When the very worst abuse happened — the strangulation — I left for the UK.
He flew over to beg me back and promised to get help. I wanted it to work. I had invested decades into an abusive marriage. I had made myself small. I put on a brave face. I kept it all inside. I tried to stay strong. I didn’t cry. I didn’t fall apart.

He had isolated me from anyone who knew. I had already told three people in France. I had been to the doctors, the police, and a psychologist. And still… I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to leave my home and my dogs. At the time, I thought I could manage. That was a mistake.

There is no turning back after strangulation. You live in fear. You live on edge. You never know what’s coming next. You become resentful. You become hard. Detached. Fearful.

It has taken an extremely long time for me to be able to say these words. And now — with help and support — I can freely and safely say them out loud.

I am beginning to recognise emotions I had suppressed for decades. Feelings I always had, buried under fear. I am beginning to feel complete again. I still have a way to go, but I am enjoying the journey.

Sometimes it is difficult. Sometimes it is exhausting. But every day, every small step, teaches me something new about myself.

We are always learning and growing — at any age.

And finally, I am learning that speaking the truth of what happened is part of reclaiming my life.