Despite the challenges of moving from the House in the Sky to the Tiny Terrace, I clung to the belief that it was a fresh start. With the divorce and court over, I could take as long as I needed to settle in and rebuild my life, create a new home for my kids. However the abuse didn’t stop; now that Simon was openly living with his new partner it ranked up a level, resulting in our youngest deciding she didn’t want to see him any more. Cue another court case as he attempted to force Ivy into maintaining contact, at which point it became clear that he would stop at nothing to destroy me.
The fresh start disappeared under the burden of legal documents, reports and lies that I was left defending myself against. Rather than creating a new home, I was struggling to survive. Boxes remained unpacked, furniture that didn’t fit up the narrow stairs stood mouldering outside on the patio. When I look back, I’m amazed I managed to get anything done at all, never mind setting up a home! After almost ten months of legal battles, it became clear that Simon was not going to get his way; Ivy could not be forced into seeing him. A month later, he kicked Lily out with only a week’s notice, insisting she came to live with me full time, her belongings dumped on the street outside our house.
The Tiny Terrace had never been intended for the three of us to live full time in. Less than half the size of the House in the Sky, no parking, and not on the school bus route; these were manageable compromises when I bought it in the belief that the kids would only be there for half of the time. It was the only property I’d seen that was remotely suitable while Simon was ramping up the pressure to get us out of the family home. One year on, that compromise had been stretched to its limits.
Single-parenting is hard, even harder when you’re living in fear that everything you do is being judged. Everything was on me, all of the time, spinning all of the plates single-handedly with the added fear that Simon would exact some form of overblown retribution if I stumbled. My own life had ceased to exist, I no longer worked nor socialised. I didn’t go out without the children, I lost touch with nearly all of my friends. When my own mental health challenges became unbearable, it was clear that things needed to change; move now, or stay put for at least another two years until Ivy had finished her GCSEs, knowing that our struggles were set to continue. It was time to move, and this time I would make sure that it really was a fresh start for all of us.
Although we would be bringing some of our challenges with us – autism doesn’t go away – by relocating we’d be leaving some of our problems behind. No more panic attacks in the supermarket, scared that I’d bump into Simon or Astrid. Being able to attend local events without anxiously scanning the crowd. Simon not knowing our new address meant he couldn’t spy on my home. There were positives too; a school for Ivy that had better pastoral care and was within walking distance. The chance for Lily to attend her dream college course. My family within an hour’s drive. Hopefully the fresh start would also give me the chance to not so much rebuild but create a new life for myself and begin to put the past behind me. It felt like the end of a long struggle, and I was certain that the abuse would be consigned to history, there was simply nothing else that Simon could do to me now.
Or so I thought.
Money was tight, especially as we squeezed in a last minute holiday before the move, our first in years and an important symbol marking the end of one way of life, the start of another. I overstretched myself as the first house fell through, and ended up having to borrow money from my parents to pay the removals firm. I started keeping a money diary, but as I was in the process of switching banks it was more difficult to keep track of my finances; all I knew was that there wasn’t enough money in my account and I blamed myself for overspending. However, the new banking app on my phone soon revealed the issue – Simon had not been paying the full amount of maintenance. When the statements from my old bank arrived, it showed he owed me over £1500 – no wonder I’d been struggling. The next payment date rolled around, and less than half of the set amount was paid. Simon had evidently decided to pay what he saw fit, rather than the legally-mandated figure.
Financial abuse is one of the earliest markers of domestic abuse, and withholding child maintenance falls into this category. It’s no coincidence that this happened just as I moved away from Simon – this was retaliation, an attempt to regain the control that he had lost. For the victim, it creates constant anxiety and a high level of stress – money is an inescapable reality. It has meant having to constantly check my bank balance, buying only the bare minimum, putting off the purchases that we need for the new house. Each time that I fretted over money, Simon was forefront in my mind as a constant, intrusive thought. Of course, there was no warning that the money wouldn’t be paid into my account, no time to readjust or budget for the difference. “Sorry, my ex hasn’t paid the child maintenance” isn’t an excuse that goes down well with utility companies or the supermarket cashier. If I was overdrawn, I would have to pay charges, even though it was Simon’s fault – even if I managed to get him to pay the arrears, there wouldn’t be any financial penalty for him, no compensation for the difficulties or fines that he had caused. To have this happen right when my expenditure was necessarily at its greatest – moving house – was cynical and deliberate. Depressingly, our fresh start rapidly deteriorated into more of the same.
Simon doesn’t know how much money I have coming in or going out, what financial commitments I have, whether I’ll be plunged into debt without that money. He seems not to care about the impact it has on our children, from missing out on opportunities, school trips, clubs etc. to struggling to cover the cost of the basics such as clothes, transport to school and college, even what food we eat, as well as the kids worrying about money and feeling stressed. Such issues are the permanent price of poverty; what’s frustrating is when you are plunged into poverty purely because your ex is deliberately not fulfilling his legal obligations to his children. Getting a job isn’t so easy for a single mother with a large career gap and a kid with special needs – Lily had an epileptic seizure at college last week, necessitating a panicked 90 minute drive to get to her, then a three hour stint in A&E, not something that fits in well with a 9-5 job.
The hidden cost of financial abuse is the impact it has on your ability to parent – the children have a mother who is constantly anxious and stressed rather than happy and fully present with them. The fresh start we’d hoped for, the chance to make sure that the last years of their childhood were happy, has been sabotaged yet again by Simon’s abuse. By attempting to punish and control me, he’s hurt his children. And that for me is the most painful part, having to accept that the love he once had for his kids has been suffocated by the hate he now holds for me. It’s hard to reconcile the husband and father he once was to the monster he has become. Financially I’m losing out – but ultimately, he has lost so much more.