Digging Yourself Out and Finding True North

So, one way or another, you got yourself into a situation. In my case, there’s no way to sugarcoat it. You can’t just lead with this when you meet someone new—it’s an intense topic. The headlines captured a 15-minute ordeal, but the entire episode lasted months. So, how much do you tell someone? Do you even tell them anything? Where do you start? What emotion do you want to evoke? It’s easy to get lost in these questions, and in my opinion, it starts to feel manipulative. There’s at least a shred of truth to what happened—I’m not saying this was some conspiracy theory—but what do you do? What would you do?

Seriously, put yourself in my shoes. The only thing that felt genuine was to continue being myself. I hoped that if people found out, they’d say what those who knew me before said: That’s not him. In my case, certain people tried to use it against me, to scare others. Fortunately, most people saw through it because I had been true to myself. But I did lose some people. They felt like I was hiding something, and when their feelings were manipulated, the easiest—and probably smartest—thing to do was pull away. This is true for many situations in life: if there’s not enough data to make a wise decision, it’s often best to step back.

For me, this was, and still is, a hard thing to deal with. You feel betrayed. You doubt yourself—what should you have said? Should you have explained more? Should you have said nothing at all?

After two years of dealing with this, I can tell you that being yourself is about the only thing you can do. There’s a social responsibility to make people aware, and I’m still finding that balance. It’s getting easier as time goes on, but you can’t control how someone reacts. You can influence it by being genuine, but it’s ultimately out of your hands. Lately, I’ve had more success by opening up about it early on in relationships and inviting the person to ask questions.

It’s an immense joy when someone accepts you for who you are, without fear of losing them. With new people, it’s often easier to rip the bandaid off—the scar will either heal or it won’t, but at least it’s over. But what about those who’ve been in your life for years and don’t know the details, or maybe don’t know at all? What are you supposed to do? Ask if they know? Assume they do?

In hindsight, I wish I’d had more one-on-one conversations about it. As the court date got closer, I panicked and sent out text messages without much context. I really shot myself in the foot with that approach. I had a chance to share my side—they were listening—and I didn’t. I just painted a picture that didn’t look as bad as the article. It was genuine, but not sincere. It was like throwing noodles at the wall and hoping some stuck. I regret that.

Now, two years in, I’m through it for the most part and feel a great sense of relief from creating this website. The responsibility isn’t fully off me, but hundreds of people know the truth now, and if anything, I’ve only felt more love and support. I certainly wish I did it sooner, years sooner. It gave me a voice instead of letting others tell my story to advance their own narrative, whether that be in a social setting or as click-bait.

The hardest part about going through something like this is how it messes with your internal compass. You start pushing in one direction, only to find that the magnets around your compass have skewed your reference point. It’s only as time goes on and your support group forms a circle around you, blocking out the interference, that you can find true north again. And when that happens, you can push hard to get back on track. My advice to you is identify that circle, and it’s smaller than you think, and stick to it. It’s easy to go in other directions (those pesky magnets) to get what you WANT. Tread carefully.

With that, I want to say thank you and I love you from the bottom of my heart to all you real… well… can’t say that but you out there. You know who you are. You haven’t budged. You might’ve kicked my ass to face me north again, but every time I turn around, you’re right there telling me to keep moving. I’m damn near tearing up right now—love y’all. Thank you.