"I'm still scared. I'm still anxious." What life is like after you get an AVO.

This post deals with domestic abuse, and could be triggering for some readers.

It's been over two years since I got an apprehended violence order (AVO) taken out against my ex-boyfriend. 

It's also been over two years since I walked home alone at night, slept with a window open or answered the phone to a private number. 

These are small things, nothing major, nothing I can't live with, but I still do have to live with them.

The fact is that I used to feel more fearless, more capable, and safer. 

So, now I take little steps every day to give myself a sense of control. 

Watch: Women And Violence: The Hidden Numbers. Post continues below.

Yes, that means that no matter how humid it is, my bedroom window on a second storey terrace stays firmly closed, but that's not such a huge price to pay, is it? At least I tell myself it isn't. 

My story isn't that unique. I broke up with my boyfriend, and he wouldn't leave me alone afterwards. He rang me so much that my phone became unusable. 

I blocked his number, and he'd just call on private, leaving abusive voicemails that left me feeling constantly anxious. It took me months to go to the police, partly because I thought he would stop and partly because I was worried that he'd do something worse if I cut him off completely. 

I was fortunate that the order worked its magic, and I haven't heard from him since. After months of harassment, he finally stopped. Still, the aftermath is hard. 

I suppose I always thought that once he did leave me alone, things would go back to normal, but the truth is that my normal has changed. 

I wade through the world differently. I find men scary, threatening and dangerous. 

Half the time, I don't answer the door to the mailman because unexpected visitors make me anxious. I fear the worst, and yes, I'm working through it with a therapist, but I have my work cut out for me. 

Mainly because we lost 39 women to domestic violence in 2021, and we've already lost too many women this year to domestic violence. 

When I started dating again, I was reluctant to give out my number, never indicated where I lived beyond what radius the dating app revealed and entered every date riddled with a new kind of anxiety. 

When I went on dates, it was no longer 'I hope he likes me', it was now 'I hope he doesn't end up stalking me'. I also struggled with the fact that I even wanted to date.

I felt ashamed that I still wanted romance even after all I'd been through. Being attracted to men no longer felt fun. It felt like it could be a potential death sentence. This is my reality. 

You see, no one talks about this part, the 'after' of a traumatic experience. And there it is again, those little things.

I've moved on and have a new and lovely boyfriend, but I'm still scared. I'm still anxious. I still threw up in the bathroom when I heard about Hannah Clarke and her children being murdered by her estranged husband. 

My reaction to the extreme results of domestic abuse has become visceral. But I plough on, and these things aren't stopping me from living my life, and I'm grateful for that. 

I'm glad that even if things scare me more, I'm still able to do them. I haven't let the experience close me off entirely, but it still has left its mark, and that makes me angry. How dare his behaviour still govern how I live my life? 

I understand that that chapter feels closed to my friends and family; they saw me go through it. They saw me drink too much to cope, withdraw from my career goals, and shrink in front of their eyes, and then they saw me rebuild. 

They saw me smile more; they saw me invest back into my career, and then eventually, they saw me fall in love again. 

But how do you close a chapter on something that has changed you? I will never ever be the girl again that says, "I'll just walk home tonight!" And that's something I'm mourning. 

Listen to The Quicky, Mamamia's daily news podcast. Post continues below. 

I still think about that time in my life a lot. I can remember the numbing fear. I moved apartments to feel safe again, and when I asked a police officer if that was an overreaction, she told me it was a reasonable precaution. 

But then I feel guilt. Because the abuse eventually ended. And because none of it was physical. 

Do I even have the right to still feel like this? I know the answer is yes; just because things could have been worse doesn't mean what happened wasn't already bad, and I know it was bad. It was also illegal. 

Because even though it is the way many people think, there is no sliding scale for abuse. It is hard to reconcile yourself to the reality that a person who supposedly loves you is also prepared to manipulate, control, frighten, and, in some cases, want to kill you. 

It is the ultimate betrayal, and it is traumatising. The recovery process can be complex and slow. 

I know that as a society; we are finally talking about domestic violence and partner abuse, and I feel grateful for that. But, I also think we need to start talking about what happens to the women once they are free. 

How do they feel? How do they date? How do they move forward? We need to hear these stories too, and I know I need to hear them because I'd like to believe that one night soon, I'll be able to sleep with the cool breeze fluttering through my window.

If this post brings up any issues for you, or if you just feel like you need to speak to someone, please call 1800 RESPECT (1800 737 732) – the national sexual assault, domestic and family violence counselling service. It doesn’t matter where you live, they will take your call and, if need be, refer you to a service closer to home.

You can also call safe steps 24/7 Family Violence Response Line on 1800 015 188 or visit www.safesteps.org.au for further information.

The Men’s Referral Service is also available on 1300 766 491 or via online chat at www.ntv.org.au.www.ntv.org.au.

Feature Image: Mamamia