When I first met him, I thought I’d simply met someone fun and charismatic – someone good-looking, successful, and a little too flashy to take seriously. I assumed it would just be a fling. He talked about a stripper called Victoria on our first date, calling her his “girlfriend” to anyone who would listen. It should have been a red flag, but I brushed it off. I wasn’t planning on falling for him. But somehow, I did.
After just one night together, he wanted to see me constantly. He told me he loved me two weeks in, and began spending nearly every night with me. The attention was overwhelming and intoxicating – love bombing, as I now know it’s called. Then, without warning, he disappeared for five days. I later realised he had been with another woman. Still, I let him back in.
He came to Kent to meet my son, but said he had cashflow problems and needed £50 to travel – the first of many financial requests. He told me stories of being cheated by his ex-business partner, always just on the cusp of bouncing back. A month in, he told me I wasn’t attractive enough and that he could never truly love me – then casually texted me like nothing had happened. I ended things… but only temporarily.
Seven weeks later, he reappeared, saying he couldn’t stop thinking about me. He gave me butterflies again, made promises of a real relationship. I met his mother. He moved into my office under the guise of helping me, when really, I was doing everything for him. He even proposed to me – privately. We planned a wedding that no one was allowed to know about.
Then came the debt letters. Bailiff calls. Unpaid parking fines, council tax, endless drama. I kept trying to fix it, lending him money to protect his parents and keep things afloat – over £10,000 over the course of 18 months. He always said he’d pay me back. He never did.
A year in, he said he needed a break. Blamed my mental health. By then, I was stressed beyond belief – juggling his debts, paperwork, and emotional chaos. I even moved out of my own workspace to give him “space.” That’s when I discovered an open email on his desktop – admitting to cheating on me with Victoria.
He gaslit me into believing I was paranoid. That it was a joke. That I was imagining things. And I wanted so badly to believe him. I let him move back in to the office – on the promise he’d pay rent this time. He didn’t.
Six months later, I accessed his WhatsApp archive and saw the truth: he’d been seeing Victoria the entire time, and he was paying her for the ‘girlfriend’ experience. He was also paying for sex – around two prostitutes a month – with money stolen from his mother’s pension, while I was supporting his lifestyle. He admitted it. Said he had a problem. Promised to get help. Told me he loved me. Promised he would change.
But then, the emotional abuse escalated. He began insulting me, saying prostitutes were easier to deal with than me. He dominated my workspace, became angrier and more volatile. I began to fear he would get physical. With the help of a couple of friends, I got him out. He screamed at them. Left in a rage.
Then the smear campaign began.
He told anyone who would listen that I was stalking him, that I was mentally unstable, that he had been threatened with violence. He turned up drunk on my doorstep, sending love songs and messages saying he wanted me – while looking for someone new. When I set boundaries and said no, he blocked me. Told people I was slandering him. Accused me of setting up fake accounts to destroy his business. Within weeks, he’d moved on with a new supply – plastered her across his social media like I never existed.
I’m left heartbroken. Drowned in debt. My reputation damaged in professional circles. His intern – now his flying monkey – telling me I’m just a broken girl who needs to “get over it.”
He is a leader in residence at our local university, mentoring students, and has a prominent position in the community as chair of a climate commission. To the outside world he is still accomplished wealthy, charming and good looking, the man who has finally found his happiness with his new supply after leaving a controlling and coercive relationship with me. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.
But this is my truth. This is what narcissistic abuse looks like.
It’s slow, insidious erosion. It’s being love-bombed, then devalued. It’s being blamed, gaslit, used, discarded – then hoovered back in again and again. It’s losing your sense of self, your financial security, and your confidence – all while trying to prove your love to someone who never truly loved you.
I am not writing this to get revenge or pity. I am writing this because healing begins with truth. With reclaiming my voice. With drawing a line in the sand and saying: no more.
I am still healing. Still hurting. Still rebuilding. But I’m also wiser now. Stronger than I was. And I know I am not alone.
To anyone reading this who is experiencing something similar – please know: it’s not your fault. You are not crazy. You are not weak. You are someone who loved deeply and gave generously – and none of this is a reflection of your worth.
You can rebuild. You will rise again. And your story doesn’t end here.
