"You're Not Crazy": Finding Safe Spaces in the Midst of Isolation

Content Warning: This post discusses emotional isolation, domestic abuse awareness, and mental and financial abuse. Please read with care.

During this dark and isolated chapter, I was lucky enough to have two incredible women enter my life: one who became a true friend, and another whose quiet advocacy changed my life forever.

The Friend Who Offered a Safe Haven

My close friend was the mother of one of my daughter's classmates. On paper, we were completely different—she enjoyed drinking and smoking, while I didn't do either. But we clicked instantly, and the differences never mattered. She welcomed me exactly as I was, without a shred of judgment or pressure.

More than that, she knew the entire story. She saw right through my husband and made her dislike for him blatantly clear—which turned out to be a massive bonus for me. Because she didn't hide her opinion, my ex never wanted to come over to her house.

Her home became my ultimate safe haven.

My daughter and I could go over, hang out, and breathe without him tracking me down or hovering over my shoulder. It was a rare space where I could relax, vent, and be reminded that I wasn’t crazy for feeling the way I felt or planning what I was planning.

She did, however, have one strict boundary for me:

"When the time comes to leave, leave. Don't worry about me or the kids; we will figure it out. But if you get out and then willingly choose to go back to that man, we are done. I won't watch you walk back into that."

After I finally made my escape, life got chaotic. Between kids, school, medical issues, and fresh starts, we didn't stay in touch as much as I wish we had. But our kids remained close and are still friends to this day. She may never fully realize it, but her living room kept me sane, grounded, and safe during those impossible months, and I will be forever grateful for her.

The Advocate and the Quiz That Changed Everything

The second woman wasn't a close friend, but a local advocate for women's health, abuse prevention, and safety. We spoke occasionally, and while I didn't open up about every detail, she knew enough to offer gentle guidance where she could.

The biggest turning point in my mental recovery didn't come from a long conversation—it came from a random Facebook post she shared.

It wasn't directed at me, but the moment I saw it, it hit me like a ton of bricks. She had posted a link to a clinically backed quiz designed to help individuals evaluate the level of abuse in their relationships. Curious, I took it.

I failed it completely.

That quiz was the massive "aha" moment I didn't even realize I was missing. Up until that point, I had categorized my trauma strictly around the physical violence. Taking that assessment forced me to see the reality of my life clearly for the first time:

• The severe financial control

• The constant emotional manipulation

• The relentless psychological and verbal abuse

It was the catalyst that shifted my mindset. I wasn't just planning an exit to keep my daughter safe anymore—I finally understood that I needed and deserved to be saved, too.

I reached out to her later to thank her for sharing that link and to let her know it was the exact wakeup call I needed to save my life. You truly never know who you might save simply by sharing resources and speaking the truth out loud.

Trying to be that for someone else

Recently, my sister went through a situation terrifyingly similar to the one I survived.

Watching someone you love walk down the exact same dark path you barely escaped is a unique kind of heartbreak. Naturally, I tried to step up. I wanted to be the person who held her hand, guided her through the fog, and pointed her toward the incredible women’s safety programs and resources we have right here in our city.

I thought I could be the bridge to her freedom. But I quickly learned a hard, painful lesson about trauma and recovery: I was only able to be helped back then because I was mentally ready to be helped.

Even with everything I had survived, and even with all the tools I offered, my sister simply wasn’t ready.

Instead of accepting the support, she turned a cold shoulder to me and pulled away.

It broke my heart, but I understand it. When you are still deep in the fog, under the thumb of manipulation, or paralyzed by fear, well-meaning advice—even from a survivor who loves you—can feel like overwhelming pressure. You can't force someone to see the exit door until they are ready to look for it themselves.

I’ve had to step back. I won't push her right now, because pushing when someone isn't ready only drives them further into isolation.

My deepest hope is that someday soon, she reaches her own turning point. I hope she decides she deserves better and finds the strength to step away. And when that day comes, no matter how much distance is between us right now, I want her to know that I’ll be right here waiting—ready to help her rebuild, without an ounce of judgment.

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"Having even just one person who sees through the BS and offers a safe, judgment-free space can make all the difference when you're in the dark. Who was that person for you during a hard season?"