They Tried to Break Me Again, But I Got Louder
Chapter 1: The Calls That Weren’t About Care
Almost daily, the door bell rang.
“Just a welfare check,” they said.
But I knew the truth, they weren’t checking in, they were checking on.
It was him. Or someone close to him. Trying to paint me as unstable. Trying to make me look like the problem after I finally chose peace. They couldn’t control me anymore, so they tried to control the story. Attempting to play mind games make me unstable or on edge
Chapter 2: The Circling Truth
The police started showing up and sometimes with a knock, sometimes just circling the house. Their presence was quiet but constant, like a question hanging in the air. And every time, I welcomed them in.
Not because I was afraid, but because I was finally done hiding. After years of manipulation, abuse, and silence, I had nothing left to shield, especially not him.
What followed his usual tactics: false reports, twisted truths, and quiet intimidation. But I held firm. This time, I had proof and peace.
Add to the point where somehow they knew when I would be at home and rock up suddenly, like they were watching me. on one occasion, I handed over a full box of ammunition I’d found stashed in my wardrobe. Illegally stored. Carelessly placed. Just like the guns he’d hidden before. Tucked behind walls, under beds, in places where our boys could have stumbled upon them. He had always been reckless with his weapons. His disregard wasn’t just emotional, it was criminal.
He never once considered the risk. Not to me. Not to our children. But I did.
That box wasn’t just evidence; it was the last thread of his control. Handing it over was my quiet declaration: “Not in this house. Not anymore.”
That moment marked a shift. I wasn’t just cooperating, I was protecting. I wasn’t just surviving; I was finally safe. He counted on my silence. But this time, I chose to speak.
The cycle ends with me. And I will not go back.
Chapter 3: Choosing Me Anyway
Then it escalated.
It wasn’t just him anymore. It was his shadows. His threats came in the form of drive-bys from known associates. Phones hanging out of car windows, filming my home. Strangers following me around and the gang stalking with cars idling for too long, their passengers covered in tattoos, staring through the glass as if daring me to flinch. I was watching them watch me.
It was surveillance masked as coincidence, intimidation disguised as curiosity. The kind of fear that seeps into your bones and makes you question every movement outside your window.
But still I didn’t hide.
I got up. Made school lunches, braided my children’s hair. Wiped down the counters and held space for laughter and I clung to our rhythm like it was holy because in many ways, it was.
I didn’t let their stalking become my silence.
They may have tried to scare me into stillness. To push me back into hiding. To make me feel watched, cornered, invaded.
But I kept choosing life.
Choosing presence.
Choosing my children.
And most of all, choosing me.
Because I am not a woman easily erased. I am not the fear they hoped would paralyze me.
I am the mother who stayed standing. The woman who kept showing up.
The soul that refused to surrender to shadows.
Even when it escalated.
Even when it felt like too much.
Even when I was exhausted.
I chose me anyway and I always will. They didn’t realise who they were coming up against, someone who had endured abuse her entire life, from nearly every person who claimed to love her.
They thought they could scare me, hurt me or play games with me?
But after everything I’ve faced, every test, every betrayal, every rebuild. They had no idea.
I wasn’t some scared little girl anymore.
I was just kind enough to stay silent.
Until now.
Chapter 4: The Lie That Cut Deep
Then came the final twist of the knife, A report to DCJ claiming I was an unsafe mother.
Me. The mother who:
Took her kids to school every single day
Picked them up without fail
Attended every school presentation, assembly, and meeting
Navigated the medical system for her neurodivergent son
Had no social life, no nights out, no support, because motherhood always came first
I was always there.
While he drifted in and out, swallowed by addiction and chaos, I stayed. I anchored our children’s lives. I showed up when no one else did, not even their father. Yet, somehow, I was the one being accused. The report was false. Cruel. Calculated. But I didn’t run. I faced the situation with full transparency, without fear of condemnation, because I believed in the power of truth to set me free. The fact my family was the one who made false reports without even seeking my truth or my voice, heard his lies and took his lead.