Should I Stop Protecting My Abuser With My Pseudonym?

What happens if I break free and stop caring who finds out?

I’m currently finding myself at a crossroads as a writer, one that mirrors an ongoing personal conflict as well:

Should I reveal my ‘true self’ to the world?

This question has been sitting with me for a while and I know that the day will come when I’m outed as Ena Dahl; where the connection between her and me is out in the open.

A part of me looks forward to the freedom it will give me: The liberty to not give a damn!

Another part is shaking in her pants.

It might be time.

Now, sooner than I had imagined, I need to make a decision.

Paradoxically, it’s my best friend who’s put me in this bind: Morgan has known me for almost twelve years and has cheered for my writing since the beginning. A fashion designer, she’s owns a brand focused on featuring real-life muses and has an ongoing interview series with the women who inspire her: “Real women living extraordinary lives while pursuing their passions.”

And, now she wants to feature me!

I’m flattered and honored—and I’m definitely doing it. But, I’m conflicted because this brings forth the question:

Should I be interviewed as Ena, or as the real me?

Apart from some social media content and web copy, this so-called real me, let’s call her Ane, doesn’t have a writing portfolio to speak of. While she might have a few interesting things going on, she’s got nothing on Ena.

Ena is all of Ane—and more.

She’s the mother, artist, and designer. She’s also the fearless writer who shares shamelessly about her past experiences with abuse and recovery through the reclaiming of her sexual sovereignty.

Protected by a pseudonym, Ena dares to be all that Ane is. And it’s Ena that Morgan wants to feature. She’s “the real woman pursuing her passion”.

She is me.

The problem is that she’s more me than the me that I show to most people.

Ena is ‘cool’ with being a mother who’s also a sexual being. She’s even quite proud of it; of daring to be herself, without holding back because society expects her to. She sees the discord, yet she doesn’t mind writing about mental health, parenting, or sex under the same name—or in the same article.

Ena thrives in a bit of a cacophony.

Seeing sex as a potentially sacred act believes a woman’s avowal of her natural wildness is a powerful tool for healing, rather than in opposition.

Growing up, I learned to judge people like her and therefore judged myself. I’ve been afraid to show people Ena. All the while, I’ve longed to be her—to be me.

In that sense, it’s Ane who’s the mask and not the other way around. She’s my ‘normal’, outward persona—which is no less me and simply the facade. Don’t we all carry one to a degree?

I’ve always worked diligently to present myself as a neat, easily digestible package, but the further I get on this journey, the less I care what others think. Progressively shedding layers, the veil is ever-thinning: There’s little left of the Ane-mask—or rather, I’ve come to accept myself as a cohesive whole.

What’s stopping me?

With time I’ve accepted that we can’t possibly control everyone’s image of us, even if we try. Beyond that, life’s too short to coddle the comfort levels of others, especially at the cost of our own.

Some just aren’t going to like us, and that’s ok!

The majority bother less with the ‘fine print’ than we often fool ourselves to think—and they have way too much going on in their lives to obsess over the minute details of ours.

Those who matter most, my dearest friends, and my closest family, know it all and support me unswervingly. Lastly, as a self-employed creative, I have little to worry about career-wise either.

Evidently, I have nothing to hide. So, why am I still hiding?

I still fear my abusive ex, and I’ve had it.

Discussing the interview with Morgan, I realized that the only person I’m really hiding from is my narcissist-ex.

Whenever I omit my face from pictures or screen who gets to follow her anywhere, it’s ultimately him that I’m protecting myself against.

I dread the day when he finds me and gets to see all that I’ve written. And while the sex-content makes me irk, it’s the thought of him reading about himself—about us—that makes my stomach turn.

It took almost two years from our separation until I dared to publish anything at all. Traumatized by his silencing during our breakup—the way he blanketed our fellow friends and acquaintances with the sentence “don’t believe a word she says” as a preemptive strike—I was sealed shut with angst.

What can he do about it?

From the other side of the planet he can neither harm me physically nor does he have legal leverage.

He could withhold the insignificant financial support that he infrequently bequests onto my account. I could handle that.

He can flip out and get angry. He can call me a liar. He can threaten and try to silence me. It would sure be uncomfortable, but I’ve been there, done that!

Putting myself in the shoes of the narcissist whose main concern is their outward image, any threat would likely be smoke and mirrors. A public smear campaign would reveal too much about him—to all of his friends, colleagues—and to his new girlfriend.

“Well, I hope we find a way around this”, Morgan wrote to me last week, “because, as far as I’m concerned your work should be spread far and wide!!!”

Frankly, I agree. I work my ass off and I’m proud of what I do, and therefore, I think it’s time to stop giving a damn!

I believe the time is ripe to dive in and take what may come; bring hell or high water.

I tiptoed for a decade. I refuse to remain a slave to the narcissist’s fragile ego for years to come.

I bit my tongue countless times to avoid his rage. I can’t silence myself for the sake of his comfort anymore.

I’ve walked on eggshells for far too long. My sore soles long to frolic over soft meadows.

I see now that by hiding from the world, I’m only protecting him. By holding myself back allows him the freedom to move on unobstructed. Intimidating me into avoiding publicity and his potential outrage is the last ounce of power he has over me.

So, I’ve decided to take that power away from him!

What now?

I’ll still write as Ena and I won’t be walking around with a sign on my head. Ane will remain my face outward that I’ll wear when appropriate, and I’ll continue to responsibly shelter my private life.

But—I will stop caring about who knows and who finds me out, regardless of whether the information may lead to him.

I will give this interview, proudly, as Ena Dahl; a real woman living an extraordinary (yet regular) life while pursuing her passions. My portraits will be in it and I’ll allow the link to be shared online with the likelihood that it will lead to my ex.

Apart from the vulnerability hangovers and some slight discomfort, I believe the potential consequences of coming out to be diminutive.

Pseudonyms can be useful tools that allow us to express ourselves more freely. Sometimes they’re necessities to protect our close ones or our professional lives.

Other times, instead of acting as protective shields, our pen names can become obstacles that stand in the way of accepting gainful opportunities and thus prevent us from walking the path we’re meant to follow.

Hiding behind a made-up identity should be something we do because we choose to (or have to). Not something we do for the sake of coddling someone else’s comfort zones, whether it’s our conservative uncle or homophobic neighbor or an angry ex. As long as being out in the open doesn’t place us in danger, the prejudice of others shouldn’t have to be our cross to bear.

Discomfort is a natural part of growth, and while we often fear it, the fear itself is often more painful than what we’re ultimately scared of.

As Susan Jeffers writes in her book, Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway, “the only way to get rid of the fear of doing something is to go out and do it”, —and exactly that’s what I’ll do:

By conquering my fears, I will break the last of the shackles tying me to my abuser.

Wish me luck!