Resiliance
Was it really that hard to leave a relationship? Looking back now, I can only speak from my own experiences – as a woman, as someone who has made mistakes, and as someone who has learned the hard way about resilience. What I’ve been through might resonate with others, regardless of gender, because so often, these situations boil down to power imbalances. When values clash – about raising kids, money, respect, even how to balance life – it can feel impossible to fix things. And sometimes, you don’t even realise how bad it’s gotten until you’re already lost in it.
Together
Why didn’t I leave? Honestly, it didn’t feel like a choice. I wasn’t going to marry Adrian (not his real name). That was never the plan. We were just two young people, travelling Australia, having fun. But even then, there were warning signs. Things that told me, deep down, this wasn’t going to work.
When we got back, I thought I’d just go back to my old life. But his mum intervened. Adrian, who was living with her, suddenly moved in with me because she’d had enough of him. I wasn’t prepared for that, but I didn’t have the strength to say no. At the time, I suspect I was battling depression and PTSD, along with the challenges that come with being neurodiverse. It was like I’d already run out of fight. I couldn’t lean on my parents – they’d just returned from years overseas and had helped me escape my last bad situation. I felt ashamed. Like I’d failed again. It wasn’t even a choice; it felt like giving up.
Feeling Defeated
Back then, in the late ’70s, there wasn’t much support for mental health, autism, or neurodiversity, especially for women. When I went to a doctor, he dismissed me outright. "You’re fine, you’re talking to me, aren’t you?" That was his answer. Psychology didn’t help either – it just made me feel like everything was my fault.
Everything blurred after that. It all happened in about 18 months, but it’s hard to piece it together now. My dad was diagnosed with MND. His body gave up, but his mind stayed sharp, and it cut deep to watch him go through that. Adrian took a job interstate, and somehow, I ended up at his mum’s house, looking after her dog and waiting for her house to sell. At the same time, I was juggling so much – organising furniture, getting my driver’s licence, trying to work. I was running on empty. Adrian called me names like "stupid" or "turd," and I started to believe him. He had an affair with a co-worker, and I even got dragged into the mess when her husband (who was in prison!) called me to talk about it. It was chaos, and I was stuck in the middle of it.
Married For the Wrong Reason
Eventually, I made it to Newcastle, driving one car while another car was transported. Life didn’t let up. I worked as a car detailer, then at a chicken factory. Adrian and I rented a house after jumping through hoops to prove we’d been in a de facto relationship. When the rules changed, and we suddenly had to be married to keep the house, I caved. I didn’t even tell my parents. My brother probably found out because the paperwork was lying around.
I didn’t want to get married. I knew it wasn’t forever. But I was so drained – physically, emotionally, mentally. Depression had me in a chokehold, and I couldn’t see a way out. So we got married, and a week later, Dad passed away. That was another punch to the gut. I remember Adrian’s selfishness during all of it – his impatience, the way he made it hard for me to even get to Victoria in time to grieve properly.
Knowing My Limit
After that, life felt like a sort of limbo. I was marking time, waiting for the strength to leave. And eventually, I found it. Not all at once, but bit by bit. By the time my daughter came along, I knew I had to protect her. Coercive control strips you of your sense of self, your confidence, your belief in anything good. I’d been worn down until there wasn’t much left of me, but somehow, I survived.
Embracing being different
It’s taken years to unlearn the harmful messages that were forced on me – the constant criticisms, the belittling, the lies I believed about myself. Being neurodiverse added layers of complexity to everything I went through. I was "different," and that difference was used against me. Still, I kept going.
Strong Enough
And here’s the thing: I made it. I don’t say that lightly. I don’t say it to dismiss the pain or the struggles. But I survived. More than that, I’ve grown into someone I can finally believe in. My empathy – something I used to see as a weakness – has become a strength. It’s helped me connect with people and support others in ways I couldn’t have imagined back then. New Year’s Eve, 1999, was a turning point. It’s when I started to reclaim myself, bit by bit.
Support
If this resonates with you or you see yourself in any of my story, please know you don’t have to stay in a situation that’s breaking you. It’s hard – so hard – but there are people who will listen, who will help. If you’re in Australia, you can reach out to services like 1800RESPECT (1800 737 732) or Lifeline (13 11 14). For information on coercive control or to create a safety plan, organisations like the Domestic Violence Resource Centre Victoria (DVRCV) are invaluable.
Other resources that may be able to help are Men's Line Australia (1300 789 978); Kids Help Line dedicated for those between 5 -25 (1800 55 1800). 13 Yarn for Indigenous and Torres Strait Islanders (13 92 76) and Elder Abuse Help Line (1800 353 374). That phone line will re-direct you to the appropriate state or territory. Each of these agencies would be able to suggest other help that is available.
You’re not alone. It’s okay to ask for help. And it’s okay to take small steps toward a better life. It not happen all at once, but even the smallest glimmer of hope can spark a change. And when you’re ready, that change can be your way forward