About us News, blogs and stories Personal stories The journey home I am not sure exactly what the catalyst was for finally seeking counselling from JWA. Maybe it was the endless sleepless nights and night terrors – relentless and exhausting. Maybe it was the constant swinging between a state of hypervigilance, paralysing and raw, and then the total numbness that would creep in and shut me down to the point that I could not even hold my own heat. Maybe it was the overwhelming feeling of despair that created a reluctance to carry on living a life so defined and governed by fear. Maybe it was all these factors, and the stark reality that they had become my everyday norm. I was becoming more and more detached from those around me and I felt like I was drowning. I think I had considered that my divorce would herald the beginning of a bright new future – a future of freedom and possibilities. It did not occur to me that once I was out of the battlefield and not living on my adrenaline and wits that slowly, slowly my world would begin to implode. My first appointment with a JWA counsellor made me realise just how bad things had become. I was paranoid that my ex-husband had followed me there and would then be able to use the fact that I was seeking help as ‘evidence of my inability to care for our children’ and somehow have them removed from my care (a regular threat of his). I filtered every word before I spoke; his regular taunt that I lied and tricked people with my ‘stories and lies’ ringing in my ears. I was terrified of being disloyal or painting him in a bad light in case it got back to him. So complete was his control still over me, it was as if he was physically in the room with us. I oscillated between telling myself I didn’t need help, that I didn’t deserve help, that I was beyond help, that I wouldn’t be believed. I turned up late for appointments and really tested my wonderful, wonderful counsellor. I think I was pushing her for a reaction. And then finally, after I had exhausted every avenue and satisfied myself that this was indeed a safe space, I started to begin to trust. I learned to speak and to cry. My counsellor described the process as ‘deprogramming’ and looking back, this is exactly what it was – and still is. I don’t think I can adequately describe the respect and gratitude I have towards my counsellor who steadfastly stood by my side and at times led me by the hand back to life. She held hope when I had none, and her warmth, wisdom and encouragement have enabled me to begin the journey home; home to the bits of me that still exist from before the tsunami of domestic abuse hit. I accept now that I will never be quite the same person. That was a hugely painful reality to acknowledge. But it is a reality that is not without the hope of some future, at least. Months on, the counselling is still having a huge positive impact on my life and helping me unravel the past. The symptoms I started with are still present but are milder and do not have the same deep impact anymore. Understanding that domestic abuse is traumatic, and that trauma leaves a very distinct set of footprints helped me to step away from feeling ‘weak’. I can see these feelings for what they are and do not feel ‘victim’ to them. In fact, I do not feel like a victim at all anymore. I am a survivor. And that acknowledgement alone is hugely liberating and empowering, not only for me, but for my children too. Orli (Orli is amongst other things a writer and a poet. She writes because she can. And because she believes that this is how light is created. And this is how we heal.) Manage Cookie Preferences Chat with us, powered by LiveChat