This Is Where I Start Again

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything.

Actually, it’s been a while since I’ve really shown up at all.

And if this space is meant to be about being Unwifed & Unapologetic, then I owe it honesty because this isn’t just a return to writing. This is me coming back after losing myself.

I hit rock bottom.

Everything changed one night back in November. That was the night my ex attacked me in our home, not just my home, but the boys’ home. The family home. The place that was meant to feel safe, warm, and full of love.

Now it’s the place I fled from.

Even now, the few times I’ve had to take the boys back there, I see it. The fear. The way their bodies change. That house isn’t home anymore, it’s a reminder.

My middle child witnessed the attack. He saw things no child should ever have to see. And from that moment, everything shattered.

I took out an IVO, which has now been extended for another 12 months. I moved back in with my parents, a grown woman, a mother of three, sleeping in a spare room and trying to piece together what’s left of my life.

Writing this is hard because even now, saying the words out loud feels heavy:

I was in a domestic violence situation.

He was abusive!

Physically

Mentally

Financially

But for the longest time, I didn’t call it that.

I made excuses. I brushed things aside. The holes in the walls. The yelling. The way I would freeze when he was angry. I told myself he was just stressed, just hurting, just overwhelmed.

I told myself, “He would never actually hit me.”

But violence doesn’t always look the way we expect it to.

It was being shoved into walls.

Being pushed.

Having things thrown at me.

I was held there when I tried to leave.

Being blocked from leaving a room.

And somehow, even after all of that, I still found ways to justify it.

The hardest truth isn’t even what happened to me.

It’s what happened to my children.

Since leaving, I’ve had to face my own trauma while watching it play out in them. My boys now live in what I call the “three Fs”: fear, flight, and fight.

My oldest runs at the first sign of conflict.

My middle goes straight into fight mode.

My youngest has gone quiet, too quiet.

While I was trying to survive my marriage falling apart, I didn’t realise what was happening to them. I didn’t think he could hurt them, either.

But he did.

For around eight months, he had the kids, and the abuse that was once directed at me shifted to them. I never thought, not for a second, that he would hurt them.

But he did.

And that’s something I carry.

So here I am.

Beginning of May. A year on from our separation. Sleeping in my parents’ spare room. Feeling like I’ve lost parts of myself, my strength, my confidence, even my identity.

I feel like I’m at the bottom.

But maybe… this is where the rebuilding starts.

I’ve moved to a new city to be closer to support. I’ve organised therapy for the boys and for myself. I’ve found a job, even on the days when it feels overwhelming, messy, and exhausting.

And now comes the part I can’t avoid anymore:

Healing.

Not the pretty, aesthetic version you see online. Not the “glow-up” fantasy.

Real healing.

The kind where you sit with hard questions.The kind where you go back to the beginning.The kind where you rebuild yourself piece by piece.

I’m starting a 75-day challenge, not to look a certain way, but because I need structure. I need something to hold onto. I need to feel strong again. I need to feel like I have control over my life again.

Because right now, everything still feels fragile.

But I’m trying.

I’m trying for my boys.Because they deserve a strong, present, safe mother.And maybe… I deserve that version of me.

This blog will be part of that.

Not because I have it all figured out, I don’t.But because I want to be real.

This is going to be messy. Honest. Unfiltered.

This is me showing up in the middle of it, not at the end when everything is tied up neatly.

If you’re here reading this and you’ve ever sat in the middle of the mess, wondering how you’re supposed to start again, you’re not alone. I’m right there with you.

This is my story now.Not the version where I stay quiet.Not the version where I minimise what happened.

This is the part where I start reclaiming my life.

Messy. Tired. Still healing.

But rebuilding.

This is the beginning of my journey back to myself.

Unwifed and unapologetic.