*A Note to My Readers
As I share this blog series, ‘Reflections and Revelations,’ reflecting on the pivotal moments that have shaped my life, I want to acknowledge that these posts include sensitive themes such as bullying, self-harm, depression, anxiety, promiscuity, and substance use. These topics are deeply personal, and while I share them with honesty, I encourage you to proceed with care. If at any point you feel triggered or overwhelmed, please prioritize your well-being and step away.
I also want to clarify that while my stories may at times sound like I am blaming or accusing others, this is not my intent. With time, reflection, and growth, I’ve come to understand that everyone was navigating their own challenges and doing the best they could with what they knew at the time. I do not hold resentment toward anyone mentioned; in fact, many of these relationships have been healed through understanding and time. For this reason, I have changed or omitted some of the names in these stories. This series is about exploring how these moments shaped me, not about pointing fingers, and I hope it inspires others to reflect on their own journeys with compassion and courage.

Betrayal & Abandonment… Again
After high school, I got my first full-time job as a customer service and administration assistant at a wholesale food company. I enjoyed my job and met some great people, including my office coworker Janine, who became one of my party buddies. Most weeks, I was out drinking Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, sometimes extending into a Sunday session of relaxed drinking and music. Things were still tense with my parents, but I was finished with school and ready to start my life as an adult.

I had a few boyfriends during high school, but nothing serious. After graduation, I continued a pattern of casual dating, which, once I lost my virginity at eighteen, turned into casual sex. Commitment terrified me. The moment anything seemed to be getting too serious, I cut it off, fearing that if I let myself get close to someone, I would be hurt again. This meant I hurt some really lovely, caring guys, but it also meant I allowed some terrible ones in—men who treated me poorly.

One drunken night out clubbing, a guy (Jackson) approached me on the dancefloor. It was meant to be a one-night stand, but when we woke up at my friend’s place the next day and started talking, we realized we had a lot in common—mainly the rejection we felt from our families. For the first time in a long time, I felt like someone understood me. We stayed in touch and continued talking and soon we started dating.

Tensions were growing at home with my drinking and spending all my free time with Jackson. He was living with his grandfather, and they had their own issues. We both felt unwanted by our families and it pushed us closer and closer together. Eventually, we decided to move into a flat together.

To be honest, my memories of that relationship are fuzzy at best. I was still pushing down emotions I didn’t know how to deal with, self-harming in an attempt to regulate my pain. We were both too immature and broken to be in a serious relationship but we jumped in head first anyway.

After some time, we decided it would be cheaper to buy a house instead of renting, and for the same weekly cost, we could be paying off our own home. I had doubts. I remember feeling uneasy about how fast everything was moving, but also like I had no choice. My parents didn’t want me. My best friend, Jennifer, who I’d made at the end of year twelve, had moved to Sydney. Jackson seemed like the only person who cared about me. My parents agreed to go guarantor, and I took that as them being eager to get me out of their house, and at nineteen years old, I owned a house with my first serious boyfriend. I think we had been together for maybe a year.

It was a disaster waiting to happen. The more emotional and possessive he became, the more I pulled away. The more I pulled away, the more dramatic and extreme his emotional breakdowns were. We were caught in a vicious cycle, triggering each other’s trauma, resenting one another for it, but being too scared of loneliness to leave. After one fight, he bought me a rescue dog. Then another. Kirra and Rocky became my best friends and my lifeline.

I reconnected with some male friends during a night out without Jackson, and soon I started joining them for four-wheel driving and camping trips when Jackson was working. It was my escape. A time I could relax and release the pressure that built up all week. My dogs went everywhere with me.

Then, Jackson announced that he had booked us a holiday in Hervey Bay, QLD. Sad to leave my dogs behind, I went. After a night of fishing and a few drinks, Jackson asked me to marry him.

My heart jammed in my throat. My eyes widened. All I remember saying was, “Are you serious?” He grinned, thinking I was excited, but I felt only numbness and dread. When he calmed down, I told him I didn’t feel well and needed to go to bed.

He was so eager to announce our engagement, and any time I hesitated, he would get upset, saying he knew I was going to abandon him. In hindsight, the relationship was deeply manipulative, but I wasn’t equipped to recognize or handle it. So many things happened that shaped my future relationships, but my memories are fragmented—I spent so much time in survival mode that I can barely recall the details.

We had an engagement party. I put on weight. He lost interest in me. I started going out more with my friends.

My boss sold his business, and the new owner was a sleaze. I suggested getting another job, and I think Jackson sensed he was losing me, so he encouraged me to quit, saying we would figure it out later.

I felt stuck. In an effort to find myself again, I started dieting and exercising, dropping all of the weight I’d gained. Then Jennifer moved back to town.

She became my lifeline, my way out. With her support, I finally told Jackson that I needed space to figure out what I really wanted. He didn’t take it well.

I stayed with Jennifer in her tiny one-bedroom unit while my dogs remained at my house. Jackson bombarded me with nonstop calls and voicemails—some threatening, some pleading, some filled with rage, others with love. The emotional whiplash was exhausting.

Then, one day, I returned to Jennifer’s house to find a note on my car windshield. She was angry and no longer wanted to be my friend. I had no idea what had happened, but my lifeline was gone. (Years later we would start speaking again and realise that I wasn’t the person who had done the thing that upset her. It was someone else. Had we communicated effectively and expressed our emotions, we would not have lost two years of friendship.)

And then, the part of the breakup with Jackson I can never fully relive—my dogs were put down. The devastation was unbearable. I hated Jackson for not taking care of them. I was furious that my parents didn’t help me keep them. I was living in my car, couch surfing, jobless, and surviving on Centrelink.

To make things worse, Jackson got a job at the employment agency where I had to apply for jobs. He made sure I got zero offers.

I hit rock bottom. I had lost everything. I felt like everyone had let me down, and I had no idea what to do next. I tried to hide what I was going through, but my male friends never asked too many questions. They always had a couch for me and a rum to drink if I needed it. They were like brothers to me, and I don’t think they realize how much their support meant. Without them, I’m not sure where I would have ended up.

Eventually, I realized no one was coming to save me. If I wanted my life back, I had to start over myself. So, I walked into a new IGA supermarket that was opening and applied for a job. They put me on as a checkout operator. From there, I was able to apply for better-paying full-time jobs. Once I had a stable income, my parents let me move back home.

Jackson still tried to make my life miserable. I lost count of how many times I had to change my phone number or how often he showed up wherever I was. We sold the house, our final connection to each other, and he met someone new. The phone calls and messaging stopped and I was able to breathe again.

I was twenty when I finally started over. But as much as I told myself I was fine, the damage lingered. I told myself the only person I could ever really rely on was myself. I wasn’t going to let anyone have power over me or make me feel ‘stuck’ ever again. The trauma from this time in my life echoed through the following years in ways I wouldn’t fully understand until much later.

Ask for Help

If you or someone you know is struggling, please seek support. Here are some Australian helplines that can help:

• Lifeline: 13 11 14 (24/7 crisis support and suicide prevention)
• Beyond Blue: 1300 22 4636 (Support for depression and anxiety)
• Kids Helpline: 1800 55 1800 (For young people aged 5–25)
• 1800RESPECT: 1800 737 732 (Support for domestic and family violence)
• Alcohol and Drug Foundation: 1300 858 584

You are not alone, and help is available.