That’s Right…

For the past couple of years, my abusive ex-husband, CJC has kept me very busy. In fact, in 2015, he himself was very busy. Very busy indeed. All behind my back.

I’ve said time and time again, the truth always prevails. Good will always be a winner over evil – no matter how long it takes.

CJC stalked my blog and tried to use it against me, eventually resulting in an epic fail (and I don’t use the word ‘epic’ often). As I am a lovely person, I am dedicating this post/song to him. Just ignore the very last sentence.

Have a great day everyone!

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South Carolina Lawmakers Restore Funds for Domestic Violence Victims

“If the funds go away, I feel that the abuse is going to increase,” said Doug Warner, who lost his daughter to domestic violence and is the founder of a non-profit in Charleston that is dedicated to assisting victims and their families.

Click here to view full article.

Children Who Experience Early Childhood Trauma Do Not ‘Just Get Over It’

Then stress hormone levels drop and you can think more clearly and resume your day fairly unscathed. What if you are 4, 9 or 15 years old? How will you cope if your repetitive early childhood trauma of living with domestic violence, unavailable or rough carers, chaos and unpredictability has left you traumatised?

by Jane Evans

Click here to view full article.

Four Year Anniversary

Yesterday (13th March) was my four year anniversary.

This was the day I landed in the UK with my then 12 week old son, after being in an abusive relationship.

This was the day I realised I was no longer going to punched, hit, strangled, suffocated and then some.

This was the day I realised that even though my abusive ex-husband agreed my son and I should go to the UK and he would follow, I knew he wouldn’t.

This was the day I realised my son was not going to grow up following in the footsteps of his father.

This was the day I got my life back – even though I am still not completely back on track.

This was the day I said “No more. Enough is enough”.

This was the day I started to live again.

The Art of Word-Jacking

“Today, we sing the hymns of freedom,
as we gather at the gates of justice…”
~ Afzal Moolla

Scribbled Verse






‘Freedom’.

‘Justice’.

‘Democracy’.


Three words,

lost to us.


Plundered by the few,

stripped naked and ravaged,

pummeled into submission.


Three words,

taken from us.


Usurped so casually,

stolen and cleaved,

left meaningless.


Three words,

strangled and violated.


No more.


Not today.


Today, we reclaim the ideals,

the billion voices,

all straining to be heard.


Today, we take back our truth,

our collective aspiration,

still yearning for the harvest.


Today, we sing the hymns of freedom,

as we gather at the gates of justice,

while mourning the paralysis of democracy.


‘Freedom’.

‘Justice’.

‘Democracy’.


Three words,

that we shall wrest back.


Three words,

that have nurtured our dreams.


‘Freedom’.

‘Justice’.

‘Democracy’.


Three words,

for which we all have bled.


Three words,

word-jacked and abused,

that are ours once more.


‘Freedom’.

‘Justice’.

‘Democracy’.


Three words,

that shall remain tightly wrapped,

around our collective core

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