“Now things have settled?” I’m laughing at myself, because it did not indeed ‘settle.’
A lot of times, we believe a protective order is a ‘hard stop’, that the intimidation and threats will halt with the wave of a judge-signed paper. But as some of us have learned, some papers don’t mean JACK SHIT.
For a few days, it was great. I successfully Legally-Blonde’d my way through the courthouse. I was happy, I shared the news… and then the silence was shattered. That flammable, thinly-sliced paper gleamed with flames, then settled into dark ashes. The system’s limitations became violently clear.
It started with a confirmation for a subscription to a men’s hunting magazine, delivered to my address. It felt weird, but I wrote it off as spam. Then, a welcome email popped up from a family locator app, the kind used to track your kids or your spouse. The username was a string of numbers, but the connected phone number was mine.
He wasn’t just telling me he knew where I lived and where I hung out. He was showing me he was trying to digitally anchor himself to me, to make my location his business. It was a quiet, technological violation that made my skin crawl.
I called my tech friends to wipe everything needed, and I called the police. They took the information, filed another report for “violation of a protective order,” and told me they’d “look into it.” But they also said what I already knew: without catching him in the act, an arrest could take time. Time I didn’t have. The evidence was circumstantial, but my fear was not.
The dread became deafening. It was a physical reality. Every creak in my old 1930s home was an intrusion; every time the ice maker dropped a new batch, my heart dropped even more. Every floorboard groan or my dog Shadow sneaking a drink of water in the middle of the night was a deadly threat. I wasn’t sleeping. I didn’t feel safe or comfortable.
So I decided to leave.
Over the past weekend, I packed my bags, my pups, and all of my things. With this man knowing where I lived, and having failed to land a new client who wouldn’t rather date or stalk me, I told my landlord my situation and asked to break my lease.
I’ve moved many times in my adult life, alone, a total of six times across the country. The home I was renting was a quaint cottage, but it was my favorite home so far. And while I’ve been emotionally conditioned to pack up and start anew, this time I didn’t want to move. Thankfully, I’ve had amazing friends by my side through this chaotic journey, and as I placed all my belongings in temporary storage, I felt more okay with them by my side.
What now? Now… I’m literally at my safe house in a remote location. I’m off the grid with my dogs, enjoying writing, seeing the stars at night through an unpolluted sky, and breathing fresh air that doesn’t smell of homeless sewers and cheap Sauvage cologne.
As for work, I’m continuing my side hustle of ghostwriting and creating automated communication systems for companies. But my confidence in advising business owners and investors has drastically gone down.
This situation I’ve shared is just the most extreme example. I’ve ghosted several potential clients and blocked business owners over the course of this year alone. To be humble, as a beautiful young woman, I’m having a difficult time convincing prospects that I’d be a better business partner than a romantic partner.
I change what I wear, how I present myself. I’ve cut, dyed, and restyled my hair. I’ve tested different brands, different dialects, and different scenarios. I’ve avoided even non-taboo topics to try to shift my value in their eyes from beauty to business. I’ve even tried making myself purposefully ugly, for fuck’s sake.
Maybe it’s the cities I’m networking in, or that I’m shooting too low or too high—I’m not quite sure. But I do know I’m frustrated and over it. Hence, my pivot mid-spring into my full-blown diva creative self.
So here I am. I traded my favorite quaint cottage for a security system made of trees and silence. It’s a bitter trade, one that tastes like a nasty injustice sandwich. But I want to be clear: I’m not hiding just because I’m scared (well, I am, but that’s not the point). I am here because I am choosing a safe environment after the one I was in had continually proven it wasn’t. The protective order was a tool, not a solution, not a lightsaber or a magical shield. And when it failed, I had to become my own superhero.
For now, my office is a porch overlooking Mother Nature, and my only networking is with my dogs. This feels like a strategic repositioning. I won’t be hidden away here for too long; I think I might travel the country for a minute, or go visit a few friends I haven’t seen in a while.
The work of rebuilding my life may be slower than I’d like, but I know that whatever happens, I’ll end up in a better position than I could have imagined. Because a man may have taken my sense of safety in my home, but I’ll be damned if I let him take my voice, my business, or my beautiful future.
xo,
Sheridan Guerrette
WhatSheridanSaid.com
Life Behind the Artist: Wed at 9/8C
