When the Smear Campaign Failed (And I Didn’t Even Know)…

After my dad died, I was hanging on by a thread. Between the grief and the shock of how things unfolded, land gone, will rewritten, loyalty shattered, I was mostly just floating. Not moving forward, not falling apart. Just… drifting.

Then came the charity shop. I had popped in looking for old canvases for my art, as I often did, but something shifted. The usual quiet comfort of rummaging turned into chats with the women behind the counter, and before I knew it, they’d roped me in. I became a volunteer.

I said yes without really knowing why. Maybe because I needed to feel useful. Maybe because I needed somewhere to be. Either way, it turned out to be one of the best accidental choices of my life.

I found community. Laughter. Camaraderie. I was reminded that not everyone wants something from you. Some people just enjoy your company, even when you’re a bit of a wreck inside.

Then one evening, a friend turned up at my door with a bottle of wine and a phone number, now that’s what I call a care package. Her son had gone looking for work at a local boat repair shop. The owner mentioned needing help with the books. My friend thought of me immediately.

I pocketed the number and, true to form, didn’t call. But the idea stuck.

A couple of weeks later, I stopped by the boat shop on a whim. Just walked in. I met the owner, we had an easy conversation, and I left feeling… seen. Not pitied. Not judged. Just seen.

He rang the week before Christmas, and I said yes.

By January, I was in. Starting something new. Grounded again, just a little.

Here’s what I didn’t know:

While I was settling into this new role, probably learning where the mugs were kept and how to avoid tripping over engine parts, someone was behind the curtain pulling strings.

Bully.

And this time, he didn’t come himself.
He sent Bully Junior, my son.

He made him do the dirty work.
Call my new boss.
Try to tear me down.

A full-on smear campaign, designed to sabotage the one little piece of stability I had managed to find. I don’t know what was said, and to be honest, I don’t want to know. Lies, spin, slander, I’d imagine. The same kind of tactics are used to justify theft, control, and cruelty.

What I do know is this:

My boss never told me.

He listened. He saw through it. And he let me carry on. Not out of pity, but because he knew who the real problem was. He gave me the chance to just be me. To build trust in my own time. And he said nothing until a full year later, when we were chatting about life, and he casually dropped it in.

“I knew what was happening,” he said. “Didn’t want to bring it up and give it more oxygen.”

I sat there stunned. Not at the betrayal, by then, I’d come to expect that from the Bully Brigade. But at the grace. At the quiet dignity of someone choosing not to embarrass me with someone else’s filth.

It was the first time in a long time that someone protected my peace, without making a show of it. What kind of person would send someone’s own son to sabotage their mother’s new beginning? What type of person uses family like pawns in a toxic chess game?

What kind of father is he (he has his own kids) who would use a child ( an adult one) as a weapon, instead of a human being?

Bully did.

And as for Bully Junior… well, I’ll leave that one unanswered. Because my heart still aches, even through the anger.

But here’s what I know:

You don’t need to scream your truth from the rooftops. You don’t need to prove yourself to people who have already decided who you are. You don’t need to justify your healing to those who profit from your pain.

All you have to do is keep going.
Let them tire themselves out.
Let the truth settle in like silt, slow, steady, and undeniable.

And sometimes, if you’re lucky, life throws you a lifeboat disguised as a charity shop or a boat shop. Filled with good people. The kind who see you, hear you, and, most importantly, don’t believe the Bullies.

Lesson of the Day:

When they throw mud, stay quiet. Sometimes the best revenge is a steady paycheck and a boss who’s not an idiot.