I read a story yesterday. I start so many sentences that way. You’ll see. Because stories make me think, which obviously speaks to the power of storytelling in general.
But anyway, the story. It was about a woman in New York, a hairdresser, who had received a cease and desist order after posting videos to TikTok warning women of a man she had dated — a guy who had simultaneously dated other women while dating her and not telling any of the ladies involved.
Sounds slimy. Sounds like something no one would want. Sounds like something anybody would appreciate — a warning.
But the dude was pissed, even though he was never even fully named. How pissed was he? So pissed he retained an attorney to draft a cease and desist, which to most people, comes across as a threat.
Legal action, or threats of such action, is a common tool used by those who fear the truth from being exposed. Fear their reputations will be damaged. Fear their carefully curated public persona will be tarnished. Cue any politician in hot water and you’ll get what I mean.
It is, without a doubt, a silencer. And that’s unfortunate. Because the people doing the bad things carry on, while the people recovering from those things carry the burden.
A few years ago, I weighed that out. I received the threats, both verbal and written, and I considered how to tell a story of insidious and manipulative abuse in a way that was palpable, honest, raw and uplifting — where it could be. With my laptop propped on bended knees, seated on the tile floor as my kids fell asleep at night, I wrote.
And I kept it all to myself. Until I didn’t anymore.
“Keep writing.”
That was the response every time I hit the “publish” button. Private messages of support. Text messages asking for guidance. Calls. Emails.
People needed the words or the feelings or both. I don’t know. But now, a few years later, after I’ve gone and channeled the leftover energy produced by legal disappointments into the formation of a non-profit organization designed to support other survivors of domestic and sexual abuse, there’s still a need for the process and revelations that come with unwinding a tampered psyche.
Because when you’re mindf*cked, that shit takes time to unravel. TIME. You think you’re good, and you are, and then — out of nowhere — your body is processing a situation unconsciously without you even knowing exactly what’s happening yet.
A manipulated mind frame took years to build. It’s a project for the person in charge. Understand that first. Manipulation is a conscious effort.
And accept that it takes years to unravel — like that post-pregnancy bod I’m still working on some 12 years later. But like those stretch marks that I’ve come to accept as souvenirs, the mental marks left by a calculated, manipulative offensive are things I’ve come to recognize as mine.
They’re with me, part of me. And the stories that come from that period of my life — those are mine, too. Not anyone else’s, least of all the person who put me through it.
That realization makes it easier to talk about. Talk, write — whatever. It makes it all easier. I’m not ever telling anybody’s story but mine. Never have. And when I do, it helps others discover growth opportunities within their own stories. It helps them discover a path forward they didn’t see or it helps them better understand why they’re processing things a certain way.
So that’s what we’re going to do here. We’re going to grow and learn and share stories that unearth a better understanding of our own personal potential and offer a glimpse into how mindf*ckery works and, most importantly, how to unwind ourselves from it.
Sometimes it will involve romantic partners. Sometimes an employer or co-worker. Sometimes it might be a family member, a “friend,” a person holding public office or some annoying shit who lives down the street from you.
I hate to say it, but mindf*ckery is everywhere. It’s more relatable than you think. So, let’s take this journey together, shall we?