Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


So much this

People say they support those dealing with grief, anxiety, pain, depression. But really? I think people really don’t want to see the pain. They want us to be all pretty now …

We recently had a National Day (to wear gumboots, symbolizing the struggle through the mud) to show support and raise funds.

But, this opinion piece shows the reality. It’s all for show. Few people really get it. I have felt this lack of “hope,” so badly, and felt like I was/am so alone in that.

Grief is forever. Yes, it changes, it is fluid, it is constantly moving. But you never “stop” grieving.

For example, what I wouldn’t give for a hug from my Mum right now. To have her sit and listen. To not judge. She was so special, so wise, so empathetic, but also incredibly strong and practical. I miss her every day.

And, the old Rog. He would have held me so close, whispered to me, soothed me, held me up, been there for me.

Never did I think he was capable of such cruelty, abuse and selfishness that this new person is. Discarding me, discounting me after he broke me. Transferring all I gave to him to her. To just stop loving me when he broke me, and got all misty eyed about poor broken widdle Trinket.

Who HE did not break.

He could do his knight on a white charger routine he practised so well. Poor Leanne was lonely and needed a big, strong man, too.


So fucking predictable.

I also read some psych literature last night suggesting the second year is often harder. I know it most certainly was after Leanne. The shock wears off a little, all the firsts have been and gone, and you are left staring at a whole new reality, that your past, your future, your belief system and sense of safety in the world has been decimated by the person you trusted most. Your person. It’s such an abuse of someone who loves and trusts you.


I thought I had a good one.

I really did. I did due diligence. I asked about his family’s attitudes about cheating. It concerned me that his sister broke up a marriage and that was acceptable to his family.

I thought because he had been cheated on, and told me how incredibly hurt he was, that he would never inflict that on anyone else, let alone me, whom he appeared to love so very much.

But. He was always needy. That seemed lovely to start with. So attentive. Missed me so much when we were apart. Adored me, my pregnant body. My post pregnant body. Loved my engorged, lactating breasts, helping himself to my breastmilk. Lingering over my body, my breasts throughout the years. I felt so very, very wanton, sexy, treasured, cherished, and valued.

It felt so very real.

It would last forever.

I was so very loved, and needed.


And you remind yourself, when desperately fighting the urge to stop the pain, permanently, that the wonderfulness of “them” is the honeymoon period, and the fact that they don’t actually permanently live together, they are effectively dating, albeit no doubt pretty much living together, despite having no mutual friends or long, deep history and understanding of each other’s backgrounds. And as Roger admitted many times to me, he and Leanne only lasted as boyfriend and girlfriend as long as they did 35 years ago, because they lived in different locations.

Conversely, we worked – mostly so beautifully – for three decades despite living and working together.

Love bombing is a huge tool he uses. Tenderness, humour, fucking smoking hot sex, to forge feelings of deep connection in the target of his latest affections. Constant messaging. Constant touch. Constant sex.


Still battling. Still fighting hard to stay. Bleeding xxx.


What if I never get better?


HUGE pain wave.

Been hanging on tight all afternoon and evening, meditating, practising mindfulness, forcing myself outside to keep moving.

What if this is it?

What if you never feel the joy again?

The peace?

The contentment?

The feeling of someone special always being there for you, having your back, there to protect you, no matter what?

To be held.

To have their lips flutter over your skin, their warm breath, slow beating heart as you lie against their chest, to calm you.

I am truly worried about these things. I still haven’t had a moment’s relief from the pain, the aching heart.

And that seems so very, very wrong. Too extreme. Not right. Like I am SERIOUSLY lacking in resilience. This isn’t just about cheating and divorce now. Of course that was the enormous catalyst, but this was not anything like who I thought I was. This is deep, deep disappointment about working so hard and never being given the option to complete what I promised, what he promised me. Divorce should be mutually discussed, not just foisted upon someone who was working their arse off to trust after a long and personal betrayal! We had agreed – so many times – to sit down and discuss this after my thesis was submitted. I did. As PROMISED. I sat down with him, held his hand and said, “I got there. I know I want to be with you forever. I love you and it’s okay now.” And got, “oh, I’ve Met Someone Else.”

I mean, WTAF? How? When? What part of thesis submission did you not get you fucking lying, cheating moron?

I felt fine – yes, very, very sad – about splitting up when I thought I couldn’t do it anymore. And told Roger that. But I did feel so sorry for Rog when he cried and begged me to please try again. Him lying and cheating again just makes me feel so incredibly disappointed in ME. That I believed him. That I thought he couldn’t live without me. That he was doing what we agreed to waiting. Because I was worth the wait. Because he owed me that after all his selfishness. I really believed his, “you’re the love of my life, and I can’t live without you by my side.”

No, he can’t live without any woman. It was never me. That is heartbreaking.

It gets lonelier with time.

Not romantic partner lonely. Just that you become hyper aware that no one has a clue. That your entire outlook on life is so difficult now. That the easy going, contented life you had is gone now. Every single day is UNBELIEVABLY hard work.

And no one can know. That is why it goes here. There is no one who understands in my real life.

I have had to change significantly, or delete my relationships with my entire social network. I have worked at the old ones worth it, and added new friends. My best mate (after Rog, he was my very, very, very best mate, but he utterly loathes me now) doesn’t have a clue, and thinks it was all a storm in a teacup, happy, happy, joy joy. Her friend was openly, drunkenly abusive to me when I was just a month into this hell. Screaming at me at a public social function. So embarrassing – for her, not. If my former friends think it is “lovely” to see the man who deliberately made selfish choices that completely destroyed my sense of safety, more in love and happy than he ever was with me, with another woman, fuck them. They have zero understanding of the heartbreak.

It is permanent. And scarring.

I have NO idea how you could visit this hell on a person you loved. Who gave you every part of them. And dug deep when you destroyed them, and gave again.

And, as my sweet friend, Lucy messaged me tonight, somehow knowing I was in a lot of pain (yeah, I’ve cut tonight, after managing not to for a long while, because I am fighting the suicidal urges really hard right now… I have no idea how/if she knew…) this message was out of the blue. Maybe she was feeling it too. About her ex?

Yes. I am seeing a psychologist. Weekly. But, I really do doubt I’ll make it. It’s been a very, very long journey so far, and my stamina is running out.

And the disappointment. At failing. I know the common knowledge is he failed me. But fuck, I worked fucking hard at partner and mothering. I loved him. We never had any interruption to our sex lives with children, my libido was good, back in the saddle very quickly, when others I knew struggled. I trusted him implicitly. So, it feels like my efforts were in vain. And he failed me, yeah, but I desperately needed a stable relationship, so worked damn hard at making sure I held up my end.

My real failure is now this. This lack of resilience. This heartbreak. So fucking disappointed in myself. He can’t be honest, and he obviously can’t have loved me. So pick yourself up and kick arse, Paula. Not this.

Don’t ever do this to a loyal, loving partner who is trying to heal. Give that person the time and space they need. Don’t assume. Don’t believe their cheater. Be kind.

But I’m trying. To hang on again.



Last night was quite funny. I went to an indie movie with a friend, and when I got home, my mate whose partner left her three years ago for his ho-worker, has shared custody of their two sons, who lives in Sydney, and is the little sister of my former BFF, messaged me in frustration. She is pretty magic. Has a wonderful attitude and outlook mostly. She is the one who still sends me daily affirmations. Lives so positively. Gorgeous girl.

Anyway, she had a few frustrating co-parenting issues this week and needed to let off steam in a safe space. So she did. She talked about how her three married sisters go on about how ‘nice’ her ex is. The one who is divorced knows, but she experienced this too. An arsehole throughout their divorce, who got full custody of their daughters for a year, despite her fighting hard for them, then she got them back, because parenting is hard, right? He just took them to hurt her. Lucy, my friend in Sydney herself has a good, workable relationship with her ex. But he is not nice. He lied and cheated, told her he had broken it off with the ho-worker, my friend stayed, then found out he never broke it off. (Hmmm, ding, ding, ding! Roger fucking Leanne again two years after he “ended it,” anyone???) and his new partner is a real covert bitch to their kids. It makes her want to scream when her own sisters say he’s a nice guy.

The funny thing is, her sister who was my best mate since childhood, is the worst at this.

And she actually did it to me the other day, too. There is absolutely nothing you can do. If you protest and say, hey, please don’t tell me how lovely my ex is, he hurt me very deliberately, and very cruelly, my heart is so, so broken, you have no idea, then you look like a bitter bunny.

So, you smile and nod.

And stay silent. Your heart pounding in pain. Because, yeah. I once thought he was lovely, too. Why do you think I loved him desperately for three fucking decades, even after he cheated on me, lady???

Then you get in your car, drive away and scream in utter frustration at the bloody image management. Expert Level.

Anyway, she vented, I understood, and we brushed it off with a few laughs.

Nice indeed. Don’t get me started on my nice v kind rant!

Having a fab day, getting some chores ticked off.

I was looking for a piece of art I bought when I was at the lake house the other day, and got distracted by my friend arriving, and forgot that I didn’t locate it. I have been shopping for some homewares for the room I am doing up, and realised I was missing that piece.

I bought this ethnic sculpture, it’s a really cool, tall shape, and I just could not find it anywhere.

I guess it now lives with Roger and Trinket.

FFS. That was mine. He does tend to just help himself to shit. It is seriously uncool.

The dining table he took to his new home was in our maimai, but actually belongs to our friends. They were not that impressed, my friend, Violet told me, but they let it go.

He took an armchair that “we” gave to our eldest daughter when she turned 21.

And now I am assuming he has helped himself to my art.

Good work.

Entitled people do my head in.

Leave a comment

Me & you vs the world

My record fair day got me all sorted for a while with some vinyl. And inspired some musical musings about life.

A favourite from some of those awesome nineties/noughties Welshies, in this case, Space.

This was us.

And we got just as fucked up.

I first met you hanging knickers on the line
From that moment on
I knew that there could only be one outcome
Me and you against the world forever
You had no folks and I’m just a joke
But we made a vow
That we would never sell each other out
A lie detector wouldn’t make me doubt you

Now we know that it’s us versus the world now
Me and you against the world now
Look up there in the sky now
See those stars well they’re shining just for us
Hey now, me and you against the world now
Look up there in the sky now
See those stars well they’re shining just for us

We hitched a ride that would turn out suicide
I had my ’45 replica gun
I didn’t think we’d ever need it
Didn’t know he had a real one loaded
You went in first, took the worst
Couldn’t hear me shouting

Now we know that it’s us versus the world now
Me and you against the world now
Look up there in the sky now
See those stars well they’re shining just for us
Hey now, me and you against the world now
Look up there in the sky now
See those stars well they’re shining just for us

I went in next
Took a bullet in the chest
So I hit him with the only thing that was anywhere near me
A tin of baked beans and a Woman’s Weekly
I grabbed the cash
Picked you up and made a dash
Didn’t get too far
We made it to the parking lot
40 cops in front of us
Guess who got shot…
Lying there dying in each others arms
Oh you said to me
Don’t worry about a thing my little sweetheart
We’re together we shall never be apart
You took a chance on a loser like me
But you never let me down
And whether we’re in Heaven or Hell
I know it’s better than separate cells

Now we know that it’s us versus the world now
Me and you against the world now
Look up there in the sky now
See those stars well they’re shining just for us
Hey now, me and you against the world now
Look up there in the sky now
See those stars well they’re shining just for us

Leave a comment

Doing hard things


That link ⬆️ is such a great post, stolen off a friend’s Facebook wall. I love the additions about things you don’t really expect including broken heart syndrome.

So true.

And I doubt reading about grief really ever prepares you for its intensity.

This has been the hardest thing I have ever done.

And I know….I can do hard things. Been doing them my whole life xxx.

But doesn’t change that they are bloody hard! 💪💪💪

Leave a comment

Core values

This weekend is a rarity. Absolutely no plans! Except a reminder that popped up about a record fair…yay!


I have been so damn busy, I have barely had time to mow lawns and do a few property maintenance jobs. I have the entire weekend to get our partnership tax return filed (should be a ten minute job, but the IRD website was down all last week) more chainsawing done, to do some fencing, get some investment homework and meeting prep done, clean my house and deck and just enjoy the peace.

How bloody lucky am I?

This morning, Google reminded me, photographically, that on this day, six years ago, we were on a family horse trekking holiday in a most beautiful region. The trees were changing, and the colours were truly magnificent. It was inspiring and uplifting. A wonderful part of our healing journey after Leanne.

Single file over my pony’s ears. My love on the chestnut. (Always gotta have a view of that sexy butt!) Kids scattered about ❤

We had never taken a family holiday of that kind before, time and cash poor, it was truly magical and totally memorable. I loved my man on a horse. He’s a natural. With soft hands and a kind seat. Like most animals, horses love Rog. And I’m a horsey girl, through and through.

We spent one night in a very cool little house with no electricity, the horses rugged up warm, well fed and sheltered outside, during an epic thunderstorm. We made the most intense love, the light show of the lightning intensifying the excitement! Then slept entangled, his body encasing mine. The aches and pains from riding for several days, soothed by the excellent sex.


We really were a very special pair once.

Justice is a core value of mine. Social justice feeds my liberal mindset. There has always been this feeling that wrongs can and should be righted. That eventually, people will at least apologise, and make amends if possible for hurting each other, or making shitty choices.

Waiting for an apology – a genuine one – from many cheaters and especially their ruthless affair partners is so fruitless.

Because they don’t actually feel any genuine remorse. Their choices are perfectly legitimate in their minds. I do believe that this is something in a cheater that allows the behaviour in the first place. There are reasons for sayings like once a cheater, always a cheater. I recall that discussion with my SIL – she said it – as her marriage blew apart due to his cheating. But hey, he left his first wife for her…ummm. What did she expect, really?

Most betrayed spouses don’t feel cheating is something they could participate in.

Not all.

I know of a few who had revenge affairs. I do wonder if that is Trinket’s mindset. Other women did it to her, so she was entitled to do it to me? Someone she didn’t know. Finally “winning” a cheating contest. 😢

And hey, it isn’t really THAT bad to lie and cheat on the person who loves you, who believes you are both committed to monogamy. Who is fighting an almighty battle to believe in and trust you again after the last time you cheated. Cheating won’t REALLY hurt that much. If they find out (and they are never going to, right?) They’ll get over it.

No one died.

I believe Roger told himself a story that made what he did during that ultimate discard completely legitimate to him. He believed my hurt, my long healing journey – my focus on healing myself before I could heal us, for the first time ever, I tried to put myself first for a while, to recover from his cheating – entitled him to go partner shopping online. Just in case I never healed. Just a back up plan. Instead of saying, hey, I can’t do this anymore, I’m out, he told me and showed me that he loved me, wanted me, wanted to be with me, I felt he was committed, 100%, and he was actually duplicitously chatting with and meeting women, test driving them, to see if they were fit for my role.

And Trinket also believes she did nothing wrong, because Roger SAID we were done.

When I was never informed of this!

But hey, believe the proven cheater, not the loyal spouse.

Back to the pointless crusade for justice.

When Roger exploded and we had that appalling domestic violence episode, I was in such shock and pain (I was already feeling shock and trauma at his openly dating another woman despite my insistence I loved him and wanted him to PLEASE give us another chance. That I had done that for him when I told him I wanted out. I tried again when he asked me to. I redoubled and recommitted to healing. And it worked! He “owed” me the return favour. Surely.) And, FML, while bleeding and in shock, I ridiculously asked him to ask Trinket for an apology for coming to my home, when I had been crystal clear that it was a terribly traumatizing thing for me. Other women in my home. My lawyer was amazed Trinket didn’t get it, that we wrote that agreement that my spaces of home be preserved as safe spaces for me as this trauma unfolded.

Ugh. Ick. Yuck.

Anyway. That was then. This is now. I am reminded again that when another woman “steals” your man, she has ultimately done you a favour. Right? Surely I will get through this. I did last time. It just takes enormous effort over quite a bit of time.

Justice is not a reality. It rarely happens. It’s like holding your breath, waiting for the karma train.

Never gonna happen.

Just a pipedream.

1 Comment


I think I may have finally started to find an explanation for why I haven’t healed yet from the betrayals and ultimate fuck you of being discarded when I did what I promised Roger I would do.

Trauma. Bigger trauma than I originally identified.

Roger was supposed to be my “saviour.” Isn’t that kinda pathetic? I never thought I needed saving.

But I did. I was only pretending to have coped with the aftermath of brutal rape, shock parental divorce due to a lifetime of lies, a sad, final break up with my first intoxicating love, whom I had been with for around three years, often from a distance, and the shame I felt about what I was starting to feel were my sexual failings (he was an absolutely enormous boy, and the pain of trying to fit him inside me was utterly excruciating, I felt like a complete disaster) dropping out of uni, etc, when I met Rog. There I was, faking confidence and fuck you sass!

Ah fuck. I didn’t know I was another one waiting for him on his white stead.


It has totally perplexed me, made me completely miserable, and I don’t know who I am. My body is FULL of anxiety and tension. My heart races precariously, I don’t sleep, and I am constantly on edge.

The EMDR is probably starting to work. But hell, it is triggering. I’m a mess.

Realising the terrifying connection between two trusted men’s violence on my body, and what that has done to my mind.

Wow! Slow learner much?

Weirdly, my dreams were not what I imagined. Not literal. Hard to see how they relate. But I was still very distressed by them.

Last night’s was kinda stupid.

I dreamed of crashing my car, in Paris. (I drive a French model.) Lol. And my biggest worry was not my injuries, rather whether to get my car fixed in France, or when I got home!

Because of course you “drive” your car from NZ to France. And back again.

Good lord.

It’s an appalling way of being. This tension, anxiety, frequent puking.

I honestly thought if someone treated you badly, constantly cheated and lied, you would be better off without them. My mother modelled that. I have advised friends and family to be strong and true when dealing with their own betrayals. I thought you breathed a huge sigh of relief, and thought, “oh God, thank fuck that is over!”

But, this time, I have just been so devastated, and I have been so angry with myself at how I have reacted. I have constructed my identity over the years as strong, smart, sassy, loving, tolerant, independent, resilient. Not mushy, sad, pathetic girl who misses her abuser. Jesus. So weird. Because he really, truly wasn’t like this. I NEVER would have picked he could be so ruthless and just stop loving me. And worse. Openly hate me. I truly believe something snapped in him. He did say he thought that too. That stepping over the line so far in what he did with Leanne changed him in very fundamental ways. He admitted something precious in him broke. I do know the tendencies were as always there. He wasn’t the easiest man in the world to love. He tested me, mostly to do with his stubbornness and need to always be in the driver’s seat. You cannot talk him out of ANYTHING once his mind is set. I used to try to weather these storms by trying to make him think an alternative was HIS idea.

Sometimes – very occasionally – it even worked! 😉

I knew he was not going to give up on the idea of moving to a city he’d never liked. (Chasing Trinket.) After all. He’d DECIDED! In less than three weeks, he decided to sell up, leave his means of earning a living, friends and family.

I’m not saying he was wrong. I’m sure he is pleased to have got rid of the millstone of farming. It became a total grind. His new life is freeing. He was ready. So ready. Healing from that period in our lives was no fun at all. Doing it with an unprofitable farm, and a growing family, with a lot of midlife stress…just dump and run. So much easier.

I just wished he’d done it earlier, when I suggested it, and with me.

Instead, Paula looks like a terrible past, because of the links with hard work and asset building, and precious Trinket looks like sunshine and sparkles because he doesn’t have to go and grub thistles for the next month.

I did not ask him to do that. I begged him to do more fun things. Travel. Beaches. Making love in slightly risky places.


Life is so affected by the people you are with, and the activities associated… hot dates, good food, lovely wine, wonderful weather and music. What a life Trinket has brought him, right?

But hell, being with him, being loved by him, was mostly incredibly blissful for me. With a few heavy dashes of being infuriated by him. But, I just loved being his. ❤

Strong, resilient, independent is who I was. I had watched and learned.

I had survived a lot.

I worked incredibly hard.

Until this seemingly everyday event, that happens to far too many people occurred. Infidelity.

I am starting to see many things. That I was always powerless. I was never consulted like an equal partner about the big things. Being that it was his family’s farm, I just nodded and went along with the plan. It was a nice life. I loved farming. I loved his family. I loved him.

But never did I get to see or sign any property deals. I did insist on getting added as a trustee to the family trust retrospectively, after his affair with Leanne. He had already set our holiday home ownership, and our farm ownership in that entity, so my signature had not been required for either of those purchases. Or any sales, either. Buying my home here was the first time I ever signed a property sale and/or purchase agreement! At nearly 50 years of age, with millions of dollars of property deals behind me. We owned 7 properties together over our 30 year relationship. Or rather, his (our?) family trust did. Shit. That is insane!

I always railed at that patriarchal structure. But thought, it’s okay, he has my back. He always wants me to be happy and involved. He tells me he’ll never let me down. I’m a Team Rog player! I’ve earned his respect and care. I put in, man.

This, from a girl with two thirds of a law degree. FML. The idiot is strong with this one!

In my recovery period from his long affair with Leanne, we agreed that I was doing what I needed to do to help me heal from his years of lying and cheating on me in my spaces of home. He ALWAYS knew the houses were incredibly problematic for me. I so wanted to sell and leave, starting afresh without the toxic stank of Leanne smeared throughout them. And, when I did what I told him I would do, healed ME, and was ready to go forward into a whole new, healed future with my love. For US.

Fuck, it was so damn hard to find a way through the things he did to me in his selfishness.

So hard.

It tweaked all my biggest fears in life.

STIs is a huge one, and he knew it, due to my gay Dad being forced out of the closet in the AIDS era. I must have said a million times, please don’t cheat, but if you do, MAKE SURE you ALWAYS – every time – use condoms. He never once rolled one on. I know he didn’t use them with Trinket either, and he was still making love with me!

Bloody hell.

He knew about my brutally violent rape, and that he was the only man I had even had consensual sex with. Sex itself is actually REALLY fucking scary to me. I mean I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE sex.

A whole lot.

SOOOOO much!

But I am terrified of being hurt. Of having bad sex. I never once had bad sex with him. Being sexually vulnerable with someone I don’t know and love to pieces.

I know now that the links with rape, by a trusted friend, in my home, is a huge factor in my terror about Roger’s betrayal, discard and violence in his hatred of me. I just don’t have the words to explain how this stuff is all linked. That the decades of telling myself it was no big deal, that I was okay, that rapist meant nothing, and did no lasting mental damage, was because I was strong, and determined his violence and depravity in ripping my genitals apart would not win over my strong mind. Well, all of that has come back, simmering away for decades, knowing I was lying to myself. I am scared. I am vulnerable. I did get very badly hurt and damaged by that arsehole. But it was okay, because I had my Norm to help me heal and recover. Who would never hurt me like that. Who would fight off any man who tried to attack me again.

And then he became my attacker.

And, the fucked up cutting! Holy shit! I just found myself wondering where the bottom of the fucked up barrel was??? I used to be normal. Sensible. Together.

And now I have an inner thigh patchworked with scars.

Walking the Journey shared her most recent experience in therapy. It’s insanely similar. I had a good childhood, with a stable, loving mother, but a distant, prone to unpredictable anger, scary, violent outbursts father. His violence was rarely seen as violence on the family. But he did some scary, rage driven, awful shit. We were disgusted by him really.

But, I totally understood WTJ’s sharing of her first moment of cutting into her own flesh. My experience is not quite the same, as I was 50, not an 11 year old, so “knew” some stuff. And felt so fucked up. But I get that it is about power and control. When you have no power, and no control over your life, and how people treat you. Oh fuck. Cutting lets me feel like I have the power. I can use it to beat the suicidal feelings. The warmth that floods your body as the red trickles out…it is literally very insane. And not something anyone in my real life would possibly understand, or empathise with. I guarantee no one would have a clue I could possibly do something so stupid.

Which leads me to her other point, about childhood psychological shit. No one thinks they need to worry about that stuff. It’s in the past. And we are cognizant beings. We can make better choices, and know what was right and wrong. We examine our parents and caregivers, and think, holy shit? Why were they so lacking in self awareness?

And yet, here I am. After living a very nice, very sensible, very privileged, very loving life with an adorable man whom I treasured.


Fucked right up.

But, I think I might be getting somewhere. The connections are starting to make sense. My brain is wired badly. And the bad connections are being exposed now.

After hunting them for years, I might just be starting to uncover why this is so hard for me. Why I am so traumatised after trusting my love so damn much.

I really believed his words. The words he said. The words he wrote. Constantly. All those texts. All those notes and cards. All that looking lovingly into my eyes as we lay together. That he would never give up. He would never hurt me again. He would wait for me forever.

Nope. That was just what he knew I wanted to hear, to keep his bench warm in case a Trinket never showed up.

I’m so damn sad I let that strong girl down.

I came out of yesterday’s session extraordinarily distressed, and thought, hell. There’s a reason for all of this. I’m not really insane. I was abused and then my most trusted person kicked off all the trip wires at once.


This is why people need time and space. To work together through trauma. To allow the long term relationship to recover. You would never hurt your friend like this. Someone who is suffering already. So why jump into someone else’s healing mix, and fuck it up some more? Is it okay because she doesn’t know me, and my story?

I guess so. People are self centred in the end.

I know this post sounds long and mournful. I do apologise, it was not started with that in mind at all! But please know that finding some of the keys to my very, very real trauma (there are lots of messages you tell yourself, “it’s not trauma, you’re being silly, snap out of it, you idiot, …” etc) last night, gives me hope. It is possible to rewire things that have been so hard wired into my background. And that feels so very hopeful.

It’s the weekend. One of my best mates just phoned and talked to me for over an hour and a half, interrogating me about my trip to Europe and North Africa, telling me all about his upcoming plans for a six week sojourn in Croatia with his darling wife. I saw a good indie movie with an old girlfriend from school. And just home. My fire is lit, I have a glass of pinot noir, and there is much to be thankful for.

Cheers my friends 🥂


EMDR processing

Whoah! I have just come out of an EMDR session that was next level.


The memory we were working on was Roger knocking me unconscious.

Turns out, there is something happening there in my memory. I got very vivid pictures as we worked through, firstly of his completely black, hate-filled eyes. He looked at me with the most terrifying eyes when I tried to get him to confess to his lying about bringing Trinket into my home, when there was a legal agreement that she not be allowed in my homes. Trinket knew about the agreement. My lawyer wanted it served to her home, but I was too kind and just said, give it to Roger, and made sure she knew too that his affair partners in my spaces of home was traumatising for me. And legally not allowed.

His refusal to admit to it when I had irrefutable proof she fucked him in my home was completely unbelievable, and pretty damn terrifying. I decided I wasn’t going to back down, he was going to admit they defied that legal order. I was being really brave.

He does not ever back down.

From anything.

Then my first real realisation that he really, really hated me, and I had “lost” him, the love of my life, as he rushed to message Trinket afterwards – as I was sobbing, panting, completely terrified and confused – that I had attacked him. I admit I did slap his face when he kept lying. I did not attack him. I did try to defend myself, though.

That was so terrifying and I felt so powerless over how he had got right in front of the narrative before I had even caught my breath or had time to process my confusion.

Then, his face, as he pressed down on my shoulders and neck, leaving deep bruises, started flashing and changing into my rapist’s.

Fuck, that has never happened before, and I have never directly linked the two violent attacks, consciously. Kirsty, my psychologist, agrees. No wonder I am so traumatised by the domestic violence, a one off event. He had never shown any violent tendencies before. Is generally a fairly passive person.

But, I backed him into a corner, and I wasn’t going to back down as this wasn’t a hunch. I didn’t “think” Trinket walked into my messy house. She did. She lay on my bed as he performed oral sex on her, and fingered and fucked her, making her cum in my home. I knew for sure she had been there. It was not like the weird feelings I had in the past about possible other women in my homes. This was a sure thing, and I wasn’t letting him lie to me.

I was subconsciously reliving being torn apart by a man who was too big, too powerful, whom I could not fight off. That is why him knocking me out was so traumatic for me.

Just like why infidelity, although not the worst thing that can happen to a person, is MY PERSONAL worst thing.

So, major panic about rape and violence that I could not prevent. Except this time it was my love. The man I trusted to always protect me.

Tears and I nearly blacked out. I have never been like this before, but during EMDR sessions, I almost always feel very faint, and that I am going to lose consciousness.

Lordy, it is draining.

Now, I have to wait to meet my baby girl after her work shift, as her mental health is pretty fragile, and she asked me to come and sleep with her tonight. We’ll cuddle and try to find something fun, to make us laugh 🤣.

I hope so, as Kirsty has prepared me for some pretty vivid dreams that may come from this session.

Leave a comment

Duck season

The first weekend in May is Opening Weekend for duck hunting in NZ.

This is a weekend that has affected my life for over three decades, with Roger being a mad keen hunter.

It is almost religious.

Three friends and him have built three luxurious maimais in that time, on our properties. They go and spend the entire Friday through to Monday down there. Bunkroom, woodfire, fully equipped kitchen and bathroom all run off a small petrol generator.

Then, in the first decade or more that we lived together, Rog was out every evening and every weekend morning for two months, shooting poor ducks. That waned to just a couple of times per week later.

I was a vegetarian when I met him, had been for three years. But, because he was a hunting, fishing, sheep and beef farmer, I started eating meat again.

It seemed wasteful if he was killing animals, to not use everything we could from the poor critters.

Anyway, he has retained the right to use the maimai on our old farm for that one weekend per year. Tbe team will gather, whiskey will be drunk, a gourmet menu will be arranged by his foodie mate.

When building the first maimai, Rog insisted I use my average calligraphy skills to write out the following poem.

Because it was supposed to symbolise old fashioned, respectful, rural values.

And it hangs, pride of place, on the maimai wall.

by S. Omar Barker (1894–1985)

It don’t take such a lot of laws
To keep the rangeland straight,
Nor books to write ’em in, because
There’s only six or eight.
The first one is the welcome sign—
True brand of western hearts:
“My camp is yours an’ yours is mine,”
In all cow country parts.

Treat with respect all womankind,
Same as you would your sister.
Take care of neighbors’ strays you find,
And don’t call cowboys “mister.”
Shut pasture gates when passin’ through;
An’ takin’ all in all,
Be just as rough as pleases you,
But never mean nor small.

Talk straight, shoot straight, and never break
Your word to man nor boss.
Plumb always kill a rattlesnake.
Don’t ride a sorebacked hoss.
It don’t take law nor pedigree
To live the best you can!
These few is all it takes to be
A cowboy—and a man!

So. Respect for women. Right?

Be never mean? Sure?

Never break your word? Okay?

What a fucking hypocrite.