Facing The Future After Domestic Abuse.

My lovely boyfriend is moving in, so why am I so afraid? (TW — domestic abuse, addiction.)

Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash

Almost two decades ago, after my first divorce, I met a man. A man who swept me off my feet. He was funny. We went out to fun places on weekends. He had lots of friends. He liked the same music as me and we would go clubbing and to parties, dancing. I was showered with love and affection by him. He had three children of his own and fully accepted mine.

He even asked that they call him Dad.

When I said I was seeing him, to my family, they were horrified. He was most upset about this, and said it wasn’t fair they were treating him like that.

I went to his home one night, after a date. His landlord had been looking after his own kids, and my boyfriend's kids too. The clock was approaching midnight. All the kids were still wide awake. The landlord had gone to bed, leaving vomit on the bathroom floor. His friend was staying on the sofa downstairs, which he had wee’d on in his sleep. Beer cans and ashtrays lay everywhere. We both agreed it was no place for children and all went back to mine.

A few weeks later, his children urgently needed somewhere to stay after something had happened with their mother. Heartbroken for them, but happy to help this lovely man, I allowed them to move into my home. My small two-bedroom home became even more crowded with him and his three kids. But, we would be ok. After all, they were all good kids, and our relationship was so strong.

He had little money for rent, but enough for partying. So we did. After all, with me being at home all day, looking after five kids, I deserved the break. It didn’t occur to me he was off doing things most days. I was just grateful to have such a full home life.

My home became messy — it would, having seven of us living in it. I tried to stay on top of it all, but was becoming acutely aware that at 24 years old, I had taken on rather a lot. So I let my house cleaning standards slip. It wasn’t dirty. But there was stuff everywhere.

I told him one of my darkest secrets. Some bad things had happened to me in my childhood. My family had not known about it. He felt so “protective”…