Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum



BG’s sisters are cute. His eldest one started a new job today.

At 65 she was made redundant in the job she’d had for well over a decade. But has found a sole charge role to replace it, earning good money.

I messaged her this morning to wish her luck. We’re not close, don’t message etc, but we like each other, and she was really touched, a bit nervous on her first morning there.

BG just messaged me to say she let him know she was blown away that I messaged her. And that his middle sister has fallen instantly in love with me, after only meeting me once, due to the borders being closed due to Covid. And that she’s normally a very tough nut to crack, having never really approved of any of his previous partners. Lol. Go me! 😂

Some news today on a building delay for the clinic. Surprise, surprise! Meeting Friday to talk about opening a pop-up clinic to tide me over.


Will report back, team!

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We finally got to celebrate BG’s mum’s birthday.

Unfortunately, she got Covid last week. Her 88th birthday was on Tuesday.

Thankfully no real illness, just a runny nose…

So, everyone postponed.

His Sydney sister is here. So, they rebooked accommodation, and the girls picked up Mum, his 90 and 85 year old year old aunts, for two nights in BG’s town. A big undertaking! The women settled in at their accommodation.

We had a big night at the club.

Rugby test.

I was 22 days sober, but decided to have two glasses of red wine. BG got fairly well oiled! His mates were in for the night. Fun night.

So, I was amazed how good he was this morning. We went around to have breakfast with the girls. My first meeting with his middle sister, as with Covid border closures, she hasn’t been home for three years.

We went to the club for a celebratory lunch.

I had been (very late!) put in charge of cake. I found a lovely girl in my town, who made me one in 36 hours!

And, driving over on Saturday, being diverted nearly an hour around a motor accident, I arrived half frozen. Cake in the passenger seat footwell, with the air conditioning blasting on icy! Don’t want to have icing melt or roses fade, in a warm car!

His club’s chefs presented it in such a pretty way! Perfectly girly, but slightly rustic.

This family have been so welcoming to me. I’m glad I could do a small thing to contribute to their day.

Lots of photos came out, names written on the back. Before the lovely older women can no longer remember who they all are. I loved that.

BG had carefully gone through the photos earlier, ensuring not too many of their cheating father… I love that about him. He gets the pain.

When we got home to his, he was tired, hungover. But bundled me into his arms, and breathed into my neck, “baby, thank you. Thank you for loving my family. Thank you for going out of your way with that beautiful cake. Thank you for engaging with my elderly aunts.

Thank you.

I will never understand why he ditched you. You are the fucking dream partner. You just get more amazing every day.”

It’s kinda lame. I would never toot my own horn in real life like this! But man, there is something super wonderful about how much he appreciates me.

Home. Fire. Electric blanket on…chilly night. I miss him already.



21 years without my bubbly Mum.

I was so lucky to have her.

And to lose her in adulthood, we became friend-like. I saw her as a woman.

A sexual being.

A loving person.

A gorgeous soul.

A load of fun.

And never have to deal with the challenges of aging.

RBF forever. Baby bro, who lives with me now, and the matriarch who made us enjoy life 💕


No contact

I recall the long journey that ultimately culminated in me going no contact with my alcoholic, narcissistic brother.

I had absorbed decades of abuse from him.

All in the name of family loyalty. To honour my dead mother.

Once I decided, for sure, to go no contact, it got better.

I didn’t have to endure being called names, being put down, being used as a bank. Trying to be supportive to try to help him. I just said, no more. I can be civil if we need to be in the same place. But nothing more.

Tough love. I guess.

He has since had moments of begging to be in my life, always followed by verbal abuse when I don’t respond. Or in the one case where I did, to try to explain it was best for both of us, some very nasty, really immature name calling, trying to shame me into further contact. He’s used family members, friends, his partner…all to try to engage me. Guilt me into contact.

I have stayed stoic this time. It’s been years now. He was around a bit last year, as we dealt with our father’s ill health. We were civil. Until he wasn’t. Micromanaging me (the lead carer for the father.)

I have him blocked everywhere now. Opened communication via phone/text for that period. It was closed again when he abused me for leaving Dad at home one night for a couple of hours, him much recovered, curled up by the fire, with soup, toast and plenty of Wifi and TV access.

I blocked him again.

No contact is the most peaceful way of dealing with toxic people.

I read Don’t Lose Hope’s insightful post about trauma responses.

And whilst I didn’t fit the fawn response entirely (because I did ALL of them, fight, flight and freeze included) I did include a lot of fawning. A lot of puck me dancing. A lot of, look how fkn marvellous I am, Pick Me!!! It’s pathetic. I felt pathetic.

Last week, I looked back over my communications with Rog, during that period we lived together, while he was eating my cooking, wearing the clothes I bought and laundered for him, having sex with me, all while he was eating cake by doing the same with Trinket.

I was sweating reading the messages. Totally embarrassing. I knew I was being desperate and pathetic. But I was fawning all over him, hoping he’d wake up and see me! Ugh. I feel dirty even recalling it.


So not who I imagined I was! But I was desperate. Desperate to wait this whore out. Desperate not to lose “my man” whom I really, truly still loved completely, and all we had worked so hard together to achieve.

Desperate not to have “failed.”

My stomach is literally churning now, gutted at my needy grossness. The words I read – I can-but-can’t remember being that sad, sad, pathetic person. Your love leaving you for fresh meat does terrible things to your self esteem. To your values. It deconstructed my picture of who I am.

I am often asked if we are friends now. Now that our lives are divided. I’m told regularly that we were the couple that appeared to be such great mates. As well as very into each other.

Sadly, no.

No, we are not friends.

Neither will we ever be.

I have had to learn the hard way, friends don’t treat you like he did me. I was just collateral damage to his wants, needs, desires. He had to fuck me over to get to the wonderful Trinket. I have zero worth to him.

So why would I accept that in any friendship?

I don’t anymore.

I don’t accept it from the Switzerland friends. My abusive brother. Nor Roger, the man I still love, but know he doesn’t value me in any way whatsoever.

I got pushed too far.

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I’ve just dropped my floof off for a long overdue groom.

And arrived in my hometown. Sitting at the car wash, waiting in line. I realised how tense I am. The stupid trauma still carried in my body.

I have to be here, to visit Roger’s (previously our) accountant to sign some documents. We still have a couple of small financial links, due to a joint investment that may pay out in the future. A restructure of that has been requested.

Thinking about my FIL, and how I’d like to be able to go have a cup of tea with him. He’s 91, 92 in July. He has cancer.

I was told by Roger that I am not allowed to visit him.


But, I also recall how my FIL was about me. How he just wrote me off, after thirty years of working alongside, and for this family. Of my thirty years of love and loyalty to them. Who does that?

And how my daughters feel about him. (Also my son, but he’s overseas and doesn’t have to deal with the dysfunction in person anymore.) The eldest refuses to visit him now. The misogyny, the rude comments. Basically called her fat the last time she tried to do the right thing and call on him, when she was staying with me. It wasn’t just that. That was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

The youngest was nursing her Nan (his wife) during that worst summer of my life.

The Summer of Fucking Trinket While Also Making Love to Me.

While she was dying. Dee did the Thursday care, as she had that day free from uni and her job. The kids loved Nan, a smart, sassy woman, we clicked. And she was really good to me. She was horrified at Roger’s cheating on me.


Really upset. After all, she told me that I was the best thing to ever happen to him, she was so pleased he “upgraded” (her words) her grandchildren by breeding with me.


When Nan sadly died, Roger was at Trinket’s.

Or somewhere in between hers and our home.

When he arrived home, to find his mother had died, he got really angry at me! Because I visited regularly during those last few months and weeks. Spent time holding her hand, reading her finger spelling of her love of and pride in me (just found out my Masters thesis was awarded First Class Honours) on my palm, stroking my hair and sequined dress, just two days earlier.

And he hadn’t seen her (living less than 30 minutes from us) for over a month. Apparently that was my fault? I mean, he was driving an eight hour round trip twice a week, to fuck Trinket. Of course it was my fault.

Anyway, the last weeks she was dying, she asked my youngest to package up and take two large, decorative glass vases I had gifted her a few years earlier. She wanted Dee to take them home to give to me. So she asked Grandad for a box, explaining what for.

A day or so later, she died. And when Dee arrived at their house, Roger’s sisters and aunts were there. They accused her of stealing, because Grandad said she stole two large vases from the house.


I mean, he’s not riddled with dementia or anything.

Or wasn’t then. I dunno.

Poor Dee was mortified!

Really? FFS. Like the very responsible 19 year old youngest grandchild, who’d been helping as a carer for her beloved grandmother, was going to steal from her!

She reminded me of this a few days ago. Of her Aunty L asking her at the funeral if she stole the vases!

I didn’t know that happened. The bit at the funeral. No wonder she has little time for her grandfather. The family shit got so fucked up!

So, instead, I sit having a chai latte, people watching, in my hometown now.

It’s so weird. I rarely come here, and it’s only half an hour from my current home.

Where I have been working my arse off, rebuilding my shattered life. Trying to patch up my broken heart 💔

Lots has changed, and yet so much still familiar. I admit, my new town is kinda posh, and this neighbouring town likes to see itself that way, too. But I see places that used to house businesses I frequented, closed. New, bogan vape shops, vacant buildings, etc.

I’m sitting beside where Roger’s best friend’s drunk wife screamed abuse at me when I was going through the absolute worst period of my life, but trying to hold my head up, be mighty. Where her friends literally tackled her, and dragged her out into the street, to stop her. Lawd, that was such an incredibly awful night.

That said, I feel a connection with this place.

But it’s now feeling like going home to the place I was abused, and escaped from.

Always the geographer. Always about how place and space cause and inform affect and emotion.

And I ache for my babies. That they grew up with a man who was obviously pretty damaged. And I admire them all for forming and enforcing boundaries that keep them safe.



This says such a lot. I read it, my throat closed up, my chest tightened, and I fought tears.

Thirty and even forty year friendships, ones I felt very deeply about, were ended with Roger’s cheating on me.

And of course, him. And his family. My people. They were gone. And I loved them. It’s beyond heartbreak. It’s death.

He just cut me out, threw me away, and pasted a stranger into my place.

It will never not hurt. I will never understand it. How you can work, sacrifice everything you are for someone you love very deeply, and they throw you away, to put someone they’ve known three weeks into your spot.

Total mindfuck.


Another Christmas

I come from a family that had a large extended family Christmas. I have 15 first cousins on my father’s side. My Mum was not from here, so we only ever had one Christmas with my Australian whānau.

When my father was outted as a cheater, we were ostracised from that family. And Christmas became Mum and my two brothers for a couple of years.

When I moved in with Rog, Christmas became about a large extended whānau again. Yay!

His parents were the second generation on a family farm, and all the aunts and their families gathered there. Every year.

I loved it. My mum and her husband usually joined in, too.

Rog hated Christmas. Grinch-like, “Christmas should be the one day of the year you don’t have to see your family.”


I would plan. Shopping, cooking, clothes…what fun!

Since he left, I have no one. The first Christmas, I went to my brother and sister-in-law’s in the South Island. My kids all decided they wanted to join me. For the next two after, they were with me. Last year they went to Roger and fuck face’s. I lost my kids on Christmas Day to those cheating arseholes.

Apparently, according to my youngest, they all left early.

This year, my son lives overseas, and my eldest has Christmas with her inlaws. Just my youngest will be here. So it will be, my father, my brother, his two kids, BG, and my old flatmate, who has moved back in with me for a month or so before heading overseas.

Before Delta hit, and the NZ-Australia travel bubble burst, the girls and I decided we were flying to Brisbane, to spend Christmas with their brother.

We’ve decided it is a present-free Christmas. A day at the lake, on my jetski, with a picnic lunch.

I’m okay.

But really sad about my fractured family.

Thanks cheaters. You’re the best.


Not at Roger’s place?

I have to move some furniture out of my Wellington apartment. New tenant does not want the brand new couch and dining table.

My eldest offered to do it.

She lives nearby. Her and her partner have a two bedroom semi-detached unit at the beach, near the city.

Then I asked what she would do with it?

She has no room at their place. And offered to “store” it at the place she lives at during the uni term.

A house her father bought.

Then she said, “oh. Hang on. You probably don’t want stuff at Roger’s house.”

That surprised me a bit. She gets it. I was thinking of it as her place really. But it is his house. And yeah, I guess my furniture in his house. That is pretty fucked up.

But maybe he said, “fuck off, that bitch can’t put her furniture in my place.” Who knows?

A mutual friend of Roger’s and mine recently gave me an update on my elderly ex FIL. He is 90s. Has cancer. It breaks my heart. Even though he is elderly now and ready to leave this earth. I thanked her, and said, “I’ve been told I am not allowed to talk to him.” My FIL of 30 years.

Her response was “FFS! Really? I’ll keep you informed. That is pretty disgusting of them.”


I’m the one who got ostracised. When Roger was the serial cheater, and I was nothing but loyal.

It sucks.



It is hard dealing with the fact that the whore who happily fucked your partner of thirty years, is around your children. Touching. Hugging? Laughing. Ugh.

I have to constantly work at “not thinking about it.” To save myself the heartache.

I remember seeing other people who had affairs, in the affair relationships, for years, and thinking, “how the hell is that fair?”

I know the stats say most don’t last. They really are not that happy. It just looks that way from the outside.

In a support group recently posted;

I’m reading Not Just Friends by Dr. Glass. In light of some recent posts re: the ex’s apparent happiness with their AP, she shares her research’s finding that, “Seventy five percent of all unfaithful individuals who marry the affair partner end up divorced.”

I hate that our eldest daughter currently lives with them. In that house, with that whore. But I suck it up, because it means she has free board while she studies, which is truly magnificent.

But, lying in bed, I struggle with mind movies of her waking up to that bitch in the kitchen. Being fondled by her father, in front of my daughter.


And my younger brother talked to me yesterday about how hard I found it/find it being no contact with our narcissistic middle brother.

Not gonna lie. It’s hard. I didn’t want to cut off a family member. But my mental health is far better for it. It’s been years now. Pretty sad, but no regrets. Younger brother gets berated constantly by Mr Perfect, and is considering no contact, too. He asked about my no contact with Rog. I said it was the hardest thing I have EVER done. I recently looked back at messages from the start of being dumped by him for his new wife appliance, and squirmed. Yuck. I still love that guy he looked like before all of this. I guess I thought he wasn’t dead? But he is. My love. He doesn’t exist anymore. If ever? It’s pretty humiliating. No contact, when that person I loved so very deeply still walks the earth. It is utter agony.

But completely necessary.

I NEVER saw myself as this person. I had never ended any relationship, with anyone. Even people who treated me poorly, I forgave, and protected myself with less open contact. To cut people off wasn’t a thing. Small communities, you have to live in them, with the occasional interesting dynamic. You suck it up. You smooth the rough edges of difficult relationships. You compromise. (Yourself???)

I know those people now label me. As crazy. Bitter. Difficult.

I was in fact (still am!) faithful, loyal, kind, loving.

But because I got fucked over, I deserved it? I dunno. It’s all incredibly difficult. Utterly heartbreaking. Every day. But you do it. You keep going. You rebuild, protecting your hard won healing.

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Birthdays be like…

BG’s big sis turned 65 today.

As she said, WTF? Can collect the pension. How did that happen?

She was the big sister who somewhat “disappointed” their parents, having a baby at 18.

She married him, had two more kids. Years later, they divorced. Remained friends until he died. It’s a bit odd, having a niece who is 47!

We are both in lockdown regions. And I sent her a posh gift basket. She was quite touched. Sent photos, and said, “wow! This is amazing, so spoiled, thank you!” And later, “ahhh, finally. A sister-in-law worth her weight in gold. I’ve waited 65 years.” 🤣

I’m really lucky.

I’ve found new people. A tribe of people I genuinely choose.

And I had my next interview with the franchisors. The head of sales (she laughed at her much fancier title) and some other lovely dude (forget his title, oh God, I’m doomed!)

And, it felt like it went well. I don’t usually feel that way after interviews.

My brother arrived back. And we’ve had a lovely night. He told me that his ex-wife called me The Boss Lady. Because I am Boss, apparently. And apparently being Boss is a good thing.

I am immensely amused!