A history of “violence”


You know people say that we are not only made by our parents, their choices, our choices in life, we are also the fruit of past generation history, pains, hopes, dreams and regrets. Yesterday, in bed, as I was about to let sleep takes me to a faraway land, something hit me. Even though I had a happy childhood, with loving parents and grandparents, who encouraged me, trusted me and did everything in their power to give me the best, violence was not far. Violence was on the dinner table, in my mother’s memories that she would share again and again, so she can heal – violence against her a child (physical and sexual violence) – violence against her mother (physical and emotional). Violence was everywhere.

My imagination created many images in my mind. Violence became part of me, as I tried to do everything to make my mum happy. I took a charge that wasn’t mine. Nobody realized it. I was such a happy and quiet child.

Life kept going and I kept moving with it without understanding why I found myself engaged in many relationships tainted by violence: I was harassed at primary school for 4 years – my first boyfriend was a battered child – I worked 3 years with a toxic and crazy fashion designer – I met my ex-husband and discovered violence is not only physical, it’s in the words, the threats, the silence too.

My grand-mother always stayed and keeps staying silent about the violence she was exposed to for many years. She says “it was not that bad”. I can’t hear this. Violence broke my mum. Violence took up power in our life. Violence made me a victim for years.

Somedays I feel that violence is inside me. I try my best to tame it. These days I need silence and peace, so I can let it go without hurting anyone around. Somedays I can’t, so I shout and bury my head in a soft cushion. It feels like violence is tattooed on my skin, like something I can’t get rid of. When my sweet boy turned 2 and started using his hands and fists when he did not get what he wanted, many memories rushed through me. The fact that young kids can’t express their emotions did not help me dealing with his outburst or anger and violence. It was like the story repeated itself.

That’s the reason why I am working a lot on me, asking for professional help when the charge is too heavy. I want to let violence behind. I don’t want violence to be part of the next chapter of our life. We learn together, celebrating victories, searching for peace, towards more light.

Writing and Chocolate ice cream


Sometimes writing feels like dipping your fingers in chocolate ice cream

It’s delicious till you can’t stand it

It’s sweet till you can’t eat it

It makes you happy till it makes you sick

It’s happening to me right now as I am in process of re-reading my manuscript. It’s not so much about the story, it’s more about finding the right word, organizing paragraphs, crossing off lines, writing differently. I love it tille I hate it.

So I stop, take a pause, find something else to do, till the passion is back and the paper is not a threat anymore.

And you, how do you see writing? Is it always easy or do you find yourself lost from time to time?

You no more…

I’d rather die

Bury my feet into the spongy ground

Vanish into the night

I’d rather stay silent

Go blind

Steal the key of the door

Taking to my heart

I’d rather fly away

Walk barefoot on fire

Swim till I can breathe no more

I’d rather escape

Take up arms

Fight against the Lion

I’d rather scream so loud

That everybody has to hide

I’d rather risk my life

Than going back to you

The wedding ring


The flickering sound of a bird nearby told me to stop listening to old thoughts. It was time, to let go, time to erase the shot:  me and you buying the wedding ring.

Saturday afternoon, crowded place, tangled hair, no makeup, friends all around – your friends, spring is on the way. We are in May.

We haven’t talked to each other for 3 days now. I cry. You call me stupid. You threaten to leave, this place, me. We are engaged. The wedding is planned for July. A tear, just one, a need, simple one, a word, not the good one, could ignite a terrible rage within you. I know. I will smile. It’s better for me. You like it. You like when I shut up and smile. You think I want to please you. You love when I play the good wife. Shut up and listen to your man. you know best. I just want peace. I stand firm against the need to shout and tell the world how messy my life is with you, how crazy you are. Your smile is fake. Mine is a self-denial one.

I open my jewelry box, take out the ring. I am ready to let it go. I sold it for 20€. I don’t want it anymore. It’s the last thing that links us together as husband & wife. We are back being two strangers that will never meet again. The image – me and you buying the wedding ring – is fading away. It’s blurry. I can now say something like this, out loud: you are an asshole, a crazy bastard!

4 years relationship, divorce & a manuscript

Our relationship is already summed up in a big file, full of notes, letters, forecast budgets, solicitor fees, court ruling papers, translations, testimonies. It took 4 years to eventually close our case.

Our relationship is contained into a manuscript of 25 chapters, 165 pages, 68 000 words. I never thought I could achieve this one day. I should thank you for this. You gave me matters to discuss, feelings to explore, emotions to review in details, issues to solve. Your madness left invisible scars on my skin, in my mind. You gave me the chance to heal myself, to reconnect with the “true me”. I should thank you for this.

I need a couple of hours to finalize our 4 years relationship. I need a couple of hours to explain what happened after.

When I left I thought it was over. I was wrong. Another story started, the one that would crushed my heart in pieces but the one that would take me to the beautiful light after the chaos of the thunderstorm.

I always loved jigsaw. You must have known this. You don’t know anything about me. It’s the most difficult one I had to do, putting the pieces of my heart back together. It took me ages. Every time I thought I was on the right path, something went wrong and I had to start all over again. I am still working on it.

At the beginning writing was evidence. I needed to get you out of my head. I needed space to let go. I needed words to get rid of guilt. Healing process – dealing with grief. Ups and many downs. Then writing became a way to free my anger. I had so much resentment in me. There could not be any forgiveness. After a while, anger vanished and I started seeing things a different way. I wanted to understand.

Why you?

Why “yes”, when all my heart was shouting “no”?

Why I let you play with me in such a terrible way?

What happened in me? I had always been a happy child, a dreamer, a girl in love with life, a smiling lady. I had always been surrounded by loving and caring people.

What made me choose you? What made me think I would save you? What made me think you would save me? Save me from what?

Writing gave me the chance to answer some of these questions. Now I know why I want to finish this story. Sharing my experience is key. Sharing the worst before the best. Sharing to help. Sharing to tell the truth about you, about me, about the magnificent light, about the violence of your silences, about the pain inside my chest, about your status of victim, about my resilience, my faith.

In Between…

When you’ve been through abuse, when you’ve experienced bullying and harassment and /or emotional violence (sometime much more), it takes time to realize that all men are not like the one you’ve been with for « x » amount of time.

It’s hard to hear your friend complaining about her boyfriend or husband and to decide whether (or not) what they are dealing with is just “normal” argument between two people in love.

It’s hard to acknowledge that some people are really happy.

It’s hard to trust men again. It’s hard to open your heart.

It’s hard to be confident about you, about the power you have to set up the limits you need for your next relationship.

It’s hard to see friends happy and in love, always wondering “what if”?

It takes time to get over the past, to let go of all the feelings and emotions you experienced.

It takes time to realize that some men are good – good husbands – good friends – good dads. And that what they want is just the exact same thing you want.

It takes time to let love fill the space in your heart and rejoice for others happiness.


I’m still “in between”…

Acknowledging that some stories are good

Some meant to happen for a reason…

Others must be forgotten…

And many are complicated but beautiful.

Being a woman

I forgot what it meant

Being a woman

I forgot what it’s like

Being looked at


He said things

I did not want to hear

Lack of confidence

My body is a mess


I feel scared

Trusting again


He told me

It’s time to let go

To let love knock at the door

Of my heart


I am so good at listening to others

At helping them

I am so bad at letting someone take care of me

Telling me how fabulous I am


Images are rushing in front of my eyes

Being naked is scaring me

How to be myself when deep down

The scars are still bleeding?


I want to scream

How can I forgive myself?

How can I let go of something that is killing me?

How somebody will see behind

My broken femininity?


I forgot what it meant

Being a woman

I forgot what it’s like

Being looked at


I forgot I was loveable

I forgot I was beautiful


This poor little guy

I want this

I want that

I want you to do this

I want you to agree

I, always I

It’s all about you

Always was

Still is


I remember

You were this poor little guy

Accusing the world to treat you badly

Accusing me to not be good enough

Accusing your sisters to argue

Only to cause you pain

You were this poor little guy

With a sad childhood

In demand of happiness

But doing nothing to make it happen

Accusing others for your sad little life


Nothing changed

You did not

You are still the poor little man

The victim of a mad woman

Living far away from your child

You are still the poor little guy

Trying to make me change my mind

To fit your wishes

To simplify your life


You want me to change the deal

To send out the cards again

So you can get a chance to win the game


There is no victim

No persecutor

I chose Life

To be happy

If you choose death

It’s your mistake!


She is this kind of woman

She got hurt, badly hurt

With fist punches and words

She lost touch with the earth


She is a healer

A wise soul

From across the border




Between them


One cry

And an ear

To receive

Her story


She escaped

Risked her life

For a better one


She is this kind of woman





She is this kind of woman

She touched her heart

She helped her to survive

She is raising her voice


Come and join to support N and her kids.

Leaving takes courage

Leaving is a way to say “no more”

Leaving is tough when around people don’t get you, don’t understand your choice, when loved ones ask you to come back to your abusive home.

Time for you to shower and send love / prayers to N.

She deserves the Best of the Best.

She is this kind of woman

A role model for all of us

Go and read Jodi Post HERE – Domestic Violence Survivors

And Kim‘s one HERE – Why Would My Daddy Want Me To Go Back To My Abuser?


Crazy mind

His silence takes it all

The space in between

Silence takes its place

Inside your heart

Under your skin

You are searching to escape

No exit sign on the place

Something keeps you waiting

A hand keeps you from moving

A strange voice in your mind

Takes all the energy out of you

Bury your dreams

With one morbid smile

You lose track of time

Behind closed doors

Only dark hours

Madness around


In his crazy mind

You are his prize!