by Elle – What About Now?
This one’s different.
I’ve gone back and forth about whether I should write this. For a long time, I said I wouldn’t. Maybe that was the right choice then. But now? I feel like I’ve been holding too much in. I feel like I deserve to speak. I feel like I deserve to be understood.
Because I’m not the bad guy.
I’ve never been someone who felt the need to explain myself to others. But this—this has been heavy. It’s been hard watching people carry on with their lives, believing a version of events that simply isn’t true. Letting people think I’m a bad person, when they don’t even know half of what really happened.
I’ve had to walk away from a massive part of my life. And not entirely by choice. I’ve left people behind—people I loved. People who meant everything to me. But to move forward, I had to. Even knowing that doesn’t make it any less painful. In a lot of ways, I feel like I was the one who was left behind.
A lot of people think they know me. A lot of people think they know why I did what I did.
They don’t.
So this is me, setting the record straight.
The Beginning
Relationships are hard. Actually, they can be really fucking hard. When you start feeling the bad more than the good, that’s usually a sign that something’s not right. But most of us ignore that sign—we cling to what was, hoping we can find our way back to the good days. Even when we know we probably never will.
Last year, most people knew I came out of a long-term relationship. No hatred, no anger—we had just reached the end of the road. It hurt, but it was mutual. Before that though, I wasn’t in a great place. Story of my life, really.
I’ve got a past. Things happened to me that never should have. I didn’t deal with them—I buried them. And because they happened when I was still a child, I didn’t fully understand them until much later. When I finally did, I turned all the anger inward. I blamed myself.
I carried a lot that wasn’t mine to carry. And I couldn’t cope. I kept trying to outrun my past, but all I really did was carry it into every part of my future.
Then came Archie.
A Reason to Try
Archie didn’t fix me—nothing could. But something shifted. When I looked at him and realised his life was in my hands, I tried. I tried so hard. For a while, it was me and Archie against the world.
But then the cracks started to show. I never stopped being a mum, but I found it hard to be anything sober. I started spiralling again. And, in true Elle fashion, I tried to take on the world alone. I shut people out. I stopped letting anyone in.
That’s when I met her.
Another Chance
I didn’t know then that she’d become such a big part of my life. I just knew I needed saving. Someone to fight for me. Someone to care. It felt like one of those rare moments where the universe puts someone in your path at exactly the right time.
She saw me. Really saw me. She knew my darkness, my chaos—and still, she stayed. Even when I drank. Even when I lied. Even when I gambled. She stayed.
And honestly? In the beginning, I was happy. I felt like life had given me another chance at happiness. She loved Archie. I found a family in hers. We had good times—so many. And I wasn’t perfect. I messed up more than once. But never with the intent to hurt her. That doesn’t make the hurt go away, I know. But I want to be honest about my part too.
I’ve always been a private person. But all of a sudden, the worst things I’d done became common knowledge. And I didn’t know how to deal with that. There was a time I tried to take my own life because I’d messed up again. I didn’t want people to know. And then I found out… they already did.
Everyone knew.
And that broke something in me. Walking around with people who only saw the negatives—who only knew the worst version of me—it was unbearable. I get that people need to talk. I do. That’s exactly what I’m doing now. But I never wanted to paint anyone as the villain. And I still don’t.
When Trust Shattered
Then the accusations began.
If I stayed late at work. If I was too friendly with someone. Sometimes, for no reason at all. And I get it—relationships come with insecurities. But I had always been clear about one thing: cheating wasn’t something I could do. Or forgive.
We were on holiday when I saw the message on her phone. I asked to see it. She refused. Eventually, she showed me—and it wasn’t as bad as I feared. But something felt off. What I didn’t realise at the time was that messages had been deleted. I thought I had the full truth. I didn’t.
And from that moment on, I think I began to check out emotionally. But I still couldn’t let go. I kept telling myself it wasn’t that bad. That I was overreacting.
We eventually broke up, but shared friends meant we were still around each other a lot. And then the whole thing came out again. Messages. Conversations. Things I’d never seen.
Because I never would see them. They were deleted.
It took months before I got a straight answer. And even then, it wasn’t the messages that hurt the most—it was what they represented. It was the betrayal behind the scenes. The fact that she knew how hard it was for me to trust, and still chose to be dishonest. The fact that it had been going on from the very beginning. The fact that she kept me in a situation I should’ve left.
The manipulation. The discomfort she created in rooms I used to feel safe in. The quiet campaign to make me look like the problem.
And maybe I was part of the problem. But I wasn’t the problem.
The Truth About Both Sides
The truth is, we both hurt each other—just in different ways.
Some people might say the things I did were worse. They were frequent. They were ongoing. And I’m not here to make excuses or justify anything. I hurt people. I know that. I’m not stupid. I’ve taken a long hard look at myself, and I can say that with honesty and shame in equal measure.
But the part that cuts deepest? It’s not the hurt itself—it’s the betrayal of trust. I had already made peace with the idea that I might never let anyone in again. I’d said it openly. I couldn’t survive being hurt like that a second time. And she knew that. I told her that.
It’s not even the act itself that still lingers. It’s the way it was handled.
The lies. The half-truths. The way the truth was drip-fed only when it could no longer be hidden.
If the messages had come out in full, in the light of day, when they should have—I would’ve left. And I wouldn’t have questioned myself. I wouldn’t have felt manipulated. I wouldn’t have walked away feeling like the guilty one.
What stings the most is that I was made to feel guilty for ending it—when in reality, I should have ended it long before I did. And even when everything finally came out, the lies continued. The story kept changing. People were being told half-truths about me, and I let it happen. I let people believe I was this awful, chaotic person—and I stayed quiet. I stayed small.
I accepted treatment I didn’t deserve. And maybe—maybe—if things had just been handled with more honesty, it wouldn’t have felt like such a personal attack.
None of this is about painting anyone out to be a bad person.
It’s not about attacking anyone’s character.
Good people can do bad things. We all can.
But I guess for me—it felt personal. It felt like these things were done because I didn’t deserve better. Like I wasn’t enough to stop someone treating me that way. Like I wasn’t worth the truth. Or the effort. Or the respect.
It made me feel like I wasn’t good enough. Like I somehow deserved the hurt. That pain was just part of the package when it came to me.
And it reinforced something I’ve fought against for years—that deep, buried belief that I’m not worth loving. That I’m not enough. That if someone stays, it’s out of pity. That if someone lies, it’s because the truth would only confirm what I already fear about myself.
I was kidding myself that it could’ve been different. And I suppose that’s what hurts the most.
I’ve lived my life always feeling like an option—not a choice.
And to keep feeling like I was replaceable… like I wasn’t the person someone chose—it hurts.
It hurts more than I ever wanted anyone to see.
My Truth
I wasn’t going to speak. I didn’t want to tell my side. But I can’t sit back and let people think I did what I did because of a breakup.
It didn’t help—but it wasn’t the cause.
I was already spiralling. I already felt broken. I already didn’t trust myself. That relationship just tipped me over the edge.
It was one more person I gave my heart to who didn’t deserve it. One more reason I stopped trusting my own judgement. And I hate that—I hate how it changed me. I hate how I let it.
I’ve been angry. I’ve been heartbroken. I’ve tried to forgive. I’ve tried to let go. I’ve tried everything.
But now, I’m done trying to make sense of other people’s choices.
Now, I walk away.
Now, I put myself first.
If you’re still here, thank you.
This wasn’t easy to write—but it was necessary. For me.
This isn’t about blame. It’s about reclaiming my voice, my truth, and my future.
Why I’m Telling You This
I never wanted to speak about it. I didn’t want to drag anyone’s name.
But I can’t sit in silence while people believe I broke down because of a failed relationship.
I didn’t.
I was already spiralling before any of this.
I had trauma. I had pain.
And this — this tipped me over the edge.
It was one more person I gave my heart to who didn’t deserve it.
And worse, who knew I would — and let me anyway.
I don’t hate her. I don’t even blame her.
I blame myself.
For trusting again. For ignoring the signs.
For not listening to my gut.
And in doing so, I stopped trusting myself. I stopped letting people in.
Because if I can’t trust me, how can I trust anyone?
Where I Am Now
I’ve done the angry stage. The heartbreak. The numbness.
I’ve watched everyone else’s life keep going while mine fell apart.
I’ve tried to forgive.
I’ve tried to forget.
I’ve tried to be okay.
But now, I’m trying something else.
I’m choosing me.
Because walking away doesn’t make me weak.
It makes me free.
Final Words
If you’re reading this and seeing yourself in it — I want you to know something:
You are allowed to take up space.
You are allowed to speak your truth — even if it shakes everything.
And most of all, you are allowed to choose yourself.
This isn’t about revenge.
This is about release.
This is about saying: I know what happened. I know who I am. And I know I deserve better.
Thank you for listening.
— What About Now?
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