Page 29

Willow

In the two weeks I’d been staying with Jack, his home had quickly become my home too. Anytime the thought entered my mind I was quick to remind myself it was a temporary arrangement, no matter how safe and comfortable I felt.

Our weekends were filled with dog walks and lazy days, while weekdays consisted of Jack working in his office or kitchen, and me finding ways to keep myself busy while desperately wanting to focus on work.

Victim Support told me to find happiness in the little things. I was supposed to spend my hours meditating to find inner peace, read in cosy corners of my home or coffee shops or workout in the gym for hours each day. But what I was supposed to do didn’t resonate.

I wanted to throw myself into the same thing I always had whenever things got tough – work.

I had to put all the time and effort available into healing, and that didn’t include stuffing my head into my laptop and managing Jack’s appointments or arranging the next charity event.

I craved the focus, seeking an adrenaline or a high when I needed to avoid the chronic lows of normalcy.

But my normal had changed.

My entire life had changed over the course of forty-eight hours until it was no longer recognisable. Colours were brighter, sounds more distinct and where I was previously desperate for the days and months to pass, I now wanted to make every second count.

I had to find new coping mechanisms, new pleasures and a new perspective after seven years of focusing on someone else’s happiness and being told who I was.

I didn’t fancy therapy. That’s not to say it wouldn’t be beneficial, but I had a craving for something more.

I’d stuck my head into healing books, which barely touched the sides.

Some suggested the end of any relationship could equate to the feeling of grief, insisting grief didn’t just mean death, but applies to any loss.

In my case, for years I’d been grieving a relationship I hoped for, expected even.

Cain had led me down the garden path with promises of a full life, a field full of wildflowers of joy and happiness, but left his false promises as a pile of mulch of weeds, rotten roots and wilted flowers.

I was introduced to the stages of grief, some of which didn’t feel applicable, or at least not yet.

I could admit I’d been in denial for the past seven years, but the true extent of my denial was only just hitting me.

But I hadn’t always been a victim of domestic abuse.

I’d just simply been. I found a way to exist and enjoy the little things, things that Cain couldn’t get to no matter how hard he tried.

I had a feeling I was hovering before a mountainous depression, pretending it wasn’t there and wouldn’t affect me. In truth, I was terrified, scared for it to hit.

How long would it last?

How bad would it feel?

Who would catch me when I hit rock bottom?

I knew the answer to that. I was lucky to have a few friends who had dropped everything for me.

It was rare, but they were there after I’d pushed them as far as I possibly could.

But I didn’t want to burden them with the worst moments of my life, no matter how open they said they were.

There had been things Cain had inflicted on me that had wounded me far deeper than the surface scars and I didn’t want to put that on anyone.

It was too much for me, never mind them.

Fighting for the lead position with the impending depression was the anger, bubbling below the surface like an impending eruption. It was simmering so close to the surface that if I focused hard enough, I was sure I could see a twitching under my skin.

Ultimately, I had to find an outlet for it before it was too much I and pushed everyone I was already leaning on so far away they may never come back.

The perfect moment fell into my lap whilst walking the dogs with Jack around the streets. Jack stopped to pick up Dickens’ poo and I slowly carried on, until I came across a community board with adverts for social and support groups. One stood out in particular.

In Your Defence:

Self Defence Classes For All

Mack Flint

For the first time in a long time, I felt something resembling hope. I snapped a picture of the advert for later.

I had no experience with exercise at all.

My body was slender to placate Cain . The opportunity to gain muscle and strengthen for myself, not just emotionally but physically, too, roused confidence I wasn’t used to.

I’d spent years relying on Cain to make decisions for me.

Now I was relying on Jack to house and protect me.

And while I was exceptionally grateful for the escape, I couldn’t rely on everyone else to create a fix.

The poster for self-defence classes provided was an opportunity to place my health in my own hands, to put building blocks in place for my self-confidence that future me would be proud of.

I owed it to past Willow to make something from the ashes of the fire she’d been saved from, a life she’d only dared to hope for in the deepest, darkest dreams.

Once we’d returned home, I snuck to my bedroom.

Quietly shutting the door, I leaned my back against it.

I caught movement in my periphery, turning to find someone I vaguely recognised staring back.

Stepping up to the mirror, I focused on the details.

Until now, everyone had offered a pity head tilt or told me how shit I looked, as if I didn’t know.

I hadn’t needed to look in the mirror to confirm my appearance was tragic.

I delicately traced the fingertips of my un-bandaged hand over the faint-yellow skin under my eye.

The swelling had gone down significantly but wasn’t quite back to normal.

Faint red rimmed the whites of my eyes, where it was bold red weeks ago.

The lancing pain in my ribs had lessened in the past few weeks, now a dull ache.

But every swell under my skin and burst blood vessel was a physical reminder of the emotional torture I’d endured from Cain. I wanted to leave the nightmare I’d been living, and the best way to achieve that was to do it myself.

Without a second thought, I dialled the number, holding my breath as the line rang, until finally a male Geordie accent filled the phone speakers.

“Mack Flint speaking.” My mouth dried up and I suddenly forgot how to speak. “Hello?” he called out into the silence, and I forced myself to talk.

“Hi, sorry. I saw your advert. For self-defence classes. I’m interested,” I stuttered out, before silently admonishing myself in the mirror for talking like I’d never used a phone before.

“And what’s your name?”

“Sorry, Willow. Willow Thornton.”

“Cheers, Willow. I do group or individual sessions. Obviously, they vary in price, but it’s really up to what you want to achieve and will work best for you.”

“Uh, I really don’t know. I just— ” I was at a loss of words to explain what I needed. “ I just need to find a way through this . ”

“Still in the trenches, huh?”

I breathed out a humourless laugh. “You could say that. Everything is still very fresh and… I just don’t want it to define me any more. I’m leaning on people, good people. But I want to find a version of me I can be proud of. I saw your poster and that felt like a good next step.”

“That’s great. Let me just check the calendar, two secs.”

I clung to the phone while I waited, aware of the layer of sweat building. I moved to perch on the edge of the bed, nervously bouncing on the soft mattress.

“I’ve had a cancellation this Friday for a solo session.

I offer the taster session free of charge, so you can decide if it’s for you.

I won’t press you for your story, that’s for you to share if you want to, but healing isn’t linear.

We can work on physical strength, technique, and confidence together and take whatever comes. ”

“Uh yeah, that sounds great. Thank you.”

“I’ll send you the location via text.”

Hanging up, I turned to look in the mirror. My shoulders slumped with relief. I’d made the first step to healing and I was doing it my fucking self.