I want to tell you I walked away untouched, but that would be a lie, and I’ve had enough lies for one lifetime.
For a long time after, I slept with the light on.
For a long time, I couldn’t accept an open drink from anyone, not even a friend.
Being betrayed by the people who are supposed to be your safest harbor leaves a mark that no judge can rule away.
But I healed, slowly, on my own clear-eyed terms.
I moved out of the high-rise and into a small house that is mine alone, with good locks and better neighbors and no one in it who has ever lied to me.
And I did one more thing, once I was steady enough.
I started using what I know.
I give talks now, to financial planners and women’s advocates and anyone who’ll listen, about the quietest kind of abuse — the kind that doesn’t leave the obvious marks, the kind that empties your accounts and your sense of yourself at the same time, the kind that hides behind the words you’re just tired, you’re just forgetful, you’re just out of shape.
