My 2021 Horror Story

It was a weekday evening just like any other. I was chatting away to clients on various platforms, scrolling mindlessly (as we do), and window shopping for maternity clothes for my growing bump, muttering under my breath about the lack of sexy clothes available for mommas with bumps!

And then the message came through. Rage. Anger. Accusations. 

My stomach flipped, and my heart sank. 

I listened patiently to the voice note as she made her position clear, leaning in to my emotions as they fluttered up into my stomach, then my heart, then my throat, until eventually tears sprang from my eyes. 

It took me a while to respond. 

From there it all went downhill. 

The dominos fell and the tower crumbled into a quicksand which sucked all light and consciousness with it. 

The ivory tower I’d spent years dreaming of, and months curating, was destroyed in a matter of weeks.

I blamed myself for believing I could build something so perfect that it would change the world…

It didn’t change THE world, but it did change my world. 

I disappeared. 

I could barely face social media. The smile was fake. My energy was zapped, and I was being advised by my legal team to keep my mouth firmly shut. 

My voice wobbled on a daily basis. Despite my best efforts I couldn’t hold the tears back. I literally couldn’t believe what was happening. I never saw it coming. 

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did.

After the first time 

And the second

And the third

And the fourth 

And the fifth

The fifth time was the worst one. 

That one had me avoiding emails, ignoring phone calls, refusing to even leave the house. I was a mess. 

The worst part was that those that knew what was happening took pity on me. I hate that feeling. 

People around me, those who loved me, said things like “I can’t believe they are doing this to you. Especially whilst you’re pregnant.”

As if my pregnancy made me more vulnerable. Weaker. Less able to cope with this enormous pain. 

Truthfully it did. My hormones were wild. I felt attacked. I was in momma bear mode, fighting to protect the safety and sanctity of my upcoming maternity bubble, and the body my baby boy was relying on for his growth and nourishment.

I fought against the fear which flooded my body on a daily basis. For his sake. My body was his home. He didn’t deserve to experience what I was going through. 

Fighting it made it worse. I became my own worst enemy, driving myself mad, torturing myself with hypothetical situations and “what ifs”.

I reached out to peers & mentors, current ones, and past ones. They all shared similar advice. It will pass. Let your solicitors handle it. This is just part of the coaching industry. It’s inevitable. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re in integrity. You’ll be ok. 

But I didn’t feel OK. I felt anything but OK.

The slander got worse. The threats became more intense. My due date loomed. 

I continued to hide behind a fake smile. 

I stopped speaking my truth. 

I lost my connection to mySelf. 

The crown had slipped. The castle walls had been breached. And I stopped commanding my Queendom. 

Part 2 tomorrow …

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Love always
Harriette