Court is paused.
There is a continuance.
That sounds heavy. It sounds ominous. It sounds like something to fear.
But strangely—unexpectedly—I am calm.
I can’t share my testimony. I won’t. Not because I’m hiding anything, but because the process matters, and the court is paused, not finished. What I can share is what it feels like to stand in the middle of it all and realize that a delay does not equal defeat.
Somehow, it hasn’t shaken me.
If anything, it has given me space.
Speaking the Truth Changes Things
I have started telling the truth of what happened.
Not the sanitized version.
Not the convenient version.
Not the version that makes other people more comfortable. In fact talking about assault in court using anatomical terms is incredibly difficult when I am discussing my body and my experiences.
But it is the truth.
Once you begin doing that—really doing it—something shifts. You stop carrying it alone. You stop bending your story to fit other people’s expectations. You stop shrinking.
And once that happens, it becomes much harder for anyone to intimidate you.
Learning the System While Standing Inside It
I have learned more about the law than I ever wanted to know.
I have learned about mid-trial applications, rape shield laws, and Jordan’s Law. I have learned how trials do not move in neat, linear paths, but in interruptions, objections, sidebars, and arguments held outside closed courtroom doors.
None of this is abstract anymore.
This is lived knowledge.
I now understand that trials are not just about facts. They are about strategy, pressure, and who can remain steady when the room is designed to unsettle you. I have learned that if I had edited my truth then mid trial applications could have been avoided but the truth is what it is and I will not edit it in order to sway the judge – this is my truth and there are parts that show I am human and I will answer the questions truthfully and unedited because this is my truth and I am not responsible for Justice – that is out of my hands. My job is to tell the truth and I doing exactly that – the whole truth because that matters.
Intimidation Only Works If It’s New to You
I watched a defence lawyer try to shake me.
There was immaturity. Disrespect. Posturing.
Honestly? He is an amateur.
When you have lived with coercion, manipulation, and control for years, courtroom theatrics don’t land the way they’re intended to. Compared to my ex, this was background noise.
At one point, the defence lawyer scrolled through Facebook while I was testifying.
Yes—really.
A reel went off at full volume. He had to apologize to the court.
It was inappropriate. It was unprofessional. And yet, somehow totally inconsequential.
What struck me wasn’t the behaviour itself—but how little power it actually had over me.
That surprised me.
What “Acquittal” Actually Means in Canada
There is something many people don’t understand about acquittal in Canada—and it matters.
An acquittal does not mean the judge believes the accused is innocent.
It can mean that the judge believes the accused did what they are accused of, but that the threshold for criminal proof was not met. Criminal court does not ask whether something probably happened, or even whether it more likely than not happened. It asks whether the Crown has proven the case beyond a reasonable doubt.
And that bar is deliberately high.
If the evidence does not meet that threshold, the judge must acquit.
If there is any reasonable doubt, the judge must acquit—even if they personally believe the accused committed the offence.
This is not a loophole. It is the foundation of the criminal justice system.
The principle is simple and brutal:
it is considered more acceptable to let many guilty people go free than to imprison one innocent person.
I understand this law. I truly do.
And it still sucks.
Because when you are the person who lived it—when you are the one who knows what happened in your body, your home, your life—the idea that truth can exist without legal consequence is a hard thing to sit with.
Understanding the law does not make it easier.
It just makes it clearer.
What the Pause Gives Me
This pause gives me time—and I am not wasting any of it.
I have four and a half months before trial resumes, and I intend to use every single day well.
Time to follow up with police regarding the possible bail breach I gave a statement about on December 26.
Time to return to family court, to move decision-making and access forward, and to untangle finances that have been frozen in limbo for far too long. The divorce is no closer to being completed than it was two years ago—but that does not mean my life has to stay on hold.
This pause also gives me time to pursue a court order that would allow me to sell the house, so the kids and I can move forward—literally.
Because here is a reality no one likes to say out loud:
If an acquittal happens—even for technical reasons—bail conditions vanish.
And if someone is still on title to a house, they can legally walk back through the door.
Planning for safety is not pessimism.
It is responsibility.
This time allows me to close doors before they are tested.
Building a Life in the Middle of It All
Realistically, I am now a single mum of four.
I am holding down a full-time job, keeping up with the lives of three teenagers and a six-year-old, juggling house renovations, legal proceedings, school schedules, work deadlines, and the everyday logistics of life.
Some days, there simply isn’t much time—or energy—left over.
And that is okay.
Progress does not require perfection.
Work, Choice, and Moving Forward
Work has been good to me. They allowed me to take time off in lieu instead of using vacation time, and psychologically, that matters. It feels like movement without loss.
I love my job. I love my colleagues. And I know how lucky I am—but luck is only part of the story.
I made the decision to dust off my résumé.
I made the decision to apply.
And I am still deciding—to keep going, to keep building.
I am preparing to move house. I am preparing to move forward.
Small Wins That Add Up
I called a mortgage broker. We talked through what I can realistically afford. And for the first time since my ex was arrested, I have paid off all the arrears on the property taxes.
That matters.
It means I am one step closer to qualifying for a mortgage on a new home. One step closer to moving to the city—an hour away from where we live now.
That move would save me over two hours a day in commuting time.
Two hours a day is not a luxury.
It is life-changing.
It is dinners that aren’t rushed.
Time with my kids.
Space to breathe.
A home that doesn’t require constant renovations.
A life that isn’t built entirely around survival and maintenance.
That is a massive shift.
Self-Care, Realistically
Self-care doesn’t look glamorous right now.
It looks like writing poetry when I can.
Watching K-dramas (a weakness, admittedly).
Doing Duolingo Spanish lessons.
Reading.
It looks like sitting under a blanket with a hot water bottle, a scented candle, music playing softly, letting my nervous system settle.
It is not elaborate.
But it is intentional.
And it is enough for this season.
Calm Is Not Complacency
I am calm—but I am not passive.
I am stronger today than I was yesterday. I understand the court process better. I know what to expect when trial resumes. I am healing, making decisions, and moving forward with parts of my life—even while the legal system continues to move slowly.
Life does not stop because court is paused.
Neither do I.
This Is Still Forward Motion
The system moves slowly. Messily. Imperfectly.
But I am moving forward anyway—learning, preparing, rebuilding in real time.
The delay does not undo what has already been said.
It does not erase the truth.
And it does not take away my voice.
It gives me time.
And right now, time feels less like a punishment
and more like a gift.
