Peace by Piece

My childhood does not fit the narrative the psychology world would have you believe.

You do not have to come from a broken home, a bad neighbourhood, or a damaged family to find yourself loving an addict. I am proof of that.

My parents divorced when I was too small to even remember. Both my parents remarried, and between them I gained siblings — a mix of step and half, all of whom I simply called my brothers and sisters.

What I remember the most about my dad, is that he was always reading his bible. He never forced faith upon us, but it was always ingrained in our conversations. My dad gave me a leather bound bible as a young child, I still use it to this day.

My mom holds a quiet strenght. She is not loud. She does not demand attention. She just is. She watches, she loves, she guides, never with judgement or condemnation. Every word that comes out of her mouth is with love. She is like my Nana. They are the quiet warriors who work in the background.

When I was young, both our households moved into the same small gated complex as my aunt (separate houses). I had “both” moms and dads, aunt, siblings and cousins a stones throw away. It was so amazing having all my special people in one place.

We had so much fun growing up, either myself with my siblings, or me with my cousin, or all of us together. We spent so much time outdoors, fishing, on the beach, at my grandparents, at my aunts, cycling, rollerblading, getting up to mischief. Christmas’s together with all my parents — because somehow, despite the precedents set by society on divorced homes – they all just got along.

I went to good schools, I had friends. I had sleep overs with friends, nights of sneaking out. I got grounded for things like not feeding my cat or returning home after 5 (no cell phones in those days). I went to youth group every Friday, we played pool at the local dairy, walked to friends houses. In all reality, I lived the dream and look back on my childhood and teenage years very fondly, often wishing I could back in time and land in those years of my life.

I was in my mid teens when my dad’s family moved out into a house about 10 minutes away, and my mom’s family moved to a house about 30 minutes away. I lived at my mom’s for a bit, but it was very far, so I decided to move in with my dad’s, whose house was much closer. Plus I had all my friends that side, with my own little apartment on my dads property. Many a weekend was spent listening to music in my apartment with friends.

I didn’t realise it at the time, in fact my mom only told me this about a year ago, how much she cried when I moved out, because she saw it as me choosing my dad over her. I never knew this about my mom. Not once did she make me feel even remotely bad or guilty for “choosing” my dad. That is not how a teenager sees that situation, but as a parent now, I can understand how I would also feel like my children “chose” Carter if they wanted to live with him.

Growing up, both households had split responsibilities. This represented unity and respect. The concept of one person doing everything was so foreign to me, but over years, this was where I found myself. I did everything. Apart from Carter’s job. I did all the cooking, all the cleaning. It was all on me, every school run, every food shop, every everything.

How you look, how you dress, bears no impact on your partner’s decision to cheat. I was always attractive. I did some modelling. I have had women approach me in restaurants and shopping malls to tell me I have the most beautiful eyes. It has made me uncomfortable at times if I am honest — but that discomfort is exactly the point. No matter how beautiful the world tells you that you are, your looks are never the reason your partner strays. Never. That is a choice they make entirely on their own.

I was always laughing, I was always smiling, I was confident. I have always been quick with my wit. I went through some really bad baggy jean phases, doc martins, you name it, I tried it. Had good hair cuts, bad hair cuts, dyed my hair purple – for a day. I lived. I never had a ton of friends, but the ones I did have are the ones I cherished. We had our crew, we were happy and just living life.

There are things I did in my youth that I have sought forgiveness for. I was not a perfect teenager. I made mistakes. I sinned. I have spent many hours praying for forgiveness, and doing my best to raise my daughter with morals that far surpass my own in my youth. I have often asked myself if these sins resulted in the punishment and abuse that I have endured throughout my relationship, however, I do not believe that my God would punish me for choices I made before my brain was even fully developed – and therefore have moved past that train of thought.

I cannot think of the how or why, but only that it is my journey, and mine alone, a journey that has strengthened me beyond what I thought capable. It is only in hindsight that we can identify the strength. In the moments of being so low, there feels like there is no way out.

PAST RELATIONSHIPS

Before I get to Carter, I want to give you a brief window into who came before him. Not because these relationships define my story, but because they help explain who I was, what I was looking for — and perhaps more importantly, what I was not looking for — when he walked into my life.

I never chased. That was never who I was. Every relationship I had found me – rather than the other way around. Someone would pursue, someone would be relentless, and eventually — if they were funny enough — they would get to me. It was always the sense of humour that did it. Make me laugh and you had my attention.

And yet – every single one of them, without exception, ended the same way. Someone chose someone else. Someone kissed someone at a party. Someone grew distant and I found out why. The details were always different. The outcome never was. I was the one who was left. The break up’s just were – no theatrics, no lets work it outs. Each time, I did what I always did. I turned something off internally, wished them well in my heart, and moved on. I did not beg. I did not chase. I did not make scenes. I simply closed the door and kept going.

Looking back now I can see the pattern so clearly. I attracted men who wanted me until they had me, and then wanted somewhere else to look. I did not have the language for that then. I just knew it stung, and then it didn’t, and then I got up and carried on.

What I also knew, even then, was my worth. I was not the girl who kissed everyone in the room on a night out. I was not available to whoever showed interest. I had a standard for myself that I held quietly but firmly, and I made no apology for it. Looking back I could have been kinder in my delivery sometimes — but I make no apology for the boundary itself. A woman who knows what she wants and what she doesn’t deserves to be respected for it.

There was one who stood out among the rest. Someone whose opinion of me, years into my relationship with Carter, would undo something in me that I did not expect. He was a genuinely good man. A “keeper”. Someone who had been hurt by my not choosing him, and who still — years later, when I was heavily pregnant and waddling across a road in the summer heat — told someone who told me – that I was the most beautiful pregnant girl he had ever seen.

I sobbed when I heard that. Not because I still had feelings for him — but because I knew, in that moment, that Carter had never once looked at me that way in my pregnancy despite them being his children I carried. That hit different. No pregnant women ever wants to feel their partner is not attracted to them.

I share this not to dwell on what was lost but to show you who I was before the story really begins. I was a girl who loved and let go cleanly. Who held her own standard without compromise. Who had been chosen over enough times to know the feeling well, and who had somehow not let it harden her.

SLOANE TODAY

As a worker – I am the most dedicated employee a boss could ask for. I have had many positions and always treated and run the companies I have worked for as my own. Over time, blood sweat and tears, building relationships – with little reward.

As a mom, I am fierce, I am protective. I do not always get it right. I have shouted, I have cried, I have questioned, I have struggled, but I am committed.

As a partner, I am loyal to my own detriment, as you will see with mine and Carter’s story. I love unconditionally, I forgive, I give so many chances. I love so deeply, so passionately. Or at least I loved Carter that way. And I think perhaps a part of me always will. This is still something that I do not know the why to.

Where I am at now – not every day is perfect. Not every day is beautiful. I still have days where I cry.

I am not perfect. There are still aspects that I am healing from, questions I ask myself.

The difference is that I know that the “bad” of today is not eternal. It is for this moment of time that it is my experience. I know that tomorrow I can wake up with a new day, with a fresh perspective. I know how not to carry the hurt of yesterday into today. I know how to differentiate between what is and is not real. I know how to protect myself and not allow that inner critic to mould me. Most importantly, I know I am not responsible for Carter, his journey, his happiness, his choices, his moods. I am only responsible for mine.

AND NOW – LET’S GO

I was in my final year of school. I was excited, motivated to put my head down and do well. I was not looking for love or distractions.

I walked into a nightclub one night in my white dress, rocking out on the dance floor, not looking for anything or anyone.

And then he came over.