This, I promise, is not a sign of weakness, although some of you regular readers will say 'Oh dear, she's slipping again.'
In that case you will be in good company. Imagine yourself sitting around a table with my Mum, a couple of friends and a handful of protective work colleagues.
You can all agree to keep an eye on me and make sure I don't backslide into a miserable life of fear, anger and police statements.
One or two of you can even take me for a curry and, under the guise of a good night out, impress on me the importance of Not Making That Mistake Again.
This is what I've done: agreed to collect a massive bag of washing from the rundown pit son Matt lurks in, and return it, all clean and smelling lovely. Save all the 'NO, don't do it!' messages. It's too late because I've already completed the dreaded deed.
All I can say in my defence is that the whole lot went through on three batches of economy quick wash and nothing, absolutely nothing, was returned ironed. Folded, yes, to make it fit back in the laundry bag, but not given any special treatment.
So why did I agree to 'do a service wash' for the now nearly 20-years-old lanky layabout who's spent nights in police cells in the past for assaulting me?
What it comes down to is that the event held no real significance for me. I knew it did not mean he would eventually worm his way back into my home by a series of sneaky manoeuvres.
These days, when he calls asking for help there are no relentless 100 redials of my number - and abuse should I answer the phone - if I reject his plea.
Instead he just gives up and accepts the situation whether the request is for money, a pizza delivery or lift to a police station.
So when the shared washing machine in his pit broke down he phoned and said: "Look, no problem if you ca'Õt do it, but if I go to the launderette it's going to cost me a fortune."
I surprised him by saying that if he was outside his bedsit at a set time, with the bag ready, I would do the washing. Matt said he wanted it all back within 24 hours, I replied that it would be at least three days before I returned, so make a choice - me or the launderette.
He took up my offer and behaved when I picked up the bag. And he thanked me when it was returned.
Doing the washing was a strange experience - a mix of unsettling memories of past times and just getting the job done. But, believe me, it meant nothing.