, his pride was false, and I was far from lucky. I
moved in with him, started afresh hopeful and happy and found myself in hell.
I lived with my abuser for five months. In that time, he
called me the most disgusting names, stopped me from leaving the house,
sabotaged my friendships, eroded my confidence, smashed furniture, kicked
doors, hit me, threw me and kicked me (I had a lump on my shin for months and
months). He would taunt me, follow me, call me names and wind me up until I
lost my temper and slapped him and then he would say that I was the abuser,
that he was the victim and what he was doing to me was self-defense . I also
smashed and threw things and the environment was toxic. I believed I was going
mad, a belief that led me to the answers, and ultimately shone a light on what was
going on. I sought help, in the form of
counselling, to work out why I was so argumentative, and why I hit out in
arguments. And guess what? It turned out
that I was in an abusive relationship! Who knew? How had that happened to me? What would I do?
How was I going to get him to see that his behaviour was wrong so he would stop
and we could be happy?
The answer, sadly, is that it was a job too big for me to
get him to see, and thankfully I left him and started all over again. I was angry, hurt and embarrassed too, and if
he’d have made promises to sort himself out and attend the right sort of behavioural
program, I’d have been easily swayed to let the cycle begin again, such was my
self-esteem at that point in time.
I had to start right
at the beginning. I had no home, no car, no money, no appetite and very very
bad insomnia and I decided that I would write a story about a woman in an
abusive relationship, it was my way of dealing with the storm in my mind and so
The Chameleon was born. You can find it
here http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Chameleon-ebook/dp/B00DBEGCWC
I wanted to raise awareness, and dispel
myths. Abuse is not usually obvious,
even to the abused.
I began to put one
foot in front of the other again and make my way to a better place. I’m proud to say I got here!
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