Continuing on from http://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2026/04/once-we-repaired-things-text-that.html
After that happened, I felt traumatised, frightened, and completely thrown.
I didn’t know what to do. Again.
What I needed — what I still needed — was simple.
I needed to speak.
I needed to sit across from Paul, look him in the eyes, and understand what had just happened.
But instead, I was left trying to make sense of something that made no sense at all.
⸻
A few days later, he called.
And somehow, we were still circling back to that first Sunday, when he overreacted, a moment I still could not fully understand.
I didn’t even know what I was being accused of.
How do you defend yourself against something you don’t remember?
How do you respond to something that was never clearly said?
And worse, how do you process being compared to people from someone else’s past?
People I had nothing to do with.
I am not someone else’s history.
I am my own person.
But in that moment, none of that mattered.
Because he had already decided who I was.
See http://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2026/02/once-we-repaired-things-part-2.html
⸻
And that is what broke something in me.
Not just the doubt he expressed.
But the fact that his doubt came without giving me the most basic human right — the right to respond.
The right to be heard.
The right to clarify.
My dignity was stripped down to his interpretation.
My identity reduced to his narrative.
My reality replaced with something distorted and irrational.
And I paid the price for it.
⸻
There is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from trying to exist inside someone else’s perception of you.
Where you start questioning everything:
What do I say?
How do I say it?
Will this be taken the wrong way?
Am I about to be misunderstood again?
It becomes a form of emotional survival.
A constant state of hyper-awareness.
And as women, we know this too well.
Damned if we do.
Damned if we don’t.
Trying to anticipate reactions.
Trying to soften ourselves.
Trying to avoid triggering something that was never ours to carry.
It was never meant to be a competition.
But somehow, I was losing.
And he was walking away with everything.
⸻
What made it worse was not just the loss of him.
It was the loss of what I believed we were building.
A future.
A family.
A life.
As I’ve said, I didn’t come to this unscathed. It’s been years of confronting and repeated harmful and self-centred behaviour from men. I never expected that it would not only be hard, but virtually impossible, to find one decent man in our “progressive” society.
It was my last hope.
And I was left with nothing but questions and grief.
When I lost my dad to suicide, all I was also left with there was nothing but questions and grief.
⸻
Every day became the same.
Tears.
Tears.
Tears.
I would cry, then try to hold it together, then cry again.
And all of this was happening while I was still walking into a workplace that had already become toxic.
A place where I was being watched.
Judged.
Treated as though something was wrong with me.
The gaslighting was already there.
The quiet, passive-aggressive behaviour.
The subtle undermining, as though I needed more harm layered on top of what I was already carrying.
There was nowhere to breathe.
Nowhere to escape.
⸻
Until one day in February, something inside me said:
Enough.
I woke up with a deep, instinctive fear that if I didn’t do something — anything — my health was going to collapse.
And for the first time in my life, I didn’t overthink it.
I didn’t plan.
I didn’t analyse.
I just acted.
⸻
That day at work was unbearable.
The pressure.
The constant demands.
The lack of support.
It felt like I was doing two high-level jobs for the price of one.
There was no space to recover.
No space to think.
No space to be human.
Even as I walked out, one of my staff followed me — still venting, still demanding, still taking.
I had nothing left to give.
⸻
So I got into my car…
…and I drove straight to a travel agent..
…and I booked a ticket to Italy.
⸻
Even now, I know how unlike me that was.
I don’t make impulsive decisions.
But that day, I did.
I needed something to hold onto.
Something beyond the pain.
Something that reminded me there was still a world outside of everything that was breaking me.
⸻
June 2017.
An emotional escape for one month.
Sydney to Abu Dhabi.
Abu Dhabi to Rome.
Rome to Florence.
Booked.
I didn’t know where I would stay.
I didn’t know what I would do.
All I knew was that I needed to get away.
⸻
At some point leading up to the trip, the question shifted.
Am I the problem?
That’s when Tuscany became more than a trip.
It became a test.
If I went somewhere where nobody knew me…
If I could connect with people there…
If I could exist without being misread, misjudged, or diminished…
Then maybe — just maybe — it wasn’t me.
⸻
That’s how I found Montalcino.
Montalcino — where I went to find out if I was the problem…or if it was everything around me. |
A small town in Tuscany.
Rolling hills.
Brunello wine.
Stillness.
I read about it in a book.
Cross-referenced it with another.
And something in me just knew.
That’s where I need to be.
| Even in the smallest corners of Montalcino, there was a sense of community — something I was searching for without even realising it. |
Then, just before Easter, Paul called.
I was sitting in bed, reading about Montalcino, when my phone rang.
The conversation was…easy…warm…normal.
Like none of the damage had happened.
He told me he was going to Italy too, later in the year, with his mum.
And then he asked:
“Do you want to catch up for a coffee after Easter?”
I said yes, because despite everything, (or rather, because of it), I needed that conversation.
I needed to understand.
I needed to clarify.
I needed to repair what never needed to break in the first place.
⸻
I felt relief, that this time…
I would finally be heard.
To be continued…
⸻
References that led me to Montalcino:
The Wisdom of Tuscany by Ferenc Máté
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7034969
The most beautiful villages of Tuscany by James Bentley and Hugh Palmer (Photographer)
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/225684
⸻
See also what was happening at the same time:
http://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2024/07/bullying-discrimination-and-harassment.html
http://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2024/07/part-2-bullying-discrimination-and.html
For the link below, see especially the point after:
I wasn’t even thinking about my holiday to Italy, and didn’t pack until 5am the day I left.
http://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2024/07/part-3-bullying-discrimination-and.html