Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum

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Missing someone is always a bit shit. Stink being so far apart, and having not seen that barman for a while.

But nothing compared to how I pined for Rog when we were apart.

I can remember him coming back from a two week hunting trip, when our eldest was a toddler. He told me how the other boys were all so happy to “get away from the ball and chain.”

But not him. He missed me like crazy. Said it was physical pain.

I often wonder if he tells Trinket the same lies.

I still ache for him. Again, not this him. The him I thought he was.

The way I ached for him when I was in the UK, and he was off fucking the whole town. I mean, it was okay, we were separated. But I fucked no one. And ached for him, while we wrote to each other three times a week.

Ugh. He really made me believe we were destined for each other.

A fully grown, supposedly intelligent woman. FFS πŸ€¦β€β™€οΈ

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Coaxing that girl back

Don’t Lose Hope posted this the other day, and I was immediately hit in the heart.


This is the thing.

This God awful experience.

But one of the almost silver linings is this.

I am rediscovering me.

Not someone’s partner.

Not someone’s mother.

Not someone’s daughter.

An adult woman.

With a heart.

A body that mostly still works. (Ouchy calves and glutes after that big hill hike…)😜

A brain that has been given a series of great workouts these past few years.


Wonderful, interesting, intelligent, funny, naughty new friends.



New directions.

Self driven. With free choice to do whatever I want.

There is enormous loss, grief and yeah, guilt. Guilt that somehow, no matter how hard I tried, he rejected me. I was not enough.

No matter how many times I say it, read it know it, there is guilt at the failure of my most precious human relationship I have ever had.

Despite knowing that the failure is not mine to bear, bear it I do. The grief of that loss is continuous.

But today, this post, is about the growth. Patting myself on the back.

For surviving.

When I wanted to die.

For bravely getting back up. For doing Churchill’s bidding, and keeping going, through this hell.

For taking risks. For still caring deeply. For revelling in new love, both romantic and that of new friends.

I met some more new people of BG’s last night. Thrown in the deep end with them, as he worked. They were delightful, warm, interesting, and we clicked easily. My social anxiety has changed. I’m no longer as defensive. I realise that in our friendship circle, everyone knew I was that woman who was cheated on, for a long time, and with her so-called friend. I always felt so judged. Stupid, for not knowing, for still having Leanne in my homes, etc. Obviously sexless, ugly, fat, boring, because why else would that nice guy cheat on her.

That baggage is at the door now. New people don’t come at me carrying it.

More travel plans. A new business sprouting. A beautiful, peaceful home, that I welcome friends, family, guests to stay at regularly.

I am coaxing that wee girl back out into the light.

The glow up is happening!

And boy, is that wee girl starting to sparkle again! ✨️


Not great

I have a mouthful of ulcers, and three coldsores just broken out on my lower lip. I am macrodosing with lysine, plastering on the Zovirax and have told my boss I am burnt out.

I have never done that. In 17 years working for her.

She responded by giving me more projects. FFS.

That Holmes and Rahe scale result is frightening.

I am trying to schedule some time off. But everyone at work is. Because we can travel and get back into Aotearoa again now. Also, boss has two big international conferences I can’t get leave during. Most of June and July are out. I have cows calving early August, so can’t leave then, and the season begins again…And this is supposed to be our off season now…

This is stupid.



Don’t Lose Hope, nails trauma, once again.

It’s something that we get better at “controlling” our response to, if we work really hard at doing so. But it hasn’t made me tough.

It’s worn me down.

It’s exhausting. It’s made me old. Tired. Cynical. Vulnerable.

I think even a bit needy.

I notice that I find it harder to believe in myself. To pull through the mentally difficult phases of life. There is a huge reduction in resilience.

And it’s harder to stay positive. You plunge quite quickly. Way more so than before I knew about all Roger’s cheating.

I’m tired today, understandably. And self aware enough to identify that it is about the lovely weekend with my girls, and missing them now.

Also, that I am always on extra alert not to say the wrong things around them. The youngest, especially, can be quite cutting at times. I’m her mother, not her friend, I know that, but I am pretty sensitive to that dynamic. They become more like friends, as adults.

We had some good chats on our journeys this weekend. About her life. Her dreams. Her fears. Her relationships. Etc. I am always very mindful not to talk about myself much to her. She went through so much watching my life fall apart. It is something I have enormous regret about.

I should have left after Leanne. But I was dumb, in love, in shock, and I believed the love bombing and all his lies about how I was the love of his life and he’d made a mistake. He’s spend the rest of his life making it up to me.

Blah. Blah. Blah. πŸ’”

She has told me before that she saw how in love we seemed to be. That compared to many of her friends, her parents had a lot of fun together. That we laughed a lot, and shared a quirky sense of humour. We seemed so very, very into each other. We were pretty damn affectionate.

Then, it all went to hell in a handcart.

Watching me shrink, in front of her eyes.



I wish I hadn’t put my kids through that.

Consequently, I do walk on eggshells around them, to a degree. I try really hard not to talk about or react to any chat about their father.

I did see the eldest roll her eyes at one stage that made me nervous. It was about her upcoming placement in the hospital in Roger and his whore’s region. She stays with them during these placements. He’s done a huge amount for her. Providing housing and support as she studies. I couldn’t be more grateful for that.

I checked myself after seeing that eye roll. Was it because she is not so keen on staying with them? Or is it about the actual placement? She said she mostly enjoyed it last year. I think she did it to make me feel she empathises with my pain about her father.

But really? I know I’m just overthinking it. He’s her father. He’s good to her. Who really cares if I secretly still hurt so very, very much? It’s my shit.

Driving, while the youngest dozed, I thought about the things Rog and I discussed over the decades. About endings. About how the hell do you go from loving someone, sharing your life, your dreams, your body and soul with them, to … nothing? To hatred and pain? We talked about how we would always be the closest of friends. No matter what.

But. This.

I’m gutted. He’s not my friend. We have nothing to say to each other, and yet, everything.

I’m still super nervous and feel sick every time there is any contact. So much for that idea we had of being a family that would always be close and celebrate together. Not possible.

Certainly not something I can do with the cunt in the picture. I’ve tried to get to a mental place to deal with her. But really??? She knew about me. We talked. I pretty much, embarrassingly begged her not to “steal my man.”


I hate myself.

I’m not tough.

I’m soft AF.

Wish I was tough.

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Having a weekend with my baby girl.

As we drove to our destination, we were chatting. She was telling me a lot about her recent breakup from her longest term boyfriend.

Then, she asked about her uncle, my brother, who has been living with me for nearly a year. He lives in my barn loft. Trying to heal from his own broken heart.

Recently, he had a relapse, and stupidly ranted his brokenness at his ex. It was selfish, damaging, and uncool. Total grey rock fail.

An aside from my brief chat with my daughter. After this incident, he and I talked. I asked him how I can help him. That in my opinion, he needs more help, in the form of counselling. It’s been over two years, and whilst we know there is no timeline for healing, there kinda is for not going off on rants. For not contacting the source of the pain. You just HAVE to exercise some self restraint.

Back to the moment. Dee said, “please don’t tell me anymore. I don’t want to hear you talk about him anymore.”

I was kinda gobsmacked. Stunned into silence. She’d spent nearly an hour talking about her ex. I’d spent less than a minute, answering her question about her uncle.

I drove in silence. Quietly seething that she shut me down in such a seemingly selfish manner. But knowing to keep my mouth shut.

A few minutes later, she spoke up. “He was the last  man in my life, who I thought wasn’t trash.”

Ah, okay. I get it.

I remained quiet.

Then said, “surely not all men. You know nice men you work with/have worked with. Your brother. Your friends. You’ve just spent a nice weekend with your father.”

“Ha! You mean Rog. He’s trash. Just because he’s related to me, I see him. But he’s still a huge piece of trash.”

I looked at her sadly, “I’m sorry you feel that way. Maybe things will change with more time. But I understand. You saw a lot of awful things.

That’s on me.

I should have left the first time I knew he was a cheater. I don’t know if I’ll really ever forgive myself for believing him and putting you through that. Allowing you to witness all that hard. I’m sorry. I thought he was better than this. I thought we were worth more than he did. I should have left.”

We’re here. It’s quiet. Relaxing. Lovely. I love that we can do this.

But there is enormous guilt.

I honestly believed his words. His charm. His love bombing. When he told me I was the love of his life, it felt real. His eyes, his touch.

His fake remorse.

I thought it was safe to stay and try to heal WITH him.

You never fully forgive yourself. Not for the pain you allowed.

But I especially struggle with what my children witnessed. I failed them, as a parent. To protect them from what I experienced in my young adult life, and tried so hard to NEVER have my children affected this way.

My youngest doesn’t believe there are good men. That truly sucks.

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Movie night

Went to the movies after doing my first grocery shop in two months.

Saw Bergman Island.

The kind of movie Rog and I would both enjoy.

It’s hard, I’m good on my own, but we used to be such a good team.

And, got all my budgets and business plan sorted for tomorrow morning’s bank meeting. A tad nervous. Wondering what I’ve missed.

Mowed lawns, weeded gardens, and have bad period cramps tonight. Have come to bed early, with a hot water bottle on my abdomen, really tired and sore.

Bit stink I can’t spend my few days’ leave with the barman, with his dose of Covid meaning he’s in isolation.

His community have rallied. One of his lovely office administrators looked out for him today. Paige brought him coffee, delivered contactlessly twice during the day, and his head chef, who lives next door to him, asked over the fence if he could get him some groceries. Which he did. Nawww.

Tonight, the local doctor phoned him to check on him. How sweet is that?

BG is one of those people. He looks out for others’ welfare. Anyone of his members needs help, he sorts some. Personally drives older people over the hill to the bigger town for medical appointments, gets meals or groceries delivered to them, etc. He’s a funny bugger. Doesn’t take any shit, but would give you the shirt off his back.

I’m so pleased he’s getting cared for. It’s shit being apart right now, not being able to care for him in person. But I’m delighted his people are looking out for him. Proves that they know who he is. A guy with a big heart.

He’s also brightened up after his initial disappointment. Has enough staff to reopen tomorrow, and is enjoying the opportunity to work productively from home, not being interrupted by operational issues.

I have noticed this about him. He gets very upset, then picks homself up quickly, brimming with a positive attitude.

It’s refreshing. To see someone with this resilience. He video chatted today after I came in from some chainsaw work and stacking firewood. All perky and feeling productive.

I miss him.

But, I’ve booked an ebike overnighter tomorrow on the cycle trail between our two locations. My youngest is gonna come and keep me company. Looking forward to it, and the luxury accommodation and gourmet dinner to go with it.

Treat yourself! A reward for a big week at work, and in my new venture.

I still wonder what he thinks, the man who I shared my everything with.

About me. About where I am in my life. About what I’m doing.

Which is stupid, because he never thought about me, or my hopes and dreams when we were together! Why on earth would he now? πŸ€£πŸ˜‚

Today, his best mate’s sister-in-law and I were chatting. Planning a catch up over here. She likes coming to my town to shop, and wants to come over to buy a dress for her husband’s 60th birthday party. She’s one of my staunchest supporters from the old life. My caring friend, the person I called first and met her for coffee when I found out about Trinket, who told me to run, that “he’s just no good, Paula. Can’t believe he’s done this again to you. Don’t you dare look back. Run now. He’s not worth it.”

She made me dinner, delivered it, joining me, and also left me soup and sourdough, on the day I moved here. She’s quietly observed the shit show. And equally as quietly chosen to stand with me. I am so lucky to have her. Can’t wait to go shopping with her.

And also can’t wait to see them for the party. So grateful for the old friends who saw what really happened, and stayed by my side πŸ’•

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I lied to you

So. I had a bit of an off moment on Sunday.

During an otherwise truly lovely – quite romantic, in fact – weekend that my barman quite spontaneously suggested, midweek.

I didn’t sleep so went for a three hour walk on the beach.

On my return, BG asked me if he’d done something wrong. But, my unsettled, insomnia wasn’t about him. More a freak out at the overwhelming business stuff, as I had a bit of a scary meeting on Friday.


It was the four year anniversary of moving into the first safe home, my own home, MY first I bought all by myself.

And yeah, BG still hadn’t tried to fuck me for a month…

Then, I showered – we showered 😜 – and his ex’s brother and sister-in-law showed up! While I was all scraggly hair, fresh-faced and starting to pack.

We sat having coffee with them on our deck for over an hour.

They’re really nice people. BG introduced them to each other, over a decade ago.

I’d met them before. And, to our surprise and delight, they’d just got married the previous weekend. I could see their happiness.

Hearing them talk about the wedding (held in my town!) we realised that BG’s cheating ex, the groom’s sister, had come over from Australia with their other sister, for the wedding. No drama at all. Just serendipitous as the border had only just opened again. Luckily for the families.

I was aware we were over check out time, and I ducked back inside, and down the other end of the apartment complex to try to return the key. Back, I was quickly towelling my hair dry, and therefore I missed some of the chat. I deliberately did that, to be honest, giving the old friends some moments of privacy, to catch up, without the “new girl,” breathing down their necks. BG met Chrissy when she was visiting her brother and SIL, over from Australia, about eight years ago, in that town.

Anyway, we drove home after visiting with more friends, stopping for late lunch in a nearby small city on the way back to my place. There, as we walked into the restaurant, I realised an old hometown mate, GJ, was sitting in the window with his partner.

I didn’t recognise him at first. But this is a guy who I used to have a funny sexual banter thing with, for decades. All very chaste, safe and silly. I was “happily partnered” right?

Anyway, he’s a very good looking, terminally single, older guy. The town lothario. Broken a lot of hearts over the years. He used to tell me that Rog had the Most Fuckable Woman in Insert Name of Town.

Wouldn’t get too excited, it’s a small town. 😜

But that’s the kind of bullshitty thing he and I had.

Of course, I went over to say hi. And it felt REALLY weird, running into him with BG…

That night, in bed, BG said he had something he’d been keeping from me, and he needed to tell me, felt really bad. He said, “I’ve lied to you. And it’s not okay. I’m sorry.”

Obviously, my heart froze.

Turns out, while I was packing, and in the bathroom, he found out Chrissy was staying just down the road, and the SIL had asked him earlier, when she first spotted him, before she knew I was there, if he wanted to go and say hi, to her and the other sis, as they were just taking them to the airport later.

He, of course, said, no thanks. Shaking his head, “no. No thanks. Oh, and Paula’s here.”

They would have no real reason to realise we were still a thing. I met them well over a year ago, and there was no indication that we were long-term.

But obviously Belle, the ex-SIL must have told Chrissy later, and she sent him a text, saying, “hey, you snob, why didn’t you come see us?”

He felt he’d hidden that from me. He never replied. He wanted to say to her, “fuck off. That’s inappropriate, and why would I want to see you.” And can’t work out why she doesn’t get that he is not her friend after what she put him through. “I’m sorry babe. It was a shock. She hasn’t contacted me since that last time she wished me happy birthday. I haven’t replied to any of her texts in years. Look at my phone. I should have told you then. I didn’t. I lied to you. I feel really awful.”

I didn’t see it that way. I had a difficult morning. He tried to find out why I’d got up and slept on the couch and walked the beach for three hours. He thought he’d messed up somehow. He’d been drinking with one of his best mates, and wondered if I was quietly pissed off.

I wasn’t. Not in the slightest.

I was ruminating and panicking about finance. Reflecting on this day, four years earlier. Admittedly, I was deeply disappointed and sexually frustrated that he hadn’t made a single move on me in weeks. To the point where I back off, stop trying.

But the major thing was I was in my own head. Worrying. But not about him.

As he teased my worries out a little bit, my lip wobbled, there were tears stinging, behind my sunglasses. He’s never seen me cry, and I was fighting it. I won. But it got close. He held me, asking how he could help.

When he told me about the text from Chrissy, I told him that I wasn’t upset. I’m not threatened by her. He knows I get it. That yes, she’s a stunning, petite, blonde, and yeah. I’m not. That’s somewhat intimidating. But I know she treated him very poorly, and he doesn’t want her.

He assures me her looks are Instagrammable, but she’s not that pretty IRL. Heavily filtered and well lit. And I get why he didn’t tell me about contact straight away. I was a bit off, we had just had a difficult talk. I wouldn’t have thrown that information in there in the same situation. A tired and emotional partner, “hey, my sexy ex is staying down the road and wants to see me.”

The important thing is, he told me later. He didn’t have to. We left town. I could have never been told. And I would have never known. I appreciate his candour, and honesty.

He said that he was upset because I asked him twice during the day if everything was okay, and he thought that I knew him so well, and knew he was a bit off.

I did know he was a bit pensive. I knew my moment had rattled him. I know he’s having a lot of stress at work, and getting him away, trying to switch off, is challenging. He’s arrived back to more Covid in the staff, leaving just himself and his bar manager, just returned from a week’s leave, as the only staff members with bar duty manager’s licences. He’s gonna have to pull some bar shifts this week, and possibly longer. It’s stressful. Losing money hand over fist, and he works seven days a week if he doesn’t get outta Dodge. That’s in normal times. Without night shifts added behind the bar, after a day behind the computer, and calculator!

I was surprised – but impressed at his emotional intelligence – that he framed the delay in telling me about Chrissy’s message, as lying.

Roger never did. If I didn’t know, it wasn’t a lie. Right? BG at least obviously understands about lying by omission.

That is actually very comforting.

Oh, we got two fantastic sessions in before he left. One, prolonged shower sex one, and one of me waking him gently but urgently at 4.30am before he left on Monday morning. It’s there. He just doesn’t need me physically as much as I’m used to, as much as I need him.

As much as Rog needed me, daily.

It is a hard thing to reconcile. We are talking about it. It’s not being ignored.

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They fucking hate that.

I’m so good at scaring ’em off.

On the way home from our romantic weekend – thankfully culminating in some intense shower sex, phew – we stopped and got some late lunch in the city.

An old friend was eating in the same cafe. I hadn’t seen him in a few years. So weird.

He and I had some sexual banter for years. He is the hometown lothario, and I’ve known him nearly 35 years. He used to call me The Most Fuckable Woman in (insert town name here.)

It’s a small town 🀣😜

BG was bemused by our introduction. I was a bit standoffish, I always am, introducing him to someone I knew well in my old life. And I knew he was holding onto something that day. A bit distracted.

More on that later.

But the quote is true. Don’t love them hard. Don’t be devoted and loyal. They really do fucking hate that.



Four years.

Four years ago today, I moved into my home. The first home in my life that has been truly mine.

It’s the safest home I’ve ever had.

The peace lily my dear, kind friend, L, gave me gracing the old mantlepiece on the day I moved into this home πŸ’š

I love living alone. Everything is mine, just the way I want it.

I’m thinking about this week three years ago, in Barcelona, trying to enjoy my trip, but heart breaking for my bestie, whose young son had just been tragically killed.

This day, three years ago, visiting the Salvador Dali house near Barcelona

Beautiful architecture. Stunning art. Incredible food and drink. Great company. My old high school friend, Kim, planned a truly amazing trip to SpainπŸ‡ͺπŸ‡Έ, Portugal πŸ‡΅πŸ‡Ή and Morocco πŸ‡²πŸ‡¦ for us.

La Sagrada Familia stained glass window

I also managed to slip in a four day jaunt with my friend, Sam, in London.

It was so healing for me.

As I was unpacking, in my new home that day (I use home, as the other places I have lived were houses really, never really mine) I found dozens of cards and letters Roger wrote me.

This one was just before DDay 2, when I discovered he was having another affair, and he had actively been looking for this, online dating for over two years. See how he had me fooled?

I will always be the love of his life.

How special I am.

I never got to ask him to leave.

I was working my ARSE off on healing from his treachery.

I’m here, walking along a beautiful beach, having not slept. Been walking here for three hours. Since 5.30am.

I’m unsettled. Kinda have been ever since Leanne, certainly more so since Trinket.

I’m overthinking and panicking about money. The goalposts of funding this business keep shifting. I need to buckle down this week, sharpen my pencil, and approach another lender with precision budgets, forecasts and a diamond bright business plan.

And, realistically, this has been a beautiful weekend so far, people, laughter, an attentive and loving partner.


He just doesn’t desire me.

We haven’t made love in a whole bloody month.

I’ve sober driven for him the last two nights. Happy to do so. Kind of semi aware at the same time that he confided drinking seemed to be the (he admits, fucked up) key to sex with Chrissy. He says she had a drinking problem that he didn’t discover until they lived together.

Well. Not the key to sex with me, apparently.

This is his old home town. The romance has been special. We’ve done lovely bush walks, over hills to discover beautiful gems, little secluded bays. We had a stunning dinner at a superb location, that he booked and surprised me with. He bought me delicious wine, and thanked me profusely for driving last night as he caught up over copious bourbons at his best mate down here and his wife’s place. They have two young daughters who seem to have attached themselves to me. I climbed jungle gyms. I bounced on trampolines. I drew pictures. I hugged. I learned about new games on their tablets. I read bedtime stories. I enjoyed every minute of it. And BG was grateful and impressed at the girls’ adoring attention to me. “Uncle BG is coming! Yay! He’s the one with the cool girlfriend!” (PS, I am amused by/hate the word, girlfriend. A. I’m no girl. B. It was my kids’ and my favourite joke about Leanne. Dad’s “girlfriend.” What a fuckwit I am. I thought it was a joke!)

But none of it makes him want me, sexually.

I don’t do it for that. I do it because it’s who I am, and I really enjoy these people.

But, it is getting increasingly frustrating.

And once again, despite me knowing better, and that this is his problem, not about me – just like a cheating partner! – I feel like I’m lacking.


And they say romance is dead

BG has planned a spontaneous, romantic weekend away at one of our most gorgeous coastal locations.

I’m meeting him there, rather than us driving to one another’s. Which kinda makes it more mysterious.

I like this!

I know the location, but not what he has booked. I just know it’s going to be quite lovely.

And I’m so glad.

My daughters were planning on a weekend at their cheating father’s, and this was a much needed distraction for me. BG has no idea.

Unfortunately, the youngest’s flatmate tested positive for Covid today, and the whole flat has to isolate, ruining weekend plans for them. I told BG, and he said, “oh no babe, you better stay then. She’ll need you as the flat support person.”

But my daughter laughed and said, “no way, Mum. We have friends who can do grocery deliveries, etc. Go!”

I’m sad for her, because she was dying to see her older sister. But admitted to me that “Rog trannied me petrol money.” Which, just quietly, I found a bit amusing.

He moved so far away, he has to bribe her with her sister, and petrol money, to visit?

Not entirely, I’m sure. She is the dutiful one. But it does mildly amuse me, nevertheless.

Some progress today on the neverending marathon of adding an ensuite and powder room to my wee house.

Might even have it finished this year, lol.

Anyway, one more sleep, and I am going on an exciting adventure with my darling.

How lucky am I?

Leave a cheater, gain a life πŸ˜œπŸ’‹πŸ’œ