Prologue
Do you ever get those moments? You know, the ones where it feels like your whole world is crashing down around you? Imagine feeling like that each and every day. Imagine feeling like that every day but still smiling. Still facing each day as if everything is ‘hunky-dory’. It’s hard, but it’s life and just like ‘they’ say; ‘Life is what you make it’.
You have a choice in life. You can choose to give in to your complications and difficulties or you can choose to fight. Neither choice is very enticing but when you’ve got so much to fight for, you must just go for it!
I’m going to tell you a story. Everybody has a tale to tell and whether you want to join me on this journey is completely up to you. It’s a journey of ups and downs, of wrong decisions and some great ones but my God is it a story!
So, buckle up and brace yourself for my Jigsaw…
Chapter One
I want to tell you about my personal jigsaw. How my pieces became scattered and broken yet somehow, I found a way to piece them back together again, creating the wonderful, hot mess you see today.
I have learnt throughout the years that the only person you can ever really rely upon is yourself. I have needed so many people at many different times but have found that they weren’t there. It’s not their fault, I am not angry at them, we all get busy living our lives and occupied by our own important things that we often have very little time to help anyone else. I only realised very recently that this is the reason for a huge part of my personality. I feel that I ‘need’ to be there for everyone I am close to. You see, I have been in need so many times throughout my life and have been left on my own to deal with things, this is not a feeling that I want anyone else to feel so I have somehow made it my life’s mission to make sure those dear to me, never get left to ‘need’ for anything.
Post- Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) quite a mouthful! I had always related this to war veterans or survivors of natural disasters. In fact, anyone who experiences something terribly ‘traumatic’ can develop PTSD.
The thing is, for a long time, I had developed my own coping mechanism of completely and utterly ignoring and supressing my emotions. Sounds strange right? However, this is actually very common. What I didn’t realise was I had in fact experienced some awful trauma but instead of realising that, I did the very British thing of ‘Keeping calm and carrying on’. This method did work for me for a long time but eventually my brain decided it was time to process and finally ‘deal’ with my trauma.
This is when my symptoms began. It started with migraines and my face dropping. They thought I was having a stroke (so did I!). I lost control of my ability to talk, I felt trapped inside my own body. The doctors ran lots of tests, but everything came back clear (MRIs, ECGs) so they sent me home with a course of steroids and said I had a bad case of Bell’s palsy*. Weeks passed, I completely deteriorated. I started to develop seizures, paralysis- I became completely disconnected from reality. Little did I know, this would be the start of one horrific ride. The start of Functional Neurological Disorder (FND).
FND? You ask. Don’t worry I hadn’t heard of it either. Unfortunately, neither had most medical professionals!
FND is a brain disorder that disrupts the way the brain controls bodily functions. There seem to be many causes but mine, I realise now, was definitely trauma. The trouble is I didn’t even realise it was trauma. I was suffering. I had experienced such shocking things. A neuropsychiatrist once said to me that I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown but as I fought it, my brain worked out another way to ‘let it all out’. FND was essentially my brains way of dealing with the imprint that had been scarred onto it because of all the trauma I had experienced.
There are constant triggers that set off my emotion’s centre (the Amygdala). When this happens, my brain relives one of my traumatic events and as a safety/protection mode goes into fight or flight mode. This is then portrayed through physical symptoms such as non-epileptic seizures, paralysis, fainting and the list goes on…
It’s been hard but I’ve been lucky enough to have two very special reasons to fight this never-ending battle.
Now of course, I am biased but my amazing, wonderful boys (whom I dedicate this book to) have been my strength and my motivation to NEVER give up. Everything I do, all that I live for are my two beautiful boys. I honestly don’t think I would be where I am today if it wasn’t for them. Despite all we have been through, they are both truly great human beings. They are brave, intelligent and my legacy that despite what life has thrown at me, I have definitely done something right!
I will now begin to tell you my tale and together we can piece together the crazy ‘jigsaw’ my life has turned out to be. For too long, I have hidden my story but now I no longer need to be ashamed, well really, I never did.
Chapter Two
I was 18 when we met. Young, naive and so very vulnerable. A perfect victim for someone like him. Nowadays, I understand that I was lacking any self-esteem. Desperate to be loved and accepted. So, very insecure. I probably latched onto him just as much as he did to me. Little did I know, he was a broken, destroyed character with so much hate. Hate poured through his veins. He wanted to make someone suffer, just as he had suffered with so many demons all his life.
Please don’t get me wrong. I am by no means making excuses for him. No matter what had happened to him, nothing will ever excuse the horrific, awful things he did. I guess, what I’m trying to do is ‘create’ his character. For a person to be so unrelenting and sadistic normally there’s a reason behind it. The one person who should have protected him, loved him and build him into a decent man, let him down in indescribable ways. This, I believe, is the reason for all his darkness and hatred of women. Moreover, this is the reason he wanted to ‘destroy’ me. His victim could have been any poor girl; I just happened to be in the ‘wrong place’ at the ‘wrong time’.
His mother was a cold and vindictive person. She fostered many children but made it clear that she was in it for the money. The children that she fostered would often come from very damaged and disturbed homes. One of the foster children sexually abused him in a very aggressive way. When he told his mother, he was ridiculed and told he was lying. His mother refused to address the issue so left this to carry on for a long period of time. His mother, the person who should have protected him, allowed him to be abused and suffer so that she could pocket the money she received for this disturbed young man. So began, his hatred and lack of trust of all women.
At the beginning, he seemed like the perfect guy. He was quite possessive, but I convinced myself that this was because he loved me. It wasn’t love; it was pure manipulation. Of course, I know that now, but I was 18. Most definitely not a ‘worldly’ or ‘streetwise’ person. I just wanted to be loved, and I thought that was it.
Very early on in the ‘relationship’ (I use inverted commas because it was never a relationship) the cruelness began. Just little digs at first, name calling mostly. Fat, whore, slag. A pattern to begin what would be a continuous onslaught of attacks. This began to lead to shoving, bruising- always carefully made so I could cover them up so he wouldn’t get caught out. I was 18 years old.
I have learnt that it’s not healthy to ‘wish’. Wishing is another way of regretting. If you spend your life wishing, you will never move forward. Essentially, what I’m trying to say is, don’t dwell on the things that you can’t change. Some things may well be due to your own fault but try to learn from these things. Don’t spend your life regretting your decisions. I say this from experience and oh my goodness, it is a waste of precious time. I have chosen to learn from my mistakes and wrong choices. I now use these ‘life lessons’ to guide me in all my decisions. When something doesn’t seem right, it’s probably not!
Chapter Three
After just 6 months into the relationship, I fell pregnant. I was 19 years old, a child, he manipulated me into keeping the baby. This is one of my decisions I would never regret. I realise now, if it wasn’t for my children, I don’t think I could have survived all that I went through.
As the days and months passed by, his controlling evil nature continued to worsen. Every day was filled with accusations. It became so bad that I was scared to look up as I walked down the street. I was so young; he had gained complete and utter control. He controlled every aspect of my life and seemed to thrive on watching his work. Slowly but surely destroying any ounce of self-esteem that I had. He wanted to take control of my life and to make me feel how he felt inside- cold and empty.
My life became one of darkness. The only light at the time was my beautiful baby boy.
I believed everything he screamed at me. I was useless. An awful mother. Fat, ugly, disgusting yet apparently a cheating whore?!? When you live this every day, this becomes your normal and you begin to believe you are what you are told.
Sadly, I know that so many women and men are having to live their lives like this day in and day out. Constant, narcissistic and evil manipulation. Somewhere, deep inside me, there was a flicker of light and hope. An internal strength that would eventually rise. This light, along with my wonderful boys, is that thing that kept me going through all the turmoil. Finding positivity in complete disarray can be difficult, however, if you can ‘throw on’ a smile and keep going, you’re stronger than you could ever imagine!
A loving relationship should make you feel safe, happy and content. Trust is always the key but sadly, he did not have the ability to trust anyone. How could he when the most important person in his young life failed to protect him? His trust was destroyed at that moment. He was then left to be unleashed onto the world to wreak havoc, pain and destruction like the growth of a Super-Villain brewing away under the surface until he erupts. A volcano of hate.
There are things that happened to me that I cannot bring myself to share- he knows the disgusting things he did to me, and he is the one that must live with that- I don’t want to make anyone have to even picture these horrific events. However, there are some things that I can, some things that I need to share for you to understand. Brace yourself- here’s where my pieces began to shatter…
I will refer to my ex-husband as SF- Short for Shit Face- apologies but this is how I have referred to him for many years as I can’t bear to speak his name.
2003
I was at my parent’s house. It was a sunny afternoon, SF asked me to stay out the front of the house with him whilst he washed his car. My son was about 18 months old and was in the house with his Grandad. SF started by saying, ‘I know what you’ve done you fat whore.’ Obviously, I had done nothing. He had once again created an imaginary reason to throw his hate upon me. My dad came past to take my son to get an ice-cream. SF grew angrier, screaming in my face. I was so confused, I kept trying to calm him down but to no avail. As my dad returned with my son, SF smacked me doing an upwards motion, trying to push my nose into my skull. Blood poured from my nose. My son was screaming, being so young, he didn’t understand why mummy was hurt. My dad chased SF down the road. Dad called the police and an ambulance. I felt so ashamed. I was ashamed. It seems so ridiculous to me now, but that shame haunted me for so many years. He made me feel like I deserved everything he would do to me. This one event is just a small tip of the iceberg, there are so many things that he did, really the things of nightmares. It makes me shudder and whimper to think all of this was going on when I was still such a young and innocent girl. I cannot help but grieve for her and want to protect her.
This was an opportunity, I could get away, but I didn’t. He managed to dig his claws in once again. I dropped the charges. So stupid, right? Yes, but it’s so hard to explain. Imagine an old Sci-fi movie. The ‘Evil Professor’ brain-washing his victims. Sounds silly but it’s the only metaphor I could think of. He had brain-washed me. I had disappeared. The young, sweet, happy girl was gone. He had ultimately achieved his goal. It never got any better, maybe I believed it could. If I could show him how much I loved him, he would stop the torture- he would trust me. Sadly, there was no answer. He wanted to break me into as many pieces as he could, and he did.
2004
He asked me to marry him. I thought perhaps this was a chance to fix things. He was the father of my son after all. The closer the big day came, the more I began to regret accepting his proposal. I was 21, I had grown up in a home with my mother and father and at the time, I honestly thought, this was best for my boy.
A girl’s wedding day should be one of the best days of their lives. Mine was horrific, I knew that I was making a huge mistake. Now, I know most of my loved ones knew it was a mistake, but they let me do it. Moments before I walked down the aisle, my Nan pulled me aside. She told me that I didn’t have to go through with it. I was trapped. My father had spent so much money and gone so over the top. There were people in the Church who I didn’t even know. I don’t blame my dad; he was just a ‘show man’ always wanting to impress- putting on a great show.
I married him that day with my little boy by my side. How could I have known that things would get even worse?
The Honeymoon from Hell- A great title but it doesn’t even touch the surface for what I endured in that dreadful week in Spain. His mental state plummeted, and I was in for some shocking punishment.
The first day was okay, quite normal in fact. He got angry because I cried as I was missing our son. The next day, God forbid, I made friends with some other couples. They wanted to meet at the beach the following day. When we arrived back at the apartment that night, his anger exploded. He screamed so violently, like a lost confused animal. He wanted me all to himself. This is what he believed; the truth is he didn’t want me at all. He wanted to control me and to imprison me.
He never really loved me. I understand that now. A monster like him is not capable of love. They think that control and manipulation are their ways of showing ‘love’. He had reached boiling point that night. I think he knew it was a mistake to get married too. He believed now that if I didn’t bow down to him, then I shouldn’t be alive. There was a scuffle, he became like a violent, wild animal and then he did it. He tried to kill me; he grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer and lunged towards me.
He stabbed me.
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I have carried so much shame, for so many years every time I looked at the scar on my arm. I felt ashamed that I could ever have let anyone do that to me. I was rushed to hospital in the middle of the night. He fled and left me there.
I told the staff at the hotel that the kitchen drawer had fallen out and caught my arm. They knew that wasn’t the case. You could clearly see I had been stabbed. Yet, they chose to turn a blind eye to it. I was clearly distressed; the hotel staff would have heard the screaming as did other guests in the hotel. I was a 21-year-old, young and vulnerable girl who was clearly being abused, yet no one did anything, no one saved me, no one helped me, it was at that moment that I realised that the only person that I could ever really rely upon was myself. I would always want to help others, and I will as I do not want anyone to ever feel as alone as I did that night.
As I lay there, all alone, on the hospital bed, I began to wish that I hadn’t protected myself. He had broken me to such an extent that I had no fight left in me. It was so frightening; I was so young and so alone. No one spoke English and as they chatted around me, I wanted to scream for help. I didn’t. I went back.
It wasn’t until many years later, when I sat in a therapy session, that I finally saw that I had no reason to be ashamed. My scar is proof that I am strong. I had survived such a horrific event, and he didn’t kill me. I fought and survived for my wonderful boy. Just like a warrior, I bare my scars as an ultimate proof of my underlying strength. He did NOT win. He will always be the loser.
Trauma is such a strong thing. It leaves an imprint on your brain and if you do not allow your mind to process it, it will undoubtedly come back to get you!
Chapter Four.
2005
Things went from bad to worse after that night, after my Honeymoon from Hell.
He had lost his mind; he wanted me gone but he didn’t want anyone else to have me either. Every day was an awful nightmare, a battle. I worked to provide for my baby boy whilst he simply sat around smoking my money away. When I did eventually get him to work, he wouldn’t last long. They would sack him as quickly as they hired him.
I was controlled and broken. I was no longer living; I was surviving but my son kept me going. He was the only thing I kept breathing for.
Another day of constant verbal and physical abuse finally made me snap. I got away; I told my parents some of what he was putting me through and moved back to live with them. I finally felt safe. I still didn’t tell anyone about all the awful things that had happened. I simply packed them away into the darkness and depths of my mind.
I started to get my life back on track. Things were looking up. I wanted to build a future for my son. I began an Access course at college- I made some lovely new friends. My confidence started to creep back. I was on top of the world.
I wanted to be a teacher. This was my new beginning. Then, I let him back? Why? I can’t say. At the time, I still felt weak, and he was able to manipulate me. I had so many plans and I was doing so well. It must have suffocated him to see me thriving for the first time in such a long time. He literally couldn’t stand it. My parents just wanted me to be happy, and this is why they let him wangle his way back into my life. As a parent myself, I am afraid that I would intervene. I would never allow my children to go through anything like what I went through. I want them always to know their worth and how amazing they are. They must always be true to themselves and never let anyone destroy their amazingness.
I had so many plans, I wanted to build a life for me and my son. I was going to university! Me, the teenage mum. Obviously, this was no good for him. He could see I had changed. I had made lovely new friends at college. My confidence had grown. Slowly but surely his grip on me started to dig in. He didn’t like my new friends of course; he told me that Uni would be a waste of time. I was too stupid to get a degree, to think that I could become a teacher. I allowed his taunts to break me once again; the self-doubt engrossed my every being. However, I went ahead with my interview. On that day, I discovered I was pregnant again. He won; my chances were destroyed.
I didn’t turn down my university offer, I deferred it, for a year. I truly believed that I could do it, despite what he said. As I felt the little life growing inside me, something had changed. I was excited about welcoming my new baby, but I was also excited for the future and going to university. I knew that the only way I could fulfil my dreams was to finally get away.
2006
The day my youngest son was born was filled with such emotion. My Grandmother, my Nanny, the only one who had tried to stop me marrying that evil man was extremely ill in Intensive Care. My son had to be born via emergency caesarean. Just like his brother, the moment I held him, my heart exploded with intense love only a mother can feel. The next morning, after she heard my little boy had arrived safely and was healthy, my beautiful Nan closed her eyes for the final time. Any real man would want to protect the person they loved; he showed me nothing. No comfort. The nurses and the other ladies in the hospital were so unbelievably kind. I will never, ever forget that. It was my dad who came to tell me about my Nan. I had just been up for the first time since my caesarean and when I returned to my bed, my dad was sitting there. He did not need to say anything. I knew she had gone. I could feel it. She was 73, the same age as my dad when he passed in April 2025.
Just three months later, my family were hit with yet another tragedy. My Auntie and Uncle who through my journey have always been there for me despite all the hardship they have faced within their own family, lost their beautiful Grandson. My cousin, who I spent my childhood with had to bury his son. No one should ever have to bury their child. Some things in life are just too painful. They break parts of you that can never be fixed. Seeing someone who you love suffering so much, breaks you too. Rest In Eternal Peace little Nathan.
2007
Those months after my wonderful baby boy was born were pretty much indescribable. The loss and heartache were too much. My son was a very poorly boy, he was constantly in and out of hospital. His bowel was underdeveloped which caused a prolapse and he had asthma. The poor little thing.
It was all quite a blur. Losing my Nan and my cousin losing his baby boy. My little one was so poorly.
He told me that I couldn’t go to university. I often wonder if that’s what made me change. To be honest, even I didn’t quite believe it myself. I had split from him so many times that I was sure I would give in again. The thing is, I didn’t! I was determined, this time, I knew I just had to break away. It was like a light had been switched on. I now had two amazing, wonderful boys. I owed it to them; they needed me to be strong. They needed me to build a future for them. This was it, one morning I woke up and told him that he had to leave and that I would be going to university. I’m sure he didn’t believe me. Why should he? He had spent the past 7 years controlling me. However, my pure determination to go to university and make my children’s lives better was stronger than him. It was one of the best decisions I ever made. And so, begins my year of discovery…
Chapter Five.
My first day of university was a revolution. Firstly, I couldn’t believe I had made it. Me, a university student! I know that a degree isn’t everything. Many people achieve highly without one. This for me was my dream. I remember walking past my son’s school; he was in Reception and just smiling from ear to ear. The thought of inspiring and growing the minds of young people excited me. This was it; this was my dream. Somehow, some way, I was going to do it. I was going to become a teacher. Sure, I had the odds stacked against me. Single mother, two children, one was only 11 months old but that didn’t shake me. My boys were my inspiration; I was building our future.
I had wasted a lot of time with him. Lost my way, lost my confidence. My special birthdays, my 18th and 21st were awful. I had a lot of making up to do. I will never forget my friends who waited for me. The friends I was forbidden to see. They were waiting for me when I got away. I started going out again. No longer having to look at the floor or over my shoulder. I was free to be me. I wasn’t the hideous, waste of space that he told me I was. I was free to have fun and meet new people. Despite, the way he treated me, he was the boys’ father. So, every fortnight, he would look after them at my house for the weekend. I would spend my own money and give up my home because, I thought, that was the right thing to do.
2008
The following year was one of self-discovery. I was becoming me. The past had been tough, but he couldn’t destroy me anymore. I LOVED university. New friends, new confidence and so much knowledge. I enjoyed learning so very much. I even had the honour of becoming ‘Class rep’. This doesn’t sound like much, but it meant a lot to me. It was acceptance and validation that I could be liked, and I could be trusted. This was only thanks to one of the two really special friends I made at university. Every year, he would volunteer my services to be class representative, I would never have put myself up for it, but he believed in me and that really meant a lot.
One thing I will never forget was the loyalty of my best friend. When I was with him, I wasn’t allowed to see my friends or even speak to them. When I finally escaped his hold, she was still there, waiting for me. I will never forget that. She was there and she understood. Some people come into our lives for just a short time, others are there for the long haul and I’m so lucky that she is a big part of my journey.
Things were great, I must admit that I was a bit lost and a bit out of control. I had started to see myself as a priority for the first time ever. The boys would see their dad, every other weekend. I would let him use my house and give him money. As usual, he was out of work, but I felt it was important to let the boys spend time with their dad. I guess I thought it was the ‘right’ thing to do.
About a year after my split, after a wild year of single me, I met Mr B. What a lovely guy. I realise now that I don’t think either of us was exactly attracted to each other. It was our love of music that brought us together. We went to gigs and festivals. It was brilliant. I really, really liked him. You just couldn’t be mean to him; he was just so nice. He took me and the boys on holidays. He helped me to grow up. Taught me how to cook, clean and even bought me a new bed. We were together a year and a half. Honestly, I have no regrets. He brought me music and was a great part of my life. If I was to ever see him again, all I would say is thank you.
Chapter Six
2010
This is that part that I mentioned at the start of this story. This is what broke me into a million pieces. Shattered my every being and tore my heart so much that it would never, ever be the same again…
A letter to Shit face.
How could you do it? Why would you do it? These questions still pour through me even now. Despite how far I have come emotionally, I think they will always be there in the back of my mind. I think you knew that this was the only thing you could do to get to me, to hurt me and destroy me once again. If you hate someone and want to hurt them, you focus on their weaknesses. You knew they were mine. I spent years blaming myself. Saying things like, ‘I should have known’ or ‘It’s my fault.’ This constant self-blame is part of what left me caught in this trauma. It wasn’t until my recent therapy that I finally let it go.
It was YOUR fault. I COULD NOT have known. It was all YOU. You no longer have any hold on us. Your actions have ruined your life NOT ours. My boys are amazing, strong and resilient and you have NO part of that.
All you deserve is a life of pain and destruction, you should not be allowed to breathe oxygen, but while you do, I hope it is filled with poison and your days are filled with regret, sorrow and you are always haunted by the awful and disgusting things that you have done.
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My 3-year-old son had been sexually abused by his own father. I had failed my own child beyond measure.
Part of me died that day. I never saw that part of me again. If I could give my life to stop what happened, I would a thousand times over.
I don’t know where he is and I don’t ever care to know but if he was to read this book, I would want him to see that what he did to my boy, didn’t work. He may have broken me into pieces, but I am back together again now and always will be. Ultimately, this terrible trauma damaged me more than I could have ever realised.
The weekend that my life changed was at the start of my final teaching placement. I missed the first day, I wasn’t sure that I could trust anyone. I locked all the doors, it was like a primal instinct, wanting to protect my babies. However, I knew if I didn’t finish my degree, he would have achieved what he set out to do... Ruin our lives. I couldn’t let him do it. So, I did the very British thing of ‘carrying on’. I packed it all away and battled on through. I had no idea of the damage that had been caused. I didn’t seek help; I just carried on. Once again, the people who should have been there to protect me and look after me were never there. When I first found out that night, my amazing Uncle and Auntie came to me. I will never forget that they came, and they were there, unlike all the others who never were. Thank you for being the only ones who cared. Imagine, your close family member going through this horrific trauma and just not doing anything? Nothing at all? Does it make sense to you? It doesn’t make any sense to me.
Somehow, despite everything, I did it. I gained my degree. I even got a job offer from my final placement. Of course, I stopped all contact between the boys and their father. I had no choice and had to protect them. He lost all his rights after what he did, that was his choice.
My Jigsaw was broken into so many pieces, but I was determined not to let him break my boys, they were too important, and I knew I would always do everything in my power to make sure they live their best lives. I was building a future for the 3 of us and no one was going to stop us.
Chapter Seven
Late 2010
The night I met my Mr Right, I wasn’t looking. Understandably, I had no trust in men and was happy on my own, ready to start my new career. Then, out of nowhere, he appeared. I won’t lie; life is no fairy tale. This man was a mess but there was something different about him. A lost soul. Maybe, I could see part of myself in him. We both needed saving. He could see my broken pieces; my delicate jigsaw and I could see his.
He was drinking heavily; he had had hard times. We somehow connected our pieces together. He knew that if we were to be together and he was to meet my precious boys he would have to stop the drinking, I made that clear. He did it. Cold turkey.
He was so ill, but he proved to me in those few weeks just how much our connection meant. He was willing to change despite how ill he was. He proved in that moment that he was serious.
After 6 months, I decided to introduce him to the boys. This was hard but was a slow and gradual process. Mr Right knew what he was taking on. One night out, I lost it, I broke down, told him everything. I told him to leave, that he didn’t need to deal with it, but he didn’t. He stayed with me.
After that night, I decided to move on. Leave all the horrible thoughts behind. I wanted to build our future. I was happy or at least that’s what I convinced myself.
Chapter Eight
I am going to try and attempt to explain how trauma affects the brain. I am NOT a medical professional. This is my unmedical opinion and understanding. A lot of what I have learnt has come from medical professionals at Queen’s Square, National Neurological Hospital in London and from reading the book- ‘The body takes the score’ by B Van Der Kolle, M.D.
When you experience a traumatic event which can be pretty much anything to each individual, this influences how your brain functions. The trauma is stored in your emotions centre called the Amygdala. This trauma if quite severe causes a malfunction of your emotions centre as a way of protecting you from what your brain recognises as danger. Triggers, which can be emotional, physical, even smells can send your brain into panic mode, also known as, fight or flight mode. The trigger tells your brain that the trauma is going to happen again. If you have no way of processing the trauma or dealing with it, it will sit there in your sub-conscious ready to act when your brain believes the threat has returned.
Unfortunately, it really doesn’t matter who you are or how strong you are, trauma doesn’t discriminate.
Until meeting Dr P at the National Neurological hospital and reading the book mentioned earlier, I always thought that trauma only effects war veterans. The term PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) is one that I had always associated with war.
Now that I understand trauma and how it affects the brain, I can clearly see triggers that may have led to the development of FND (Functional Neurological Disorder)
There were several triggers leading up to the moment my symptoms began. At the time, I had absolutely no idea what was happening and why it was happening to me. I do not think anyone knew or understood, how could we? See, the thing is, us humans are a lot more delicate than we realise. You could be a top athlete or even the strongest man/woman in the world but if your brain is traumatised and you don’t try and fix it, you’re going to have it come back and bite you in some extremely shocking ways.
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2013
I was happy, in a great place. My boys were thriving, I was in a good, healthy and normal relationship. I had been teaching for two years. Then, a new head teacher joined my school. She was a woman with a plan, and I didn’t fit into that plan. She was in her 50s, married but with no children. She had a strong belief that you couldn’t be a good teacher if you had a family. She burned through that school and didn’t care who she destroyed in the process. She destroyed me, tore apart my self-esteem and made me begin to despise myself, just like Shit Face. Of course, I see it now, I didn’t see it then- she made me feel just how he had. Useless, broken, nothing. I had no choice but to leave the school. This was a HUGE trigger. This was Strike One. The beginning of the decline in my health.
If I’m honest with myself, she was right back then, I wasn’t good enough. She was right in that, however, what was wrong in her actions was the way she went about it. As a leader, she should have tried to support me, not destroy me. That’s something I can’t forgive. Sadly, she was diagnosed with terminal cancer about 2 years after I left her school and died 6 months later. Part of me, selfishly wishes I could have had that conversation with her. I could have told her where she went wrong. However, to her I was only an inconvenience getting in the way of her vision. Last time I spoke to a colleague from that school, I was told that the whole staffing changed whilst she was in charge. Like I said, I didn’t fit in with her plan and sadly, neither did they. This all happened over the Christmas period of 2012. I started to suffer with migraines and developed a tremor but just put it down to stress.
Just 6 weeks later, I managed to secure a new position at a lovely, little local school. This school was different. Like none I had ever entered. I took over a Year 6 class just before SATs which is quite a challenge, but I was excited. The head teacher was supportive, kind and compassionate. I felt good. What I didn’t realise is just how much my previous head had knocked me and sent my brain into complete confusion. I made it to the Easter holidays. Mr Right’s parents were very kindly taking us on holiday to the Netherlands. My boys had never been abroad, and I couldn’t wait.
This was the first time I had spent any period of time with my new in-laws and their first experience as ‘grandparents’. My mother-in-law is a good person; however, she has no filter. I already felt pressure as despite Mr Right having lots of issues when I met him, his family were quite well off, and his mother was certainly not happy that her son was with a single mother. The hilarious thing is, is that I was and still am a ‘catch’ and my boys have never been a negative, anyone lucky enough to be part of their lives should always see this as a privilege! Unfortunately, the holiday ended up being a nightmare where my mother-in-law spent the week criticising me and my boys… Strike Two.
It was the Saturday of the May Bank Holiday weekend in 2013. The night before, Mr Right had been on a night out and had a relapse with the drink. He came back throwing up and sent me over the edge. I told him that he could not drink and that would be it for our relationship. I could not have anything ruin things for me and the boys. After much persuasion, he promised me it was a huge mistake, and it would never happen again (and it didn’t)
After lots of making up, we headed over to my parent’s house to see my dad as my mum was at work.
Then… my already fractured pieces shattered.
I went to lay down upstairs at my parent’s house as my head pain was unbearable, I felt strange and twitchy. It got to a point where I felt I needed help. As I made my way downstairs and entered the kitchen, the whole right side of my face and body went numb. My face and eye dropped down, and my tongue twisted. It looked and felt like a stroke. An ambulance was called, they arrived quickly, they believed I was having a stroke too.
Petrified, I honestly was scared for my life, I felt trapped inside my body, unable to communicate. Mr Right could tell simply from my eye movements that my priority was, as always, my boys. He knew that he had to keep them safe and sheltered from what was happening.
What people cease to understand is just how life changing and debilitating Functional Neurological Disorder can be. There is far too much stigma around this illness, even from fellow sufferers of Chronic Illnesses. I will always fight till my dying breath to stop this stigma. This condition is shit, disgusting and life destroying, and no one would ever choose to live this way.
And so began my journey into diagnosis land. As mentioned at the start of my book, despite all the symptoms, nothing significant showed up from any tests yet there I was rapidly deteriorating. My symptoms increased and led to non-epileptic seizures, paralysis and burning pain from head to foot.
I was finally diagnosed in August 2013 by Mr Mark Edwards at the National Neurological Hospital in Queens Square, London. My full diagnosis was Functional Neurological Disorder and Non-Epileptic Attack Disorder.
Chapter Nine
Life is cruel, it seems that if you are to endure suffering, this is something you will always face. The damage that I have met both physically and mentally because of FND, has been immense. It’s almost comical when you look to the route cause of my FND, being Post Traumatic Stress Disorder as a result of the evil that Shit Face put me and my boys through. Surely, if there was justice in the world, it should be the person that caused the pain and damage that should be left with lifelong suffering and illness not the victim!
I have been lucky that I have not faced much stigma around my FND. I spent a lot of time with my wonderful Auntie (a neurological nurse) and uncle and if it was not for them, my journey with chronic illness could have been extremely different. I have always been treated with grace and respect and compassion; however, this is not the case for most with my condition. Originally linked with Conversion disorder, some medical professionals believe that this condition is purely psychological, however, it has now been proven that it is both Neurological and psychological and the symptoms experienced by those with the illness are very real and not an imagined thing. Please see the website below for more information.
Functional Neurologic Disorder | National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke
Living with chronic pain and fatigue is not easy. However, I feel that because I have fought this battle and never given up, this has meant that I have been able to continue working and remain mostly able bodied. My reason for fighting and not giving up is obvious.
I always wish for an easy and uncomplicated life but instead feel like I am living in a constant episode of Eastenders, one ‘duff duff’ after another. I sometimes feel like I am in a bad dream and will eventually wake up from it, but it is just the fact that in the books of life being handed out, mine has been dropped so many times that the pieces have fallen away just like the pieces of a Jigsaw. The only person that can pull my pieces together are me and I will somehow always pull them close enough to bring them all into one big piece.
Chapter Ten
When I was first diagnosed and extremely ill with my FND, my parents decided to retire up to the Scottish Borders, close to where my brother and his wife lived. Personally, I will always base my choices around my children. Yes, they are adults now, but they are young and if they need me, ever for anything, I will never leave them and will always be there. These thought clearly did not cross the minds of my own parents, who chose to up and leave when I was so ill. That entire year is lost on me. I was on so much medication, and I was so ill, I cannot remember much from that whole period of time. Eventually, I began to understand my illness and manage it better. I returned to work and had an amazing, understanding headteacher, who worked with me to manage my time at work around my new diagnosis. Me, Mr Right and my boys will always be eternally grateful to my wonderful uncle and auntie who supported us throughout those 5 difficult years. Managing work, the boys and this horrific illness without them would have been completely impossible. We will never forget what you did for us, your love, help and compassion were immeasurable. Thank you.
2018
We were struggling financially, relying on help from my parents for food and trying to cover the cost of the rent and bills became unmanageable. We were renting a tiny house in Watford, and it was costing us a fortune, the rent alone was around £1400 per month, and I was only working part time, Mr Right worked hard but his wages barely touched the surface. We had to do something about our situation and decided as our youngest was about to start high school and our eldest sixth form, that it would be a good time to take the leap and move up to Scotland to be closer to my parents and to get on the property ladder. It was a huge decision; little did we know how different living in Scotland would be compared to Watford. Oh, my goodness, were we in for a shock!
We had always visited Scotland, and my brother had been living in the Borders for about 15 years prior to our move. However, visiting and living are 2 very different things. It was a huge adjustment for us as a family at first. I’m not saying that everyone was hostile but let’s just say, I experienced racism on a whole new level. A lot of people I met initially made it clear that they did not like English people, who knew.
On the other hand, I have met some lovely, warm and kind people since moving here, who I now consider friends not just colleagues. You know who you are!
We initially rushed buying our first house as we were struggling having to stay with my parents. It was a nice, little house but I think I had bought the house I imagined the boys needed when they were small and very quickly, we began to ‘grow out’ of the house.
Covid 19 hit the UK and all of a sudden, we felt trapped and suffocated. Our neighbours were awful. They caused all sorts of issues. We moved to our forever home in September 2021 and never looked back.
When we initially moved to the Borders, I was lucky enough to start working as an Autism Outreach Teacher, supporting young people in primary and high school to manage their Autism difficulties in the mainstream school environment and this is where my love for Additional Needs began.
Following this maternity cover, I was keen to secure another job in the Additional Needs area and landed a position as an Inclusion and Wellbeing teacher, working in a specialist unit/school and partly outreach. Unfortunately, as much as I loved this job and the young people I was supporting, this began to hugely trigger my PTSD alongside my FND, and I felt like I needed to get out. A young person jumped onto my shoulder from height and fractured my shoulder and I was coming home with scratches and bruises everyday which was distressing my family, so I knew that I needed out.
I took another maternity cover back as an Autism Outreach teacher which I loved but unfortunately, when Covid hit, I was pulled in to work at the Complex Needs school and once again, the young people, who I cared for dearly, would lash out, break my glasses, rip my mask/apron and knock me over. I had to admit defeat. I began to really suffer with severe flash backs and an exacerbation of my FND symptoms. This resulted in me having to take 4 weeks off which killed me. I do not know how well you have grasped my personality so far from reading my story, but I’m hoping you have picked up that I am a ‘grafter’ I love what I do, and I work very hard so taking that time off was a very difficult decision. However, it gave me the time to realise that I needed to change.
I began trauma therapy. This was tough but it helped me work through some of the things of the past that haunt me.
One thing that I have learnt is that trauma never goes away. It is always there in the back of your mind. Anything can trigger the flashbacks, the feelings of intense fear but what I have learnt from my many different therapists is that although we cannot get rid of trauma, we can learn to face it and manage it. Acceptance that these things have happened and recognising the pain it caused but also focusing on the fact that what happened was in the past and it has gone now. It can no longer harm you. You are safe.
The feeling of safety is something you must relearn after suffering such severe trauma. It feels fake and untrustworthy. You never want to let you guard down. You feel like you must protect yourself and your babies at all costs.
It is finally realising that you can breathe, you can let them free. You are safe and no one can harm you anymore.
My trauma therapy made me see that working with young people who cannot control their actions was not the best place for someone with trauma like mine to be working. I had to change. It was not an easy decision. I cared deeply for those young people, and we had been through so much during Covid and lockdown. We were in school 5 days a week. All adults in full PPE. It was like some horrific, sci fi nightmare. I worried constantly that I would make my family ill. My youngest son has severe asthma, my dad COPD, but thankfully, both got through it unscathed.
Then, as if by magic a position came up as an additional needs’ teacher at a local high school that I had worked at as an outreach worker. I loved the school and worked well with the Principal Teacher who shared all the same values as me. I was lucky enough to get the job.
I have made special bonds with the people, adults and children, I work with at the school and feel that I have been able to make a real difference to their lives. My wonderful boss has just retired at the time of me writing this book, the school will not be the same without her, but our team is fantastic and strong, and we will be fine and stick together. I will always do my best and give my work my all. I treat each family member and young person like they are family and will always strive to get them the best possible outcomes during their time under my care.
I have been turned down for more senior positions despite knowing that I could carry out these jobs with my eyes closed. I know that this is because of my illness, although this would never be admitted. However, I know that I could do the job very well, and I believe they know that too, but they see me as too much of a risk because of being Chronically Ill. It saddens me, but I know that it may not be my time right now, but it will come soon. This is the reality of living with chronic illness. People will always judge you and hold you back, if only they could see what I have survived, what I have overcome, they would understand that not only am I resilient, but I am strong and can get through things that others could not even imagine.
Chapter Eleven
Some of my pieces still do not fit perfectly in my Jigsaw, some are still quite crooked and bent. Nevertheless, I am gradually creating something beautiful. I am using the pieces I have been given, and I am building a wonderful, spectacular life.
With my boys and Mr Right by my side, we have created something immeasurably strong. We are a unit not to be shaken. We have survived all the awful things thrown at us and have come out the other side shining.
My eldest son is about to start his second year as a Primary School Teacher, following a brilliant first year. He has been mind-blowingly fantastic.
My youngest son is about to start his second year at university studying music. He’s a pianist and has only been playing since lockdown where I began teaching him the basics on a keyboard in our kitchen. Just pure grit and determination.
Ultimately, what I wanted you to see as you joined me on this journey, piecing back my Jigsaw is that life is messy, complicated, cruel and amazing all at the same time. We can choose to ‘give in’ and accept what we are handed, or we can choose to fight it, say ‘fuck you’ and mould it into some altogether better. I hope you agree that it is all too short to not give it a bloody try.
Thank you,
Charlotte xxx
