This is not a story of defeat, but of reclamation.
For years, I was targeted, diminished, and surveilled by those who mistook cruelty for power. Yet here I am—choosing to write, to speak, to live on my own terms.
This blog is my sanctuary of truth, a place where I reclaim my voice, my space, and my joy. It is a declaration that I am more than what was done to me, and a reminder that no one has the right to trespass a free spirit.
The Weight of Survival
I have been stalked, harassed, and digitally cornered. Strangers — people I had never met—were enlisted to work against me. My privacy invaded. My work sabotaged. My data stripped bare. No stone left unturned in the attempt to break me.
There were days when the fear was suffocating. When even happiness felt dangerous, as though joy itself might trigger more meddling. I have lost loved ones. I have carried grief. I have fought battles alone. And still, I survived.
I will not pretend it didn’t scar me. But scars are proof of healing, not of defeat.
The Light That Carried Me
Even in the darkest times, good people reached out.
Some I’ve never met in person. Their kindness—remote, quiet, steadfast—reminded me that not everyone conspires in cruelty. That solidarity exists, even across distance.
And my sanctuary—my pets, my home, my work—anchored me.
They gave me reasons to keep building, even when others tried to dismantle me.
On Spirit Theft and courage
There are those who take what was never theirs—
Not objects, but essence.
Not possessions, but presence.
They weaponise attention. They distort proximity.
They use psychological force to trespass the soul.
But I am not theirs to hold.
My joy is not a bargaining chip.
My grief is not a spectacle.
My spirit is not a battleground.
I reclaim what was stolen in silence.
I rebuild what was shattered in shadow.
And I do so without permission,
Because healing is mine to author.
The Shout
They thought silence would swallow me.
They thought fear would finish me.
But I shouted out.
And in that shout was my survival,
my defiance,
my refusal to be erased.
Reclaiming What Is Mine
This is my declaration: I will not be held hostage by the nastiness of others. Their grudges, their projections, their spite—none of it belongs to me. It is not my baggage to carry. I reclaim my life. I reclaim my space. I reclaim my future. I reclaim my happiness.
Enough Is Enough
To anyone who has endured similar trespass: You are not alone. You are not defined by what was done to you. And you are not powerless. We can survive. We can rebuild. We can write our own endings. And this is mine: Enough is enough. And I am more than enough.
Thank you for standing witness to my words
Writing this is not easy, but it is necessary. For too long, I was made to feel small, silenced, and surveilled. This blog is part of my reclamation—of my voice, my space, and my joy. To those who have supported me, even from afar: your kindness has been a light in the darkest corridors.
To those who have endured similar trespass: you are not alone, and you are not powerless.
I carry my late father with me.
In moments of fear, I feel his steadiness.
In moments of doubt, I hear his quiet strength.
And in moments of reclamation, like this one, I know he walks beside me.
This blog is not only my voice, but also a continuation of his love—a reminder that even when cruelty tries to silence us, our roots run deeper than malice, and our spirit outlives every attempt to break it.
This is only the beginning. I will continue to write, to create, to build sanctuary in defiance of cruelty. My story is not theirs to tell—it is mine. And I choose to tell it with truth, with resilience, and with hope.
🤍 Tiff 🤍 