It seems like every time I take a break from this blog, I am eventually pulled back.

I open my phone, and on social media I hear the words ‘be your authentic self‘ over and over, like a mantra, like the universe is trying to tell me something.

See, I keep trying to go in different directions with my life, with my career, my writing, my self care, but I find myself stumbling over and over. The frustration is real, and I question myself, am I having some sort of ‘almost 40’ mid life crisis? Am I on the right path, the wrong one? I speak to people everyday in similar positions in my job as a Counsellor, people feeling lost in life. ‘Who is the real you?’ I ask them. I find I am able to pull out the strands of their confusion, their ‘lost-ness’ and help them find their answers, their path. But when it comes to me, I flounder.

For so long I’ve tried to ‘not be that girl that talks about abuse.’ I can imagine people rolling their eyes as they see me pop up on their feed, ‘not her again.‘ But it keeps pulling me back. Maybe this is where I am meant to be. This is what I am supposed to be talking about. If I listen to all those different voices telling me to be my authentic self, I guess this is it. This is who I am. I am a woman that met a man when I was seventeen that love bombed me so hard I believed it was real love. I spent the next ten years tip-toeing around, waiting for the next punch, kick, bite, slap, experiencing the utter confusion of the aptly named ‘hearts and flowers’ stage where I would be his Princess again, and then we would enter into the cycle once again of cat and mouse. I scurried and hid, whilst he growled and chased and eventually pounced.

But, the end of that relationship wasn’t the end of my story. The next chapter is so other worldly it is almost too bizarre to write about.

I found myself in a community that in many ways was supportive, non-judgemental and accepting, something I definitely needed after the years of abuse I had endured. It was somewhere I could be myself…had I truly known who I was it may have been perfect, the problem was, I didn’t . I became lost in the world of non-monogamy. I am, and have deep down always known, that I am monogamous at heart. I would never, could never, however much ‘therapy’ or self reflection I engaged in, reach ‘compersion’ (feeling positive emotions when my partner is involved with someone else). I know compersion is possible, I have seen it with my own eyes via the people I met on the scene, and with the non-monogamous couples for whom I provide therapy now. But it is not who I am at my core. Being a part of the ‘lifestyle’ confused the hell out of me. On one hand I experienced a freedom that I would never have imagined possible with my ex, he would get jealous even if another woman glanced my way, and the liberation of non-monogamy was unlike anything I could have imagined, however I battled internally with feelings of jealousy, shame and guilt, constantly trying to rewire my brain to ‘be ok with it,’ but I just never was. I felt a deep sadness, and a constant voice telling me I was not good enough.

The world of non-monogamy, or more specifically the ‘swinging community’, is rife with abuse. I’ve seen it. The couples who are on totally different pages, and the coercion that occurs when one part of that couple ‘takes one for the team’, to keep the other happy. The arguments when one partner gets too carried away and gaslights the other. The alcohol induced ‘playing’ that clearly is only happening because the person is too drunk to care, or worse, is trying to block it out.

I eventually saw it all from both sides of the fence, I fell in love with the guy behind the bar at a ‘private members’ club. He was the owners son and we had all been friends for a while. It wasn’t until he looked at me one night and said, ‘Why are you here?’ that I realised how far down the rabbit hole I had fallen, and how lost I really was. He saw me. Finally I felt seen. I remember feeling instantly like all the emotions I had been feeling over the years were rushing to my eyes and I fought back the tears that so often found their way out after a ‘night out’ with my then partner. We are married now, and funnily enough, a pep talk from him a day ago prompted me to write this blog. He still sees me.

Months after that pivotal moment at the bar, I found myself working at the club. New couples to the scene would ask me, ‘any advice?’ and my answer was always the same, ‘set boundaries, and in the heat of the moment make sure you don’t cross them. You can’t rewind time.’ Some listened. Some didn’t. We always knew the ones that wouldn’t make it, you could spot them a mile off.

The world of ethical non-monogamy is incredibly complex. The ‘swinging scene’ (just one of the branches of ENM) is full of colourful people, some amazing people. It can bring souls together that may have never met otherwise, it can enhance relationships, it gives people the opportunity to explore parts of themselves that they may never have the opportunity to do in a strictly monogamous relationship, or even as a singleton. Who you are inside and out, your sexuality, your kinks, your fantasies are not questioned, or judged, simply accepted and nurtured. But it also harbours a dark underbelly. It opens the door to addictions, infidelity, sex work, abuse, coercion, intimacy and performance issues, and low self esteem to name but a few.

The past four and a half years we have been away from the scene entirely. It has been a time dedicated to building my private practice, to help those that have been through experiences much like mine. There is a moment I recognise in clients when they realise I see them. The dropping of the shoulders, the exhale of breath. The tears that fight their way through. To feel truly seen, held, and understood by another person is like being enveloped in warmth and safety. No longer needing to fight to be heard. The struggle of feeling alone and misunderstood wiped away in that single moment, is a powerful thing.

Being our authentic selves is something that so many of us struggle with. We are fed endless images of the ‘perfect’ life, the perfect family, the perfect way to think, speak, be, do. It’s no wonder many of us never feel good enough. But good enough for what? For whom? What is perfect? Whose ideals are we living up to? Our own, or somebody else’s?

I have come to realise, as I circle back to me telling you about my recent ‘floundering’, that to be my authentic self, is to accept that my past is a part of who I am. My full story is not pretty. It’s one I am likely to be judged for. It’s one that I still have reservations on whether to share, or not. But to keep it hidden is to hide me. And what sort of a therapist would I be, if I didn’t take my own advice.

So yes universe, I hear you. I’m finally listening.