The Husband Everyone Else Saw
The Broken Mask
To everyone else, he was the full picture of virtue - generous, confident, kind, loyal, funny, dependable. The kind of man who remembered names, played with the kids, smiled for cameras and always said the right thing at the right time.
What they didn’t see was the mask - carefully crafted, polished and perfectly fitted. He wore it so well that even she forgot, at times, that it wasn’t his real face.
A loving husband.
A proud parent.
A dutiful son.
A respectful brother.
At least, that’s how it looked, but only when it was convenient - when there was an audience, when the lighting was good, when the picture and copy were post worthy.
If you wanted to know the truth about him, you’d have to ask the one who lived behind the curtain - the partner.
She would tell you that he loved her, but not in the way love should feel. He loved her because she made him feel important. He loved her sacrifices, not because they moved him, but because they gave him control. He loved her emotional labour - the quiet fixing, the smoothing over - because it fed his ego.
He was a master illusionist. A narcissist with a magician’s touch. He knew how to throw fog over everything - thick enough that she could no longer see what was real. Her instincts would whisper that something was wrong, but the fog would tell her she was imagining things.
When she tried to speak, he made sure her words tangled. He’d twist her sentences, demand evidence of when and where something was said, making her second-guess her own memory, then watch her stumble over her words with quiet satisfaction. He’d call her emotional, accuse her of overreacting, until she began to doubt her own voice, completely. Eventually, she learned silence. Silence, after all, was easier to survive.
Years passed in that fog. She carried the weight of keeping peace - of explaining his moods, covering for his arrogance, softening his harsh words, making excuses for his absence and his lack of interest in company that didn't elevate him. She became fluent in justification, always translating his indifference into something palatable for others. Love, somewhere along the way, became a job description.
But fogs don’t last forever. One day, something shifted.
She hadn’t gone searching for answers; she didn’t tug at loose threads. A stranger merely placed one in her hand - a comment, a truth spoken too casually - and told her to pull.
And when she did, everything unravelled.
The illusion fell apart with quiet devastation, thread by thread, until she stood in the middle of what used to be their life, surrounded by the bare bones of truth.
And the fog when it lifted was almost blinding. The clarity hurt at first - sharp and unrelenting - but its echo became a balm, a gentle reminder that truth, even when it wounds, can also heal.
It showed her that every instinct she’d suppressed, every whisper she’d ignored, they were right all along. She had never been crazy; she had never been weak. She had been trapped.
The magician’s power evaporated in the light of her awareness. He still tried to perform - the charm, the pity, the guilt - but none of it worked anymore. Her silence was no longer a shield. It was strength.
And when she finally spoke, her words were sharp, deliberate, unshakable. There was still bitterness - small, stubborn pieces that refused to fade. But they no longer controlled her. They simply reminded her of what she lived through.
The universe has its own rhythm for justice and she trusted it to do the sorting.
All she knew was this: there would never again be a seat for a narcissist at her table.
And as she turned away, she didn’t look back.
Behind her, the illusion cracked and for the first time, in a very long time, he stood there, broken and utterly maskless.
(I write stories about what I am going through, hoping someone else might find the words they have been unable to say aloud.)
0 comment posted: Saturday, May 16th, 2026
I Never Understood Why People Self-Destruct Until Betrayal
The trauma of betrayal can drive a person to places they never imagined they would go.
To sedatives, just to surrender to sleep.
To alcohol or drugs, just to numb the ache, even for a while.
To self-harm, to trade emotional pain for something visible, something the mind can momentarily understand.
To relentless exercise, constant movement, endless work, anything to keep the thoughts from catching up.
I never truly understood why people did these things until now.
Did any of it cross my mind? Yes.
But I did not give in. I understood those things were only band-aids. What I needed was to suture the wounds.
And so I turned inward.
I tried to understand the why beneath the pain. I journaled aggressively. I read, I learned, I searched for every possible way to quiet the mind, rewire the system and reprogramme the brain. I taught myself how to empty my head, delete and reject downloads. I sought counselling. I wanted to understand why I was feeling this so deeply when I knew, without question, that I did not want him back or anywhere near me. My body knew he longer belonged, but my mind was still living in the habit of us.
None of it has been easy. Six months in as I write this and I am still struggling, but every day, I am winning in some way. Some days the victory is clear, almost sweet in its certainty. Other days, it is harder to recognise. Some days, simply getting through the day without caving in is the win.
What I know now is that I understand more than I did before. I empathise more deeply. I see people, and pain, differently. I see myself differently.
I recognise now the extraordinary willpower it takes not to reach for help in a bottle, a pill or something sharp. The strength it takes to sit with the chaos rather than silence it.
And maybe, when I finally make it out, I can be there for others still trapped in this terrible gorge of confusion, anger, fear, loneliness and hurt.
Maybe I can reach back.
Maybe I can help pull them over too.
4 comments posted: Thursday, May 14th, 2026
Sharing My Voice For Someone Struggling to Find The Words
Rage
I know Rage
I’ve seen her peeping from around the corner
But like a well-honed lion trainer, I crack my whip
And she retreats, back into her unlocked cage.
I know Rage
I know she loves me
And every time she escapes, she charges out, circling me
When she comes, it is never to destroy me.
She burns away the grime
That has encrusted me
The pain, disappointment, hurt, anger
That has built up over decades.
She will never consume me
She only protects me
She will feed me
She gives me heat.
Rage gives me energy
She gives me light when mine is fading
And when she knows I can raise my head again and shine bright
She goes back into her cage and waits, until it’s time again.
I know Rage
She has reminded me
Of what I have given away too freely
My light, My energy.
So if you shine, it is not because your light is bright
It is because I let you shine by dimming mine
I gave you light to grow
To stand tall; to be seen; to be good and strong.
But when you abused my light to stroke your ego
To pretend to be a pure star
To bask in admiration
I took it back.
Rage gave me clarity
She reminded me
That you don’t deserve my energy anymore
You don’t get my light.
Rage yells into my soul
That what’s left of my light is for self-healing
For my children, to shine the way ahead for them so they may choose, knowing, seeing
For the work I have yet to do.
I know Rage
She has opened my eyes to the truth
More importantly
She has opened my heart to forgive myself.
For giving him my light, my energy
Believing he would protect and nurture it.
I forgive myself for standing back
Allowing him to claim accolades and recognition
For what I have grown
For what I have done.
I forgive myself for letting him gaslight me
For manipulating situations
That made me question myself
My values, my confidence, my worth.
I forgive myself for not fighting back
When he spoke down to me
In front of family and friends
Just to flex control.
I forgive myself
For not taking back my light and energy sooner
For spending decades patching the tower he needed
To appear taller, bigger, better.
Now I will smash that tower, together with Rage, and turn it to dust
I know he can never rebuild it
Because he no longer has my light ,my energy
The foundation and the glue that kept that tower standing.
It is my time to shine again.
So thank you Rage
No, I’m not cracking the whip
I can see you’re tired from protecting me
I can see you’re seeking my permission
To retreat into your cage.
So go.
Rest.
Renew.
I am good.
4 comments posted: Saturday, May 2nd, 2026
