Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum

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Fakebook and friends

So, when BG waa chatting with me last night, he mentioned that Ingrid – sitting over from him – said my cow and calf videos were super cute.

And he asked how come he hadn’t seen any videos? I had just posted a reel on Instagram and earlier, a story on Facebook of the calves chilling out with their mums in my house paddock.

I just replied, “oh, well, we’re not friends on Facebook.”

No drama. Just that’s where the videos she saw were.

He fairly sarcastically went, “oh, that’s telling me, isn’t it.”


No, it wasn’t.

I just stated a fact.

I kinda like that neither of us have “friended” each other on social media. It ensures we are private about “us.” I don’t feel it is a slight. I know he said near the beginning that it’s not really his thing. I also know he has nothing to hide there as we have mutual friends, including my daughter. It seemed a bit strange that he felt I was having a dig at this status when I have never requested we be friends there, nor complained/mentioned it.

Might need to talk about this… I’m not a needy, insecure girlfriend. Well, any insecurities I have these days are not about him. All Roger.

Social medua is all well and good, if used with discretion, with your tongue firmly planted in your cheek. I like to keep up with friends and family this way. But it’s not the measure of the success, or other, of our relationships. I’ve seen plenty of Fakebook posts by betrayed spouses raving or boasting about their relationship/posting lovey dovey pictures, to put any weight on what is peesented online.

Hey, I was madly, deeply, passionately in love, for over thirty years, with a man who posted online that he was single, to attract affair partners. What the hell does the internet know anyway?

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A bit of fluff. Or is it?

Last night, one of my oldest friends, Bella, invited me to a function, to celebrate both of our recent birthdays.

Well, she invited me, to celebrate mine, but hers was a couple of weeks ago, so I was celebrating her, too.

It was an industry do. And that works, I’m currently in a parallel industry. We, as kiwi breeders, were being wooed back to Flemington, to the Melbourne Cup carnival. The 18 carat gold Cup, worth AUD275K is on tour.

Yes, we got to hold it and pose for photos. I hate photos, so here it is, without my ugly mug (see what I did there?) to ruin the shot!

Chit chat, champagne, and lots of discussion regarding her wonderful work trip to the UK ensued.

Then we two left the function room and ate at the Italian place the function had been held at.

It was a nice midweek diversion.

I asked Bella how her and her husband’s new venture is going. They recently had a nasty, tricky “divorce” from his brother’s family, and their joint business of many decades. I’m so pleased for them, especially her lovely husband, who, after so much hard work, gets to steer his own ship, finally.

Then Bella asked me abiut BG. “You guys good? He’s such a nice man. I’m so impressed with how he just fits in, and thinks the world of you.” I was understated in my reply. Saying we are good, just work in progress.

Then she enquired how my business is getting on. So I filled her in on the latest news.

Which is that I am viewing a probable temporary lease for premises near my under construction permanent base, and have also taken the bull by the horns and approached a local franchisee to chat regarding her experience running a pop-up prior to her new premises becoming available, on Friday. Things are moving fast. I am going to have to pull finger and get my budgets sorted. That part is quite daunting with smaller, less luxurious, temporary premises throwing my plans a bit. All a work in progress.

Bella leaned back in her chair. “Wow Paula. Just wow. I’n in awe of you. Look at you. Just growing and glowing. Not many women I know have been through what you have, and come out the other side so positive, so quietly driven to succeed and take a risk, but also, just so up for anything. Most at our age just sit licking their wounds. But you. You’ve never let this stop you, or make you bitter. Quite the opposite. I’m so proud of you! I know you’ve been through hell. But you are always up for a laugh, with a big smile on your face. You’ve been really brave.”

Bella knows. She knows how heartbroken I am. How I truly, deeply, madly loved Roger with everything I had.

She also knows he never loved me like – in her words – I deserved to be loved, in return. She probably has no idea that I am still utterly broken and ache so badly inside. I hope not. I try to present well in public!

This is a woman who is an ex fuck buddy of Roger’s.

Before me. And later, whilst we were separated briefly, before our children were born. She is still in touch with him. I avoid talking with her ever, about him. Or even alluding to him. I know she catches up with him and his whore when she is down their way. They are old friends.

I am one of those people who has had to learn to accept praise graciously. I used to cringe, downplay, twist myself to avoid that kind of spotlight. However, now I try hard to sit gently with it, attempting to accept praise, squishing my inner “you’re really not good enough, you know,” voice down.

I don’t need her praise.

But I am aware that it is given in good faith.

That when she hugged me (we’re really not big huggers – especially her, I’m learning to try to accept physical touch) that it was genuine, warm, and not just something you do. So many huggers are just being polite. That isn’t us.

I know I sound like a cold fish, by saying that. But I have a very strong startle reflex. It started after I was raped. I don’t love being touched, especially unexpectedly, by people I am not close wirh.

During the weekend, BG came into my room as I was in the bathroom. And I nearly hit the ceiling. He got a fright at my extreme startle response, laughing and apologising. And it zoomed my body’s memories back to the startle response I had to Roger surprising me with unexpected touch at any time after his affair with Leanne. I was so on edge. He thought it was funny.

It didn’t feel funny.

My flight response was turned up to max. I didn’t trust him not to hurt me.

Within all of that personal fuckedupness, I am incredibly tactile with the people I love. Physical touch, skin to skin contact, sensual kissing and sex in every excitng, mildly depraved form, that works for me.

And that is my current struggle. BG loves to touch and be touched. Skin to skin. Head and shoulder massages, etc.

But even our kisses don’t have any real fire or depth. Rog was such a good kisser. BG is quite chaste in his. And, he’s a receiver. Not a giver, sexually, and with touch/massage, etc. His Madonna/Whore thing hasn’t improved at all. He never makes a move on me.

And I’ve started to stop initiating. Therefore we are sitting in a sexual void.

I don’t know if this has a solution. I don’t know if I have the energy to try to convince him (anyone?) that I’m completely fuckable. That I am sexy “enough.” I felt that so much with Rog after I knew he is a cheater. That I am not sexy “enough.” It’s all bad karma for me. I’m the fat, ugly girl no one lusts after….

Why should I have to try so hard? When he won’t even make an effort to make me feel desirable?

I’m tired of this dance.

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Wife appliance.

Swap them out.

One warm body for another.

Just read this clickbait and was stunned. Like, to even have to ask AITA!

Cheater leaves lovely, caring person for AP. BS wonders where her wedding dress and family heirlooms are. Asks cheater. Cheater “has no idea.” BS is respectful, full of grace, painfully rebuilding a shattered life.

Tah dah! BS wears all the missing items to marry cheater.

WTAF? Like, I’m sure this has to be a load of 💩.

But, this kind of behaviour is real. Cheaters really do just swap out a loyal spouse for a fresh new (secondhand) wife appliance.

No time without one. Just cut and paste.

Makes me sick.

Even if you’ve been together for what seems like forever, thinking that you know the person better than their own mother – things might still go south. Somebody might cheat – others might show their totally different and sometimes even toxic personalities.



Realizing that you’ve married someone totally insane is heartbreaking enough. But what is more hurtful is watching the person you once loved turn into a selfish someone who chose to completely wipe you out, as if you weren’t a family just a second ago.

I will NEVER understand it. How he had me fully convinced that he loved me. Adored me. That he could never have with anyone else the special, most treasured bond that he had with me.

Then just walk out.

Walk away from the life and love we spent decades building together.

Never once looking back.

No regrets whatsoever.

It’s the biggest mindfuck of all.

And there were some huge mindfucks!

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Long distance is interesting.

Mostly, lots of longing, but also, some good headspace, to be yourself. Get shit done.

With the kids here for the long weekend, I stayed home. Of course.

BG has been super busy. Long weekends in beach towns in hospo are crazy.

Yesterday, my two girls, and the eldest’s partner walked the popular track near our hometown up to the top of the waterfall I could see out of our kitchen window on the home farm.

My kids were the third generation on that farm. The two youngest literally born there. I thought it was my forever home.

We got up the top, and could see the farm easily. I didn’t realise it was the first time the eldest had ever been to the top! Her partner was asking if I could point out “the Donger.”

Don’t ask, lol.

So I showed them the outline of the family farm.

The last place I lived that (I think?) was mostly untainted by Roger’s whores. I don’t think he had affairs when we lived there.

I was so happy there. With him. With my babies. We were living the dream. Ha!!!

The track has a viewing platform, halfway up, and that was as far as my eldest had been on previous visits.

I always seem to go to the top when I am the least fit! Funny. A tad sore today. I got stung yesterday, checking on my bees. (Lost a colony, ugh, only checked them a few days previously. Must have swarmed, bit late in the season for that nonsense! But it has been very mild.)

Because I reacted so badly to my last sting, I took an antihistamine. So came home and totally crashed. Dead to the world.

Woke around 8pm to BG messaging me. I had sent him a photo of the backs of the kids looking out on the plains and the old farm from the viewing platform at the top before I hit the shower, then bed.

And, that man – the opposite of Roger, the love bomber – is understated, and tries not to show his hand too much (he has hurts from previous relationships too) let me know he is feeling a bit alone.

He rarely tells me how much he is missing me. I mean, he says, I miss you. But “really” missing me is a first.

We pretty much spend every weekend together, so this is unusual.

He’s gonna try to escape today, the Monday of the long weekend. I didn’t expect that.

And it triggered some feelings. Some memories of the busted trust after Leanne. When Roger would be away, and I didn’t really know if he was meeting her for a hookup. I mean, that was the previous pattern. I just didn’t know it.

Trust is a bastard of a thing.

You have it. But once someone breaks it, you’re buggered. For life really. I am surprisingly trusting of BG. But, I know that part of that is the level of investment.

He is not my everything.

Stupidly, Roger was.

And when he broke my trust, I was writhing to rebuild it. I realise it was me alone, trying to heal us. I made the therapy appointments. I read the books. I listened to the podcasts. I tried to communicate with him better. I wrote a damn Masters thesis, trying to make sense of the tainted spaces of home.

He responded by playing games.

He hooked up with Leanne again, two years after their affair “was over.”

He signed up to at least three dating apps, and was secretly conversing and meeting with other women, whilst telling me how much he loved me. For at least two years before hitting the jackpot with the current love of his life…🤢

No wonder my ability to trust has been so compromised. Living my fairyland truth, not having a clue he was playing stupid games (and won a stupid prize…) has broken me. I will never trust naively again. Trust is now only a partial concept. Taken with a large side of cynicism.

Anyway. Must mow lawns. Must go to hardware store to swap some gate hinges I bought a few weeks ago, that are a bit long.

Loving this downtime. Progress on the property has been achieved. Little jobs ticked off the list. But I do have a problem with a pair of Philips head screws stuck in my bedroom drawer sliders. They bloody well routed out while I tried to unscrew them. YouTube might help me solve the problem!

Adios team, better get my carcass into gear!

My little dog is having a sleepover at my youngest’s house, and it was super weird not having her in my bed. And the big dog is somewhat confused.

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Unhealed trauma


I mean, yeah, of course, but, wow!

I don’t think I had “childhood” trauma, but definitely was more deeply affected than I admitted/knew by my parents’ shock divorce, obviously by the vicious, tearing rape by my friend’s friend, and yeah, also about my first attempts at making love with the first boy I loved. Where it 🍆 just didn’t fit! 🤦‍♀️. We tried, off and on, for a very long time.

I thought I was broken. Not capable of being penetrated. This is where my deep and very real fear of large penises kicked in.

I know it sounds like a joke.

But I was TERRIFIED of meeting someone with a big dick.

And guess what?


The day BG took his pants off, aroused already, holy, holy fuck! 😱

I froze. I actually nearly ran from the room.

I did tell him, when we started making love, to be slow and gentle, as his is a LOT bigger than the only penis I had ever had inside me.

To be honest, I’m sure that is what every man probably wants to hear, but he looked a bit coy, and was amazingly careful.

To start with 😜

I also thought maybe I was overstating it in my mind. Maybe he was “normal” sized. But he has length AND girth. It was quite shocking.

Months later, probably a year, I discovered he had a reputation about his size, amongst his friends. A couple of the wives siddled up to me, to ask.

If the legend was true!

Jesus. What???

Not even sure how you answer that!

Of course, this was not asked sober. I just winked and smiled, knowingly. Then Ingrid, who asked first, told me that it was legendary amongst this crew.

When I later relayed the story to BG, he shook his head, and was really embarrassed. Told me about the incident, in his teens, with a girl in his Catholic boarding school dorm. And getting caught by one of his mates. Who is still a close mate to this day. Good lord.


As he intimated, it made it seem more. Like, “The Legend,” is larger than the reality. (Pardon the pun.) And yeah, I can see it is dehumanising. Objectifying. It embarrases him.

But, it was genuinely a terrifying night. In a good, consenting way. Still a really difficult thing for me. In my 50s, one lover ever, whom I was totally, madly in love with. Then this very real fear of mine, materialising!

Back to the other points, though. I definitely tick all of those items on that unhealed trauma list. I would like to add that it wasn’t really a difficulty setting boundaries – although, my uber chill chick vibe might be (correctly?) read this way – I think it became more about difficulty policing them.

When I insisted after Leanne that he change his phone number (it was before I even knew you could block) to starve her of oxygen, when she kept covertly (by connection) threatening us, and our children, and overtly saying she was bringing her mother to meet with my inlaws, to let them know they were destined to be together, that scared the SHIT out of me.

Cut her off! Cut her access to us off!

Rog insisted that he needed to keep his number, to “manage” the bunny boiler.


Also helped his need for ego kibbles, right? Not only was he continuing to get her attention, he fashioned himself as my great hero and protector by “cutting her off at the pass.”

Also made it REALLY easy to fuck her again, two years after he had “ended it.”

Riiiiiight. Good job on the boundary enforcement, Paula.

My problem is, I have no desire to be the Marriage Police. What a shit job that was.

So I “believed” him, let it slide.

I also hate that I was unable to see that his refusal to read about affair recovery, or get counselling was another violation of my boundaries.

I have lived in a state of high anxiety for 12 years now. I wasn’t that person before Leanne. Before I knew I am a chump. I used to be a far different person than I am today. I felt safe, connected, confident. I didn’t feel the need for much external validation.

I feel none of those things anymore. And yeah, am more socially “needy.” I’m aware of it, and work hard at dismantling the narrative of “not good enough” that now feeds my social anxiety.

That said, I am anxious about today. Anxious about re-entering my home town. The possibility of facing him yet again. Knowing he also has another horse racing in this region tomorrow. It’s likely he’ll be there. And surely the cunt will be, too. I preferred when I didn’t know much about these horses, and his current life.

No contact is the biggest tool for healing from relationship trauma.

I’ve been no contact with my former friend, of at the time, over thirty years, Leanne, for 12 years. It’s good.

It still blows my mind. This darling man, whom I loved and trusted completely, for decades (at least until he broke that unwavering trust, the love was still there) whose body I craved, and snuggled up with, at every chance, whose babies I conceived in deep love, gestated, and birthed with him, is someone I must avoid now. It’s super fucking crazy.

It still messes with me. I know it’s because I still love the “old” Rog. The illusion. So I don’t want to see the new one. Especially not with his whore. My mental health is too precious. Too hard fought for.

I know he doesn’t get it. He never had to fight for life, like I did. He never had to suffer, being rejected and discarded. He had several women clambering for his attention. He. Just. Doesn’t. Understand

Or really?

He just just care.

Better go shift my heifers, give Sunny, number 7, a big hug and scratch. Always helps ground me when I need it.

Thank God for animals, huh?

Sunny. She’ll be hungry…

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I wouldn’t recommend trying to stay with a proven cheater.

I wasted ANOTHER 8 years, just to have him secretly online dating for two years. He cheated again, all while begging me to never give up on him.

Total mindfuck.

Absolutely hideously painful. I scratched and clawed to heal from him bringing another woman into my homes, to fuck.

And then he brought another woman into my home, to fuck.

I wonder WTF she was thinking, as she entered my holiday home. Knowing full well she shouldn’t be there, with my partner of over three decades. I just can’t begin to understand how she could do that? No matter how exciting his pussy eating is.




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. 💔

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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Empaths be like

Being an empath is especially hard when people hurt you.

We tend to see things from every viewpoint, but instead of really seeing things from someone else’s point of view, we tend to apply our own loving and caring attitude. How we would feel should we do something terribly hurtful to another person.

Especially soneone we love.

I recall facing some of our friends, full of excuses for why poor Roger had an eighteen month long affair with my supposed friend. 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

In my “safe” spaces of home.

I don’t feel safe at home. I was violently raped by another “friend,” in my home. My darling fucked a myriad of women in my homes (I had a very vivid flashback style dream the other night – waking BG – about one of the times I arrived home from work early, and a female “friend” of Roger’s emerged from the shower, her wet hair in a towel…hmmm…I wasn’t comfortable, but he explained it away easily…) I woke up thrashing. Still fighting that gullible Paula.

The couples’ counsellor I finally managed to drag Rog to, two years after DDay, kept telling me to “stop rescuing him, Paula.”

I made every excuse. Trying to understand. Why he, how he, could possibly do what he did, and still love me, like he begged me to believe he did.

He never loved me.

He just did whatever the fuck he wanted, to feel good. He never considered how devastated I would be. He never cared.

Remember. They aren’t sorry, when you don’t know.

Fuck cheaters and the whores they ride in on.

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I’ve had a really lovely long weekend.

But I was struggling a bit yesterday, especially. 

It comes seemingly from nowhere, but when you analyse it, there are usually patterns.

A whole weekend with BG’s ex and her son staying obviously played on my insecurities and triggered me subconsciously a lot more than I thought.

She’s really nice, but bloody hard to shut up, lol! I got all the details of her latest Tinder chat, etc. And realise, yet again, how lucky I am.

One and done.

I have ended up with the only guy I talked to from my half day curiously seeing what the hell this online dating lark was all about!

That just doesn’t happen.

Colleen’s been doing this for years. BG did it for years. Always off and on. For both.

So, last night, when we went to bed, we got chatting. He was angsting about his lower libido. “This is a problem for me. There’s something wrong with me, because this happens every time I’m in a relationship, and you deserve so much better, you’re a really sexy woman, and you must be so disappointed, not having me being affectionate.”

I replied, “you are incredibly affectionate. Always touching me, checking I’m alright, etc. The bit of mismatch as far as sexual desire is concerned is so not a problem. The whole package of you is enough. I’m happy, don’t stress!”

Later, I got brave, after he asked – yet again – if I’m really okay, and smiled and nodded at him. “I’m really okay.” He looked doubtful. Braver, I then said, “I am okay, but I do have two questions, but worry that you’ll feel upset if I ask them.”

“Ask away, babe. You need to talk to me, not hide your questions.”

I hesitated. But eventually began, “is this what you are scared of? Is this what you think happened with Chrissy? That there wasn’t enough sex, so she looked elsewhere? Is that your fear with me? I’m not her. I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

He was so good. He agreed that maybe his past makes him worry. But then held me and said, “what I had with her was so shallow. I never knew that until I met you. You’re so much kinder, deeper, far more generous and open minded. I thought she was my soulmate, but we never talked about this stuff, like you and I do. Like you trust me with your fears. That is such an honour, and yeah, quite a responsibility, too. One I’m happy to have though. I often think how brave you are, doing this with me. A lifetime bachelor, with zero idea how to be with someone for a long time. I mean, thirty years, I don’t know what that is like. I’ve never had anything like that!”

Then, the other question.

“So, this one’s curlier. How long ago did you last hook up with Colleen?”

He looked at me, sadly. “I couldn’t say really. Definitely not since you. Maybe three years ago? Definitely a few times in between other short stints with other women I was briefly seeing. I never overlapped if I was seeing someone regularly. And I would NEVER do that if she was seeing someone. There’s nothing there for us like that. That’s not our jam. We are exes, but friends first. We want good things for each other. Not to screw up the chance of a good relationship with someone. The occasional sex was just a release. We both knew it. It was agreed.”

“So, in between when we first met, and you were seeing other people sometimes, and then we reconnected, right?”

“Yeah. We would have.”

And I replied, “I get that, and I SEE that. Two single people who like each other, who trust each other, having sex sometimes. It makes sense to me. But I also question myself, am I just a total dumbarse, repeating what I did before? ‘They’re just friends.’ Can’t begin to tell you how I truly believed that about Rog and Leanne. I’d sit nicely around a dining table, sharing a meal, with the woman who was fucking my partner, my darling, and that man I loved so much, who was lying to me every single day for at least a year and a half. Then. He did it again, a few years later. ‘I love only you, don’t wanna be with anyone else.’ And sadly, you say those same words to me. Am I just incredibly stupid? A slow learner? I believe you.

But I also fully believed him.”

He held me close. “I’m so sorry he did that. I can only tell you, show you, that I don’t want anyone else. Or is there something I’m not doing? Something I’m missing, to help you with the fears he instilled in you? Should we not have Colleen here? That’s okay. Your safety and security come first.”

I just snuggled in. And quietly said, “I don’t think so. The thing is, I just trust. It’s who I am. And if you are playing me, it will surface. And I will end it, and get on with my life. I don’t feel uneasy around Colleen. I kind of realise, with hindsight, I did with Leanne.

But I didn’t identify that until later. So I worry I might miss red flags again. Because I’m a special kind of stupid.”

Today, at work, has been long. But he’s been good. His V Day present arrived early, and he was touched. Sending me this. “Not sure why I deserve such kindness.”

I dunno. Am I repeating patterns? Am I just a sucker for these guys who keep their exes on the bench, waiting for the moment when I’m not enough. Not good enough?

I hope not. But there are no guarantees. This is the damage done. And it resurfaces regularly. The fear. When will it happen again?


This. The first time in years I had to stop myself from contacting Rog. Ugh. You see, a man – about 60ish – we know (and don’t like much) who has a large family, of about seven kids, who divorced his lovely, long suffering wife a few years ago after decades of marriage (think he was probably cheating – he was with a new, much younger woman almost immediately) well. I found out at work (he’s a client of mine) that his new (total trailer trash) wife was having a C-section today.

Yep, that prick knocked another woman up.

And once upon a time, I would have shared that with my Norm. The one I didn’t for a minute think was capable of cheating on me. The one I was deeply bonded with.

But my person no longer exists. So I can’t reach out to share basic gossip with him.

It knocked me. That my very strong reaction was to reach out and share with him. After so long.

Thank fuck Trinket is beyond childbearing. That would just about kill me.

My heart hurts.


“I’m not a homewrecker”



The denial is strong with these homewrecking whores.

One comment about this God awful bullshit they tell themselves that I read nailed it…”The “I’m not hurting anyone, I’m secretly strengthening other relationships so that they last longer. I’m your secret Santa!” narrative. A good reminder that these people also gift us with STI’s. Get tested for Christmas.”


Trinket is innocent, see?


As my mother liked to say, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…