I looked back on seven years of memories on this day, October 26th, with Facebook. I give pause to the memes I posted, maybe what may have been happening at that time. I was always trying to promote this or that clean water, air, and gentler society, There were some down right funny memes because I once was married to a narcissist, and predatory bully.

I believe the many reasons why I tweet, text, meme, Facebook or write about workplace bullying is I have been a target, a victim, and a resilient kick-butt lady. No one knows the details of a person’s inner most life so I do not stand in judgement of anyone for that reason. I have stayed silent so long about my own domestic violence as my predatory bully was my former husband. HIs behaviors could have landed him in jail if witnessed. Rarely were they witnessed.

He died this year. I felt my grown children’s grief but I do not miss the stalking that would occur. I do not miss the spontaneous screaming at my front door or in public because I was, still am, a generally happy person. I don’t miss “accidental” doors shoved into my head. I don’t miss looking over my shoulder or avoiding certain stores. I don’t grieve his loss. I have a sense of relief.

For the sake of my grandson, I went to some of his soccer games until it became too much for me to handle, the side remarks, the resumption of stalking because I was there. I attempted Christmas get-togethers until my husband said it was too much for him to watch the former get territorial. I let go of many experiences, not because I was uninterested in events but because it was safer for me to minimize my contact with him. The assumptions children or grandchildren make is saying the target/victim is not interested because they don’t show up.

When my adult children make assumptions about my lack of participation, I cringe. They don’t remember soccer games where Dad circled my car, beating on it, calling me names, creating an internal terror. I would not go to certain stores because he made these stores or restaurants, his. There was no telling when he would show up at a grocery 20 miles from his house and only a half mile from mine. Right now, they both want to remember the good things with their relationship with him. Thirty years is a long time to really be free finally.

I hope in writing this out, I lay the memories of abuse aside. and keep being free.