The Lens Zoomed Out

Today, I had a conversation I never expected would shake me. While I’m starting a new venture (that part’s not the focus), I met with someone—a former boss. We’d worked side by side for years, even during my marriage. I had never opened up to him about the abuse back then. But today, we talked about parent alienation, and I shared a story—one of those moments where no one believed me, not even myself at times. He and his wife just nodded and said, “We were never big fans of his.”

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I had never heard an outside, unrelated adult say that before. They told me they’d seen how controlling and shady he was as a football coach. They saw the things he did. I had always been told I was the problem. I never had that external validation before. It was like the camera zoomed out, and I could see the reality more clearly.

One of my children once called me, screaming, asking me to come get him or call the cops. I did call the police—it was one of those moments you just know it’s worth it despite the risks. I raced across town, and by the time I arrived, everything had eerily calmed. My ex had kicked a door into my son’s head. I suspected a concussion. I called the doctor the next day, knowing my son might be coerced into denying the truth. The doctor confirmed the concussion. But by then, my son believed it came from football—because his dad, the coach, needed it that way. He missed games, and the world believed it was a football injury. I was left speechless.

My old boss just shook his head today. He told me, “We’re trained to see these things—how did we miss it?” Because he was good at hiding it, I said. And I realized—I was a young, trapped woman back then. I didn’t know how to ask for help. I was just trying to survive.

Hearing from someone with no agenda that my ex wasn’t what he pretended to be was both validating and heartbreaking. The athletic directors saw it, the league saw it, but for so long, I thought I was the only one. Today, that shifted a little. And I needed to write this—to let it out of my head. Because back then, I was a scared young woman who didn’t know how to escape. I wasn’t the bad one. I was trying to survive. And I’m still here.

Grief is love with nowhere to go.

No longer suffering in silence, together we heal.

Azul-Mariposa