I know there are those who bring up my past in an attempt to define me by it. Faceless critics who repeat the same accusations—stalking prevention orders, claims I pretended someone died, or that the mother of my children hates me. And while there are elements of truth in those claims, they are not the whole truth. They never are.
Yes, there is an injunction against me—one that prohibits me from blogging about a particular individual. The frustration is, I’m not allowed to say who that person is, nor can I share what she’s done to me and to others. My silence isn't guilt—it's compliance with legal restraints, however unjust they may feel. The truth remains locked away, behind orders I cannot challenge openly.
And yes, there is a Stalking Prevention Order concerning a solicitor. What the critics won’t tell you is that the order was made during the COVID lockdown, when I had no legal representation to defend myself. Nor do they mention that the solicitor in question resigned from her role a day before she was due to be struck off. That part conveniently gets left out.
As for the claim that I “pretended someone had died”—it wasn’t some sick game. It was a desperate act made in response to another person’s overwhelming harassment. She genuinely believed that the only way to escape the torment was to disappear entirely, and I tried to help her do that. I see now it may have been misguided, but it was born from compassion, not cruelty.
And the mother of my children? She and I have our differences. I could say a great deal, but I won’t. Not because I don’t have a story to tell, but because she’s the mother of my children—and sometimes the strongest thing you can do is stay silent, even when you’re aching to speak.
So yes, I’ve made mistakes. I’ve taken risks. I’ve spoken up when others wouldn’t. But I am more than the sum of my legal orders or internet headlines. There is always more to the story—and if I could tell mine fully, you’d understand that I’m not the villain they make me out to be.
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