And so it begins…
BLOG POST 1 - 18th September 2025
I’ll be honest, this is my third draft of this first blog post. The first one was overwritten - any writers out there know that you always overwrite the first - and my second was just all wrong. It sounded bitter, threatening, vengeful. I’m none of those things. Actually, that’s not true, those things are my low frequency, knee-jerk reactions to fear. I know I’m scared. I accept that. I’ve learned how to surrender to a lot of negative stuff over the years. I spent decades running on fear, it was my fuel for too long. These days I like to recognise the fear (because it keeps trying) and let it flow right along. I try not to feed it. I also find that denying it or trying to pretend it’s not there makes it bloom like black mold. That second draft was written by the scared Jackie and, while I’m prepared to tend to her and keep her healing, she’s not getting anywhere near my writing.
So this is blog post 1 (but actually 3) and I’m writing it with a heart full of joy, no knots in my stomach, nothing heavy squatting in my chest. Today is glorious. Everything in my world is lovely today. I’m at peace. Many of you, those who, like me, recently escaped your living hell, you understand how alien that new feeling is. It’s so unfamiliar to you that you have to remind yourself that it’s a good feeling. It takes months and months, maybe years (I’m at the two year mark now) before you start to learn what happiness and peace were and train yourself not to get nervous when you feel them. Why get nervous about something good? Well, I found the most damaging thing of all to me, the thing that posed the greatest danger to my mental health was hope. I hated hope. I denied myself hope. Too many times was I broken and disappointed. Hope just gave me further to fall. It was safer to assume the worst. My kids and I made it an integral part of our daily lives, especially holidays or special occasions to get into the “expect the worst and anything more is a bonus” mindset. How tragic is that?
Today I bought myself flowers. There are certain things that have been the light in the darkness for me. Flowers is one, my beautiful children (of course), writing and films (a handful of dependables that I’d watch over and over and over). So here I am in the house that my children and I, along with my not-quite-one-yet granddaughter, found to kickstart our new life. It’s a lovely house and we feel safe here. There’s no shouting, we’re not walking on eggshells, we’re not interrogated or lectured…. I could go on. We are free. Free to just be. What a gift that is. If my old self could see me now, maybe she’d let herself have hope.
And so, yes, I still have fear, it pops up too often but with less gusto than before. Two years ago I was constantly terrified, checking the street, heart thudding at the sight of a red vehicle (there are way too many on the road IMHO), text messages, emails, carparks, the dark, sleep, all of it terrifying. But now there’s more of the good stuff. I suppose my nervous system is starting to reset. I’m feeling joy again. I’m excited for no reason sometimes. I love people, I love talking to people, I love the freedom of not having to watch what I say or to whom I say it; I can go to bed whenever I like; I can get out of bed whenever I like - getting up in the night was a no-no back then -; I can nap (another no-no); I can order something online without the fear of repercussions; I can go for a walk or pop out, have a coffee. I don’t need permission and I don’t owe anyone an explanation. Sometimes these simple things, my ability to do them now, leave me shaking.
I feel relieved every day that my body is my own again. Nobody will ever touch me now unless I allow them to do so (not anytime soon). I can wear what I want, I can buy clothes for myself and my body is no longer being continually analysed and commented on, objectified or used. That is such a relief. My skin doesn’t crawl anymore. I don’t dread nights, I don’t have to be continuously prepared, wary. It’s only now that I truly comprehend the impact that side of things has had on me, the damage it has done. How much control had been taken from me, my autonomy, my rights, my privacy, my space, my safety. I don’t know if I’ll heal fully, if I’ll ever be able to trust again or whether I’ll ever be capable of intimacy. From where I stand now, that’s okay, it’s safer here. But it’s not right, it’s not healed. My journey is ongoing. Who knows what I’ll uncover, how I’ll grow. I’m a newbie at this stuff, I’m 50 and yet, I’m utterly new at this stuff. Is that exciting or terrifying? Actually, those two states are disturbingly similar.
