What Shaped Me (And Why I Still Believe In Good Men)

The more I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and became visible, the more I was attacked by random people - 99% women - for the work I do.

The most harmless were things like:

“You’re too young to know anything about midlife,” and

“You’re no man, how dare you think you have a clue about men!”

I was accused of manipulating people and “feeling proud” of it when I shared the success story of a client - even though I made it abundantly clear that he achieved every bit of that success himself.

I was verbally attacked by women in the middle of a divorce, telling me I’m naïve and have no idea “how bad men are”.

And I was attacked for saying my mother was merely the woman who gave birth to me, or that she was the reincarnated evil. People dismissed my lived experience outright - an experience that felt like walking barefoot through all nine hells and back, more than once, and over decades.

This blog post is about my own experiences, and why I still dedicate my work to helping men

And they aren’t pretty, so here’s your heads-up:

There is triggering material ahead. I’ll be speaking about trauma I’ve gone through, including some very dark things.

But I can also tell you this: I’m someone who can turn trauma into something else entirely. I can still love, still laugh, still grow stronger and more resilient. Even though there are moments when I feel my own power slipping and all I want is to hide.

Let’s start with the harmless points.

Those comments above were judgemental as hell. Age? I’m nearly 49. I think I know a thing or two about midlife. And even if I didn’t - when you’re highly self-aware, constantly learning, paying attention, and actually observing the world, you gain insight.

I’ve spoken before about why I have “some” clue about men. I was raised with the same responsibilities and expectations that are usually put on boys and men. And throughout my life, I’ve always connected with men far more easily than with women.

But even without that: an outsider perspective often creates deeper insight. It’s also a basic truth in coaching. A good coach or NLP practitioner gains incredibly deep understanding by simply listening to someone in pain.

And because men are often highly competitive with each other (thanks, nature), the welcoming, grounding energy of a woman can help them drop their armour.

Now, my past with men hasn’t exactly been gentle.

When I was 6, 9, and 12, I was abused.

When I was 19, my first boyfriend forced himself on me several times.

He also cheated, ruined me financially, body-shamed me, controlled me, forbade me things, and demanded others.

My father was a good man at his core, but he never learned how to regulate his emotions. I got beatings and threats more often than I can count - often simply for existing.

I dated a lot, trying to find “my man”. What I found was darkness.

Fetishists. Feeders. Men who assumed that because I was “fat”, I must like degrading things. One man who would likely have cost me my life if I hadn’t been so vigilant.

About 90% of the men I came across in any dating phase, were actively cheating on their partners. And especially after moving to Scotland… the ones who wanted to “test how a German is in bed”. The trophy hunters.

There are things way darker than that I don’t want to even describe anymore.

By all logic, I “should” hate men. I “should” wake up every morning ready for a vendetta. I “should” erase them from the planet.

But I don’t.

This is the part people don’t see:

I grew up in a highly toxic environment, driven mainly by my mother. What I saw was hate, emasculation, degradation, arrogance, and a whole list of behaviours straight out of the manual for vindication, maliciousness, and manipulation. Abuse on nearly every level.

The foundation of it all was this: I was unwanted. I was told more than once that they should have aborted me, drowned me, or “done something” with and to me.

I had food and a roof, but I raised myself. I kept myself safe.

That kind of childhood keeps your limbic system on high alert. It creates abandonment wounds and, in my case, deep exclusion trauma - but also a sixth sense for danger that has saved me countless times.

And still, I kept my light. Even when it dimmed.

I still laughed. I still loved. I stayed compassionate.

And still I saw my Dad for who he was: a beautiful, funny soul that had been trapped in a horrid relationship, and turned him - sometimes - into a not so good person.

Those experiences shaped me into the coach I am. Empathy rooted in lived experience hits differently.

Back to that first relationship: he was a carbon copy of my mother.

My system recognised “familiar”.

I knew there was better out there, but I had been conditioned to believe I was worth less than the dirt under a doormat.

I also didn’t know he was avoidant attached.

Attachment theory is a game changer by the way. I’ll put a book link at the end.

During that relationship, I went from mostly secure to highly anxious.

And I know I didn’t deserve any of the things he did to me. Some of the wounds are still there - especially around cheating and porn addiction.

When I meet a man and discover during vetting that he’s cheated in the past, I leave.

“Once a cheater, always a cheater.”

My mantra - for my safety and his.

No matter how remorseful he is, no matter how deeply he regrets it - I would never be able to trust him, and I’d default straight back into anxiety. He doesn't deserve this, so I take responsibility for knowing myself.

A man with integrity knows that even a thought of cheating is a red flag. He looks inward before he breaks something precious.

I also didn’t realise the giant red flag when my ex told me he’d cheated on every woman before me.

I assumed I was the exception.

I assumed that because of who I was, he’d never cheat.

I didn’t yet understand avoidance, patterns, or self-sabotage.

Eventually, he broke me, or rather, I let him break me. Because I didn't know better.

I stopped wearing jewellery.

I stopped wearing lip gloss.

I stopped wearing the clothes that made me feel beautiful.

I stopped singing, laughing, listening to favourite music.

He had two best friends.

One hit on me constantly because my ex overshared about our sex life.

The other saw me disappearing.

He saw the hurt.

He took me aside more than once to offer help, a way out. Just as I had done with my Dad all the decades that he had suffered under my mother.

That friend had the kind of masculinity that feels steady and safe. Integrity. Presence. Care. The healthy masculinity.

But I stayed loyal to the man hurting me.

By then I already had a broken rib and burn marks.

I wasn’t used to kindness.

I wasn’t used to compassion.

I wasn't used to someone actually caring and wanting to protect me.

I didn't know how to handle it.

And that’s the point.

No matter how many dark experiences I’ve had, I’ve also seen so many good men.

👉 Men with integrity.

👉 Kind men.

👉 Steady men.

👉 Safe men.

In my 20s, after that violent first relationship, I condemned all men. But as I healed and grew, that changed.

There are countless good men out there. There are men who I remember fondly because they taught me how it feels to have someone with integrity by your side. Someone who looks out for you, protects you, and takes away burdens instead of adding them. Someone who wants you, just because you exist.

And those men suffer too.

👉 Men whose partners see them only as a tool - useful when something breaks or when money is needed.

👉 Men who had avoidant partners and were burnt by it.

👉 Men whose partners withheld love as punishment.

👉 Men who were rejected for who they are.

👉 Men who were once secure and became anxiously attached after heartbreak.

Just because I met a lot of bad apples doesn’t mean the whole tree is rotten.

I know there are good men. I’ve met them.

And I know they aren’t getting the support they need. I see that every day.

What all of this taught me is simple: pain doesn’t distort the truth about people - it sharpens it.

I’ve seen the darkness men carry, and I’ve seen the goodness that lives underneath when someone finally feels safe enough to show it.

My work exists because I know what it means to lose yourself, and what it takes to find your way back.

That’s why I stand by men who are ready to do that inner work. The world expects them to hold everything together. Someone needs to hold space for them too.

If any part of this story echoes something in your own life, you don’t have to carry it alone. You’re welcome to reach out and start a conversation. No pressure, no performance - just space to breathe and figure out what’s next.

Recommended reading:

If you want to dive deeper into attachment styles, this is a solid starting point: 

Attached by Amir Levine and Rachel Heller.

It’s practical, clear, and often the moment when things finally click into place. Believe me, it was a game changer for me when I finally understood why that first boyfriend behaved like he did. And it helped me understand where my behaviour came from.