It’s fair to say that this blog has become more efficient than any therapy I could have entered into. On occasion I’ve had comments within minutes of posting a heartfelt rant that have both supported and challenged me. Without a shadow of doubt airing my views and experiences has been both progressive and comforting at the same time. We all sing from similar hymn sheets it seems … some are a little further ahead than others and some merely prefer a different tempo.

One question has been omnipresent since the conception of “This is how I see it ..” however, and that was … what if my circumstances were to change? What if I met someone who caused me to view relationships in a different light? What if I had to soften the tone, drop the cackling humour and surrender to the fact that I may need to alter the course, rethink the content and consider new material?

When you’ve experienced a succession of bad relationships you soon learn to embrace being single, but for me it wasn’t too difficult given that I’ve been extremely fortunate in other areas of life. Yes, of course a lifelong, happy coupling would have been the icing on the cake but it’s been a good few years since I sobbed into my duvet over that little conundrum.

So .. penning a blog that charted the various hilarious and incredible dating disasters of Debsylee brought a smile to my face and hopefully others to. Being a social soloist was the inevitable consequence but heck, we could all have a good laugh about it.

Now, it’s important I clear up one important fact because I think to date I haven’t ever made reference to what went wrong in my significant relationships prior to this most recent self-imposed period of singledom. So the truth is this .. I was lied to. Every time. And not tiny little white lies .. nasty gut-wrenching black untruths, none of which involved other women (that I know of) but life-altering all the same.

So venturing forth across the wilderness that is emotional solitary confinement I held my ideal of an honest, completely open and true relationship close to my heart. And time after time I felt let down until I started to come to terms with the fact that I may never find that ideal in anyone.

I retired to the sidelines and started penning previous entries, resigning myself to accepting that maybe what I was looking for didn’t exist. I abandoned my search. The game was over in a tournament that I wasn’t sure I wanted to participate in any longer.

Secretly I rather fancied myself as a latter day tragic heroine whose only mistake was that she stuck to rigidly to her ideals. I mused that the weary epic trail across the desolate sands of my solitude would make great reading one day in the form of a best-selling novel.

This was until I met a man who embodies all the ideals I had etched onto my rather principled little raison d’être.

Suddenly I’m struggling for words I can assemble and arrange that do justice to the course of recent events. He is, you see, really rather special.

Rather uncharacteristically I feel I don’t want to become overly verbose on the subject of our relationship which I suppose should be viewed as progress.

My friend Rachael commented today that I should start future posts with “when I was on the [dating] circuit ..”

Well, I can safely say I never thought I’d be penning a post like this … when I was on the circuit.

Do I sound smug? I’m really not; I’m simply enjoying being wrong.

It’s quite astonishing the truths you can uncover when you’ve lived as an adult for a few years. Of course living as an adult doesn’t always equate to your age; my son for example oft displays more maturity in one word than I can eek out of my whole being.

No … living as an adult in my book is recognising life’s lessons for what they are, and not blithely taking the same route, making the same decisions and arriving at the same unsatisfactory conclusions. If it didn’t work out last time the chances are fairly high that it won’t next. Being “grown up about it” means walking away on occasion, taking a risk without being consumed with fear and seeing that the hurtful actions that others display towards you is actually testament to their own inner demons, not yours.

Surprisingly I’ve witnessed some pretty hostile behaviour towards me since my marriage broke down over three years ago, and it still leaves me scratching my head as to why that might be. What makes it even more baffling to my little brain is that it has for the most part come from other women who I’ve come to call (affectionately, you understand …) the bullyhags. Surprising, baffling …. sad and grossly disappointing. You kind of hope your own gender will be batting for you … supporting you through the good times and bad. And generally when times are bad they will support you, but there comes occasion when your day starts to brighten that a few seem intent on spoiling it.

The bullyhags will offer up a few choice sharp and sarcastic words, some deliberate attempts to freeze you out of conversations and relationships and display an underlying inference that moves are afoot to undermine your happiness.

I recall being bullied first time round by the very unrefined Susan Smith when I was thirteen because she’d heard on the grapevine that I had taken a liking to her beau, the even more unrefined Mark Firth. I should point out that I never use real names in this blog unless (I’ve just decided) they have at some point displayed the characteristics of pond life. In this case I deem my decision to name and shame wholly justified.

And so having my polo mints snatched on a daily basis because I had embarked on a crush that was the first of many unsavoury repetitions cast me in the role of the bullyhag’s future victim.

The only good thing about being intimidated in such a manner when you’re a child is that it’s done in a very obvious and visible way. Other children witness it and there can be no doubt as to what’s going on.

As an adult it can be a very different affair. It’s often done subtly, at close quarters and quite viciously. There’s often no warning nor is there an obvious reason why the perpetrator has selected you as their would-be prey. As I said … baffling.

I was a little girl who spent her entire childhood trying desperately to please and impress her father so it comes as a bit of a blow to think that there are people out there quite willing to take you down just because they don’t like the cut of your jib. And for no reason other than that.

Friends have said this is often the work of a jealous mind which always amuses me. Given that some offenders have been in secure relationships with no obvious problems financial or otherwise, I wonder how they think my life feels at 3am in the morning when I have tossed and turned in my bed wondering how my bills were going to get paid and what my future held. And I wonder how they think it feels when I look at my son and worry that I’m letting him down and not giving him the childhood he deserves. But then again, given that the bullyhags are adults I’m sure they take all that into consideration before they launch their subversive venomous attacks.

Put quite simply it appears the bullyhags like to select victims that they deem “getting a bit too big for their boots”, someone who may appear to be making progress and who just needs to be taught a lesson. I guess you only have to acknowledge the column inches in the newspapers given over to tales of woe, tragedy and torment to appreciate that bad news will outsell good any day of the week. We just don’t seem comfortable with the nice stuff. That seems for me to be one of the biggest tragedies of all.

Clearly because I’ve written a whole post dedicated to the bullyhags I’m admitting that I do get affected by it all .. but less so these days simply because I don’t have to wait for the bell to go at four o’clock to make my escape.

Inferiority is a state that’s much easier to fend off when you live your life as an adult.

Was that the bell?