Why I Started Again With a Pen Name
The google search that scared the crap out of me
In early September I started writing on Medium under my real name. I finally felt it was the right time to share my story in the hope that someone else would find help and hope in the words that came out of the late night, tear inspired ramblings from my keyboard.
I published 4 stories. I shared an introduction to my amazing, yet severely disabled adult child in For the Love of Jack. I gave a brief summary of my life with a know it all narcissistic husband (from whose physical clutches I finally escaped 4 years ago) in Why I Call Him Mr Right.
I explained the agony of realizing that whilst I was divorced from this man and now married to someone else I was not free. I shared the very recent agony of finally cutting contact with Mr Right and the devastating consequences of that decision in The Final Text.
And in my own, slightly awkward way I said hello from me in I’ve Finally Grown Up.
And I was feeling OK.
I felt safe. I was getting a bit of a response. That was OK too. I’m not in this for money. I have a day job for that.
I’m here because for more than 20 years I thought I was the only one living in the confused desperate place that is emotional abuse. The only one who was the lead actor in my own facade. The only one constantly managing the behavior of her abuser by modifying her own behavior. The only one with the hopeless double whammy of a narcissist husband and a severely disabled child.
The only one who believed that only death would bring relief.
The only one that had lied to those who love her for so long, who assured everyone who cared that all was fine and dandy. The only one who had left her last threads of authenticity at the last family Christmas. The one we had to leave suddenly because of some imaginary crisis. The truth is my sister had challenged my then husband and I needed to get us all out of there before he combusted.
I’m here because I now know that I’m not the only one.
Then in a panic I quickly copied all my stories and deleted my account.
Why? I had googled my name and they had linked straight here. Duh!
And for reasons explained in my other stories, this man has my son. And he’s not the kind of man you want to enrage.
I’m free physically. But not emotionally. But I’m working on it.
So I’m starting again, and I feel safe this time.
Matilda is the name that my son would have been if he had been a girl. Fairholm is my now husband’s middle name.
But I’m a real person, with real fears. With a real story to tell.
Nice to meet you.
