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This article discusses themes of domestic and family violence. Support is available via DVConnect (1800 811 811) or your local equivalent international support service.

The first time I thought about leaving him was early 2024. I took the kids away to Rainbow beach. I made out that it was all a holiday, a fun little girls trip. We went to the playground and rolled down the dunes. Looked for crabs and shells on the sand. Ate fish and chips and created stories about princesses and dragons.

At night I lay awake. I tried to see a life I'd do myself. I couldn’t picture it, because I saw myself the way he saw me. How I kept my car a mess, cleaned kitchen counters wrong, under seasoned food. How I couldn’t make decisions, couldn’t handle the finances, remembered things wrong. No, he never called me those names. He never shouted. I misheard. He didn’t hurt the children, or it wasn’t that bad, or if it was that bad then they deserved it. The problem was my problem with anger. The problem was me.

In the morning we fed the wild dolphins at Tin Can Bay. Some of the dolphins had scars across their faces from boat propellers. They were still beautiful. Still wild. Still whole, even with the scars. I wondered what that felt like.

On the third day I drove halfway home so he could spend some time with the kids. We silently transferred the sleeping girls between cars. I stood on the gravel and shifted my weight from one leg to the other. Told him things felt wrong. I couldn't look him in the eye. He said I had a mental illness and began to list the symptoms. While he kept talking, I was no longer really there.  

I stayed in the relationship another six months. It’s hard, sometimes, for people to understand. The reasons for staying are complex and different for everyone. For me they were both complicated and simple: it wasn’t what happened, but what was taken.

What was taken was me.

In 2026, I returned to Rainbow beach. I climbed the dunes and looked out towards the vast horizon. My bare feet grounded into soft warm sand. The wind embraced me. I thought about my life, now so solid and real. The wooden wraparound balcony of the home that I own.  The bills I mostly remember to pay. My own car, still messy. My kitchen counters filled with children’s drawings and happy photos and occasionally food and crumbs.

I thought about how it was all so perfect.   

The next morning I woke early to feed the wild dolphins. Despite the passing of time they were all still there. Still wild. Still free. Still scarred, but whole.

And I knew how that felt.