MY STORY…

Growing up I've dealt with the challenge of not owning my voice. I speak differently from others, some say I have an accent. But no one can pinpoint to where exactly it’s from. I was born and raised in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. My background is Irish and French-Canadian, that's what I tell people when they ask.

As a young child I used to be teased by other kids for they way I spoke. They said I spoke like a “baby”, whatever that means. But I took meaning into it anyway. I made it mean that I can never speak up in class because I am different. That no one can understand me. I created the story of I can’t talk to people.

Today that story I can see makes zero sense. Of course I can talk to people, I mean my current job does nothing but that. I am a supervisor at Starbucks. I speak to people for a living, It’s crazy to even think that but yet it still persists.

I look back further into my childhood years, and remember at the age of ten I found my Individual Educational Plan (IEP) and read that the person called me “fragile”. Looking back on that, that limited me to a lot in my life. I really took the word to heart. A professional called me fragile, that must be true I thought. That carried with me throughout my whole adolescences. At age 26 I finally realized what an impact this one little word had on me.

It made me settle and not go after my dream job. It’s cost me having successful romantic relationships. And that’s one of the things I really want, to have a partner with whom I can grow and share things with. A man I can truly call my best friend.

I never acknowledge myself of having a hard life, but honestly I have. I moved out of my mother’s house at age 22, and not in a good way. I moved out after being hurt by her. In addition to that I let my boyfriend at the time tell me I am better off without her. That my mom is “fucked up” and doesn’t deserve my love. I was manipulated by him, and that’s all because of the feeling of “I’m not good enough” and that “I’m nothing but another pretty face”. I didn’t speak to my mom for nearly a year. And every time I tried, I got abused for it. Like I remember this one time I met her for Christmas, and when I came home that night my boyfriend yelled at me for it. He raised his voice and fists. I could have left him in that moment, but I didn't. I felt weak and small. I was beaten down.

Almost two years later I finally built up the courage to leave him. For a long time I was traumatized from the last time I saw him. He was high on pharmaceutical drugs. I laid next to him, thinking it was okay. However he woke up in anger, he grabbed me by the throat. He choked me to a point where my eyes went blurry. I was on the verge of passing out. I heard him scream to his mom, “why is she like this?” and it wasn’t until his mom (someone I loved dearly) said “because she’s a stupid girl,” where he let go. In that moment I made a break for it. I ran so fast out of that apartment and never looked back. The next day around 2pm he called. Standing outside of Union Station, I answered. He asked me, “so you’re going to think about what you did, right?” and I responded with “yes R., I will think about what I did. Goodbye.” And I hung up on the phone. After that he called countless times, left countless voicemails. Despite the retraining order we had. I never responded. That’s how we ended the first time.

Four years later he re-entered my life. At this point I was just getting out of another relationship. One that was with his old “best friend”. I use quotation marks as he called this man his best friend but never treated him fairly. He broke him financially, and this friend and I bonded over that. For the purpose of confidentiality I will call this friend L.. L. and I bonded over the abusive relationship we both shared. I called him my best friend. However, there were new challenges to deal with. There were things that I just couldn’t get over. For one he lives with my mom. Already you can see how hard that is. Two, he had intercourse with my mom. Three, his “baby moms” controls him. And four, I felt like I was moving up in the world when he was just staying still. In other words, we were stagnant. He said he wanted have kids with me, but had no urgency to do so. I was 26 years old and he was 36 years old. Ten years is a big difference, and I feel he refused to listen to that. As much as I love him and care for him, it wasn’t fitting well. The anxiety was too much. So I ended it, as hard as it was.

But back to R…. So he re-entered my life. He messaged me asking to apologize. I accepted. An apology is what I was waiting for. R. apologized. He apologized for the abusiveness he caused, and said he’s changed his ways. He told me he’s never stopped loving me and that I was the one. I found myself stuck. I couldn’t tell him no. I couldn't tell him to go away. So I started a new thing with him for another 3 months. I hated myself for that. I was making myself wrong. I was still being that fragile girl that I created as a kid.

After those 3 months, I haven’t spoken to him since. He blocked me on Instagram, I blocked him on Facebook. We ended our relationship right outside of Union Station. But here’s the funny part, the first time I ended it with him being on the phone, standing outside of Union station. The second time I physically stood with him outside of Union Station. Same spot. Coincidental?