Tiny Buddha

Tag: abuse

  • Why Joy Is Important for Healing Developmental Trauma

    Why Joy Is Important for Healing Developmental Trauma

    “We all have everything we need within us to create our fullest potential.” ~Abraham Maslow

    Did you grow up with a critical, distant, or ignorant mother?

    She probably made sure that your physical needs were covered, but she never noticed or understood your emotional needs. If she was anything like my mum, she may even have shamed you for having them!

    You’re an adult now, and you have everything you need to be happy. So why aren’t you? Instead, you feel unworthy, disconnected, and lonely even when you’re with people you love. There’s this constant emptiness inside that makes you angry and sad at the same time. 

    Maybe you still long for a loving mother like you did when you were young, hoping that one day she’ll show up, or maybe you’ve given up hope that your mother will ever change.  

    Either way, she left open wounds inside your entire being—invisible traces of the trauma that you sustained. And you need to heal these wounds so that you can rediscover your true nature, activate your full potential, and live a life of your choice—a life filled with joy.

    Healing is crucial for your health—mental, physical and spiritual alike. The good news is, you don’t have to live in misery waiting for the “perfect” day to start being happy. In fact, bringing more joy into your life now will help you heal.

    Think about it this way: Joy is like the sun that eats away grey clouds and opens up the skies. Everything it touches brightens up and fills with the energy of growth. 

    Joy helps minimize the stress of the fight-or-flight reactions that you grew accustomed to because of to your traumatic past. It activates positive patterns in your brain instead, helping you heal and thrive.

    Just like it helped me.

    How I Learned to Speak Joy

    I was thirty-one when I made the life-changing decision to move abroad, far away from the stress of the strained relationship with my mum. On the outside, I was a confident adult woman, the mother of a seven-year-old boy. But inside, I felt like a scared little girl longing for a safe place to hide.

    Moving to a new country brought much positive change into my life. But, like nearly everything in life, with the good came a challenge.

    Running from my narcissistic mum, I left behind everything I knew—everything I had built in my life. I also left Mum alone with my dear sick father in the age before the Internet, when international phone calls could bite holes in a family budget. What I wanted was a break from the pain inflicted by Mum’s behaviour, but I never stopped worrying about her and my dad.

    I swapped my career in one of the country’s best medical centers for the life of a housewife, surrounded by strangers who spoke a language I didn’t understand. I uprooted my little boy and brought him to an unfamiliar place far away. We both felt like two survivors who had landed on another planet, and I needed all my strength just to stop myself from falling apart. 

    So how did I step beyond merely surviving, and begin to thrive? By making a conscious decision to live in the now and enjoy what I have.

    As simple as it seemed, it was a challenge in itself. You see, Mum taught me that life was serious business, and neither fun nor joy belonged there. Fortunately, the healthy part inside of me knew what I needed: to master another “foreign” language—the language of joy. Fortunately, I listened.

    “Even when you didn’t have the mother you needed, there’s a place inside your heart that totally knows how to love.” ~Jette Simon, psychotherapist

    So, there I was, learning to enjoy mundane chores like vacuuming and cleaning bathrooms—what could be less joyful than that? But I would turn on MTV, sing along, and swing my hips to the tunes blazing out of the big black box of a TV we had back then. And that simple trick drizzled my life with positivity, helping me to turn boring, everyday stuff into pleasurable activities.

    After that small success, I learned to seek and find joy in everything I did.

    You may be unable to change every challenging circumstance of your life, but you can bring more balance to your emotional inner world. 

    Being a food lover, I experimented with local recipes, enjoying tickles of creativity and sharing the results.

    My mother-in-law, Kirsten, who called me every day, clearly cared about us. Unfortunately, we didn’t speak a common language, and I needed something to make those conversations come alive. So, I made a list of the stuff I was usually doing—I’m vacuuming, reading, helping my son with his homework, and so on—and my husband translated it for me. This list became not only my first lesson in Danish, but it also brought joy to our connection and deepened our relationship.

    I loved spending quality time with my son with no stress attached and enjoyed the growing feeling of closeness between us. I did my best to help him cope with new people and our new life, and in turn, he helped me.

    I enjoyed my time alone, too—a walk with the dog (another language to learn!), sunbathing on the terrace, or reading a book. For the first time in my life, I could sit there doing nothing, and no one would criticize me for being “lazy” as Mum used to!

    Spice up your daily activities to expand a flow of positivity and minimize reactivity patterns.

    Looking back, I clearly see that I learned to be in the moment, pay attention to what I was doing, and do it with joy.

    Gradually, my overall mood began to improve, and I could see my life in a brighter light. Each day started to look more like an adventure, with endless possibilities for joy presenting themselves.

    It didn’t heal my trauma, of course, but it helped me get the best out of a turbulent time of change and prepared me for a healing journey. 

    Your Brain Still Remembers

    The chronic stress of developmental trauma has a long-lasting impact on the brain. Overloaded with negative bias, some parts of your brain are overwhelmed and “acting out,” while others are numb, taken out of the game. You need to calm the loud ones and reactivate those that have gone quiet. By doing so, you re-center yourself and find a healthier emotional balance. 

    When you laugh, have fun, or simply enjoy the moment, troubles and worries step aside, and you enter another realm where you feel connected, safe, and loved.

    Joy is inside you as a natural part of your true being. You simply need to find and reconnect with it.

    Here’s how you can increase your ability to feel joy.

    Acknowledge your current situation.

    Put in words what you’re struggling with, why, and how it’s negatively impacting you—not to punish anyone but to clarify the challenge. Remember, denial keeps you stuck, but acknowledging things for what they are opens doors for personal growth, healing, and joy.

    Now, knowing where you stand, ask yourself what you want your life to be and what you can do to get there. Possibilities for moving forward always exist; even small steps will take you closer to your goal.

    Find balance in a state of control.

    Either too much or too little control means co-dependency. Many people try to overcontrol their lives. To overcome this, let go of things that are beyond your control, like changing other people. Instead, focus more on self-growth. 

    In other cases, people allow their circumstances to dictate their lives, resulting in too little control or even no control at all. If that’s the case for you, it means taking matters into your own hands. Start with easier things like taking care of your well-being and choosing things that bring you joy. After that, work on saying no and building and defending strong boundaries.  

    Learn to tolerate difficult emotions.

    To achieve a peaceful and joyful state, you must first learn to tolerate your difficult emotions. It’s not easy, but staying with your grief, anger, or shame can turn things around and free space for positive emotions. If you push these difficult feelings away, they will almost certainly eat you alive. Do you want to miss out on all the good stuff in life? I didn’t think so.

    Validate your feelings instead of suppressing them, denying them, or pushing them away. You have the right to all of them! How could you not be angry, sad, or in mourning when you grew up without the loving mother you longed for as a child?

    Working through painful feelings on your own can be tough, so ask your partner, a friend, or a therapist to support you during this time.

    Live in the moment.

    Did you know that multitasking is one of the biggest enemies of joy? It’s true! Taking on multiple tasks at once keeps your mind and body overloaded, and it’s impossible to enjoy yourself when you’re constantly changing activities. Focusing on one thing, on the contrary, allows joy to surface and bloom.

     Learn to calm yourself. 

    Nobody is happy or relaxed all the time, but you can learn the skills and techniques to calm yourself when you need to. By doing so, you help your brain build more positive connections and open up for joy.

    Mindfulness and mediation are two excellent techniques that help you to slow down and focus on the moment. If sitting silently cross-legged on a cushion isn’t for you, don’t worry, there are other ways to get the benefits of these practices. Anything that helps you focus, pay attention, and be present will do the trick.

    Engage yourself fully.

    No matter what you do, get completely involved in it. Even when you do something out of necessity, it’s possible to find joy in the action. Fully engaging in everything you do helps you discover new, exciting sides to boring stuff from your to-do list. And sometimes, adding fun to dull, repetitive activities like washing the dishes or waiting for the bus solves the problem and awakens joy.

    Help or share.

    Social connections bring lots of joy into your life, even if you’re just connecting on Zoom. Help people, or share something with them—a cup of coffee, a smile, or a passion of yours. For example, I like to bake, and blend facial tonics and creams; it helps me relax. But sharing my passions with others is what brings me profound satisfaction and joy. 

    And the effect stays for days and weeks—I promise! 

    Choose joy. 

    More joy means lower levels of inflammation in your body, better health, and greater happiness. You’re no longer a prisoner of your emotions and can consciously choose where you want to use your energy and how. 

    Activating joy helps you reconnect with an authentic, wise part inside of you that knows how to love. It means finally feeling like yourself and safe inside your skin—no matter what traumas you have endured throughout your life.

    “Every moment, if it’s really inside of you, brings you what you need.” ~Rumi

    Choose joy!

  • Love Yourself, on Valentine’s Day and Always

    Love Yourself, on Valentine’s Day and Always

    “Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we’ll ever do.” Brené Brown 

    Growing up I watched my grandparents’ relationship with longing. They anticipated each other’s needs, they did small loving gestures for each other every day, and they put the other first without resentment. I longed to have a relationship like theirs one day and meet someone who understood me the way they understood each other.

    In contrast, I observed the relationship between my parents. My mother was constantly in a state of panic trying desperately to please my father. Her actions were always met with contempt and criticism, and her pleas for attention and affection were ignored.

    He never anticipated her needs or cared about what she wanted. He did whatever suited him, he said whatever he thought, criticized and complained constantly, rarely helped around the house, except for cooking, which he loved, and he always got his way in the relationship. I did not want a relationship like that and the thought of becoming anything like my mother repulsed me.

    When we are raised in a toxic environment we are often not taught how to love and value ourselves. We are not taught to stand up for ourselves or develop healthy boundaries with others. As a result, we are drawn to abusive and/ or toxic relationships because this way of being treated feels normal.

    Throughout high school and university, I attracted a string of relationships that reflected my upbringing.

    I formed friendships with people who used me and discarded me, who expressed their opinions, views, and values but could not care less about mine. I had employers who did not value me, and I acted passive and eager to please because I had been taught that this was the only way to be liked and valued.

    I attracted romantic partners who abused me verbally and physically and treated me the same way my father treated my mother.

    The people in my life would say things to me such as “I will love you if…” “I will treat you better when…” “I will only care about what you have to say if and when…”

    These statements were familiar, so I accepted them without question, but I was trapped in a cycle of abuse and self-loathing. A cycle that was hurting me and holding me back from becoming the person I was meant to be.

    I have learned that you cannot expect another person to love, respect, or value you if you do not love or value yourself. If you do not love yourself, you fail to uphold healthy boundaries that protect your dignity and personal value and you allow others to define you in ways that are demeaning and self-serving.

    For me, self-love stated by discarding old narratives that others had told me for years. I was not worthless or incompetent. I was not defined by the grades I did not get in high school or the mistakes I made while I was learning new skills. I was not lazy. I was not going to come to a sad end or be a burden to society. I was going to do great things with my life. I was going to thrive!

    If you were raised in a toxic environment you likely were taught that self-love is narcissistic, that being aware of your own needs and putting those needs first is selfish and wrong, and that you should continue to sacrifice yourself for the good of others who matter more than you.

    What you need to remember is that these words were likely said to you by people who benefited from your self-sacrifice and self-hatred. There is nothing wrong with expressing your own needs, wants, and desires or setting and achieving goals that would allow you to lead a full life. You become your best self when you do these things and you are better able to help others in a meaningful way.

    Once I started to love myself my life began to transform. I started to set healthy boundaries with people, and the relationships in my life began to change. People who were in my life to use me as a tool fell away, and although I was sad to lose these so-called friendships I began to attract reciprocal relationships. In social situations, I was listened to and my opinons were respected and valued for the first time in my life!

    I began to get a clear picture of what my goals and needs actually are, and I started to understand myself in a way I had never done before.

    When you grow up with abuse in any form you are not taught who you are. Instead, you are given a self-serving, subordinating narrative of yourself by the abuser that reflects who they are and serves their own selfish needs. If you hold on to this narrative, you can never be fully you or live up to your potential life because you are forced to be blind to your own needs and strengths.

    Once I consciously choose to let go of the past narratives of others, I was free. This did not mean that I was blind to my shortcomings or that I felt entitled, arrogant, or self-important. It meant that I embraced my strengths, was compassionate with myself when I made mistakes, I was aware of my needs, and I gave myself permission to rest and reflect when I needed it.

    I have learned that self-love is a process. For me, that process involved writing down what I like about myself, my past accomplishments that I am proud of, what I am good at, what I need in relationships and work environments.

    It meant having the courage to walk away from relationships with people who do not respect me including members of my own family.

    It involved setting myself up for success and happiness by building on my strengths while allowing myself to grow.

    I got my masters, started my Ph.D., joined a competitive swim team, and helped my students and friends in meaningful ways and formed meaningful relationships with like-minded people. I took risks that have led to rewards I could never have imagined. My point here is not to brag but to illustrate that I had I not learned to love myself, I would not have been able to accomplish these things.

    Let go of narratives that no longer serve you, do what you love, believe that in your abilities, and know that someone will love you for you! Self-love is a choice and one I hope you will choose on Valentine’s day and always.

  • How I Healed from Gaslighting and Found Self-Love After the Abuse

    How I Healed from Gaslighting and Found Self-Love After the Abuse

    “I smile because I have survived everything the world has thrown at me. I smile because when I was knocked down, I got back up.” ~Unknown

    Had you asked me only two years ago I wouldn’t have even been able to tell you what gaslighting was, nor that I had been a victim.

    That’s the thing about gaslighting, it can sneak into your life unknowingly, and before you know it, it can lead you to breaking point where you are doubting your sanity and your life is spiralling out of control.

    Gaslighting is a form of emotional abuse, where an uneven power dynamic is created by an abuser, leading their victim to doubt their reality.

    Gaslighting is insidious in that it can begin subtly, then, as the victim’s confidence is chipped away, can lead to further forms of abuse, where the victim is coerced into submission of the wants of the abuser.

    I was in my twenties when I met Chris* (*name changed). He was charming, he complemented me, he made me laugh, and the chemistry between us made us virtually inseparable. I was in love, my life was perfect, and there was nothing that could bring me down from the loving high I felt.

    It did, though. Things came down, crashing down, and only three years later I was in the midst of a breakdown and contemplating suicide.

    I can’t exactly pinpoint when the gaslighting started; I had what I thought were misunderstandings—me just being “stupid,” forgetting things or making a “big deal” out of nothing. Chris was always the “brains” of the relationship, and I was “fortunate” that he corrected me when I made these errors. I had no clue this was only the beginning of what was to come.

    Then one day I was about to confront Chris for cheating on me, after finding evidence on a phone of mine he had used, when he uttered the words that were my undoing: “You do know that imagining things is the first sign of craziness, right?”

    Staring at me was a man with a cold stare. “You’re crazy, I don’t know how I can be with someone who makes up lies about me like that.” I looked at the phone, which was empty, no evidence of messages showing he had been unfaithful. They had definitely been there, and I had seen them, or at least I thought I had?

    I no longer lived with the Chris I loved; instead, he was replaced with a Jekyll and Hyde, who on some days was loving and on other days was calculated and manipulative.

    These changes in character were another form of ammunition in the mind games of gaslighting, allowing the gaslighting to go undetected. By granting me good days, it lured me into thinking things weren’t as bad as they were, a form of control to avoid me leaving the relationship.

    It also gave Chris further power by accusing me of being “ungrateful” when I attempted to protest later unacceptable behavior. “After what I did for you the other day, you accuse me of this?” How could I think negatively about him after all he was doing for me? And so the abuse continued.

    Each day I walked on eggshells not knowing what I would do wrong by Chris, and as a result I became a shadow of my former self, losing all confidence. With my loss in confidence I lost my ability to defend myself, and as a result was subjected to other forms of cruel abuse.

    Despite feeling my life was falling apart, I rarely considered leaving; instead, I clung onto the relationship, attempting to repair the damage I was made to believe I had done.

    Even if I had decided to leave, I felt I had no one, or nowhere to go. For over two years he told me I was crazy, so I had started to believe that was my truth. I thought if I tried to turn to someone for support, they would only reinforce that I was crazy or not believe me.

    It still brings a tear to my eye that I couldn’t open up to my sister, one of the closest people in my life. After seeing the dark circles under my eyes and weight loss, she asked if I was okay. The only response I could utter was “I’m fine.” The sad truth was that I wasn’t fine, I was far from it; my life was in chaos and I was starting to feel I couldn’t cope much longer.

    The strain of living in fear finally took its toll, so I hit my rock bottom. I felt that if I didn’t leave, there was no other option than to take my own life.

    Somewhere inside I took the last ounce of strength I had to leave. I was faced with a barrage of message from Chris, which switched from messages of promising to change, to messages of hate, having lost his control. How, I don’t know, but I managed to maintain no contact, blocking him out of my life forever, and for the strength I had during that time, I am forever grateful.

    Despite how low I had gotten I still was unable to identify that the relationship had been abusive, whether out of denial or lack of knowledge, and so did not reach out for support. Instead, in the years that followed I’d experience panic attacks, never felt safe, and had a gut-wrenching fear of certain people.

    I’d been so manipulated that I assumed these behaviors were just further evidence that I was “crazy”, and so I lived in this shame for another ten years.

    Finally, two years ago I did one of the bravest things I could have done: I listened to the small voice inside of me, the small voice that for the past twelve years had told me things weren’t right. The small voice that had been silenced by my abuser, that had been my apparent “crazy.” The small voice that knew I should have left, but that I didn’t have the confidence to listen to.

    I now realized that small voice was my gut instinct, and it was telling me that my life could improve, but I needed to open up and seek professional support.

    It takes an enormous amount of courage to open up and engage in important healing work after abuse. In asking for support we are opening ourselves up to be vulnerable, when it was our vulnerabilities which have been exploited.

    We are putting our trust into people, after having put trust in people who have hurt us.

    We are allowing opportunities to feel emotions and have a voice when our emotions and voice were ignored or silenced.

    Without support, though, we risk remaining in abusive relationships, or repeating patterns of attracting toxic people into our lives.

    This is by no means an exhaustive list, but these are some of the things I have learned and done as part of my recovery, which has allowed me to begin to love and trust in myself again.

    I’d like to note that I refer to “abuse” in this section, because that is what gaslighting is, a form of emotional abuse. I’d also like to note that in realizing we have experienced abuse, it is important that we don’t state this to the abuser. Accusing a person of abuse can put us at increased risk of negative consequences. Instead, seek support from those who are trusted/professional support.

    I’ve acknowledged the abuse.

    Acknowledging the abuse has been a long, and at times difficult but necessary process.

    Due to the manipulation I experienced I’ve been challenged with frequent questioning if what I remember was correct. I’ve also spent many a sleepless night trying to rationalize what happened, making excuses for Chris.

    These rationalizations and questioning were a coping mechanism, to avoid the pain of admitting someone I loved could hurt me. Being patient with myself and being willing to trust the process together with my therapist, I’ve slowly come to terms that I have been subjected to abuse.

    Frequently I would utter the words “but he wasn’t like that all of the time.” I’m learning that regardless of the amount of the time, even it’s only 20%, abuse is abuse. As we begin to heal, we find a newfound respect for ourselves and become unwilling to accept any form of abuse in our lives.

    Throughout the process of acknowledging I’ve experienced abuse I’ve been gentle with myself. I had to allow myself time to grieve the relationship with the person I had loved and who at times I still love.

    I’ve given myself permission to feel any emotion I’ve needed to feel; I’ve cried, felt immense sadness, fear, and I’ve felt anger. While raw, each emotion has been necessary, and now that I’m coming out of the other side, I have a newfound love and acceptance of myself without the shame and guilt I had once lived in.

    If we want healthy relationships, we need boundaries.

    “Boundaries” is another term that entered my vocabulary shortly after I began therapy. A boundary sets a personal limit on what behavior is acceptable or unacceptable with us. Boundaries can represent our emotional, physical, or spiritual needs; they may be different for various people in our lives, e.g. family, friends, partners, colleagues, and can be adapted according to the trust we develop in a person.

    Before I learned about boundaries, I had felt selfish for having my own needs. What I hadn’t realized is that setting boundaries is in no way selfish, and instead come from a place of self-love, self-respect, and self-worth.

    I also feared that setting boundaries would lead me to be abandoned and rejected, not realizing that people who respect our boundaries are the ones we should keep in our lives, and those who don’t we should remove.

    With a better understanding of boundaries, I have been able to understand the role I have played in relationships; by not being clear about how I wish to be treated. As an example, I would say to Chris I needed space when he would shout and swear at me, yet I never followed through. Unintendedly I was communicating to him that I had low self-worth, and so made me a target for abuse.

    To set a boundary we need to communicate our needs and if necessary, implement consequences when they are not respected. This can be hard, particularly if we have experienced any form of abuse that has led us to lose our voice, but with time and practice it gets easier.

    To assist in communicating my boundaries, I have spoken to trusted friends and my therapist about things going on in my life and what I needed from a person. By listening to me these people have given me the opportunity to practice what I would I like to say.

    In time I’ve begun to communicate things that are important to me and my well-being; I’m no longer feeling forced to do things I don’t want.

    Boundaries are of course two-way, and my ability to respect other people’s boundaries instead of feeling abandoned has also improved. I’m not perfect at it, but it is empowering to honor my needs, and in doing so my relationships have also improved.

    I’m learning to have fun again.

    How ironic is it that you leave an abusive relationship only for your life to still feel controlled; only this time it is by an inner bully, the internalization of all the abuse you have experienced?!

    For years my internal voice was relentless: “You’re worthless, you’re dumb, you’re so stupid.” At times it was as bad, if not worse than the abuse. I also had an incessant fear that “something would go wrong,” and as a result was hypervigilant constantly scanning for threats and risks. As a result of the inner critic and hypervigilance I lost the ability to have fun, not being able to let my guard down.

    Realizing these inner attacks were flashbacks and emotional scars from years of constantly being belittled and gaslighted gave me relief.

    I’ve learned that while they can be scary, they are just thoughts, they are not true and cannot hurt me.

    Mindfulness has been a powerful tool in overcoming these attacks; when an attack has been brought on, I’ve noticed it happening, not reacting, just noticing. I’ve then been able to introduce thought-stopping, where I have been able to interrupt the toxic thoughts at their first sign with a counter thought such as “stop,” or “I’m safe now.”

    Learning to have fun again is one of the hardest parts of my recovery; there are times when it is harder, particularly when I have a lot of stress going on in my life. It is a journey and takes time, but my inner bully has decreased, and I am allowing more fun into my life.

    Above all, I’ve treated myself with love and compassion for what happened.

    My therapist has repeatedly reminded me “You did the best you could in the situation with the resources you had available to you.” Prior to hearing this I judged myself incessantly for not leaving the relationship sooner, and for waiting so long to seek support. I felt I had wasted years of my life and felt like a failure.

    By judging myself, I realized I was continuing to hurt myself. As I’ve begun to heal, I have been able to reframe my experience from self-criticism to self-compassion.

    Emotional abuse is destructive both in the short term and long term, evoking feelings of fear, confusion, hopelessness, and shame. It comes as no surprise that during the abuse I had been unable to look after myself. Again, as with anything there are harder days than others, on days where I am unable to provide myself with kindness, I ask myself how a loved one would respond to me in the circumstances?

    Each person’s experience will be different, with mine being only one example. In writing this article my desire is to raise awareness of the devastating impacts of gaslighting and to share a message of hope.

    To anyone reading who is experiencing, or who has experienced abuse, we can have a better life where we no longer live in fear. While our trauma begins in relationships, having access to trusted and healthy relationships can also help us heal.

    It isn’t a quick process, but with each day things can and will get better. Having been forced to the deepest lows of my life, and made it to where I am now, I am living proof that we can have a better life.

    You are beautiful, you are loved, and you are a survivor. Be kind to yourself.

  • Growing Up with a Narcissist: How I’m Healing from the Abuse

    Growing Up with a Narcissist: How I’m Healing from the Abuse

    “You could have grown cold, but you grew courageous instead. You could have given up, but you kept on going. You could have seen obstacles, but you called them adventures. You could have called them weeds, but instead you called them wildflower. You could have died a caterpillar, but you fought on to be a butterfly. You could have denied yourself goodness, but instead you chose to show yourself some self-love. You could have defined yourself by the dark days, but instead through them you realized your light.” ~S.C. Lourie

    As the memories of my childhood flash within my mind, I am brought back to a place in which I did not know if I was ever going to be happy. Happiness, stability, and love seemed so far away and out of reach that I met each day with overwhelming sadness. I longed for peace, I longed for someone to understand, and I longed for someone to save me.

    No one really knew what was going on behind closed doors with my mom. She was a tyrant who emotionally demolished anyone who got in her path. My siblings and I were her constant targets. Due to her nature, she isolated us from family and friends and only brought us around to make her look good and build up her ego. The classic case of a narcissist.

    You see, it was not until many years later during my adult life that my mom was officially diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder.

    If you are unfamiliar with this diagnosis, it is someone who lacks empathy and is unable to show love. They appear to have a superficial life, and they are always concerned with how things look to others.

    She was incapable of being loving and nurturing, things we look for mothers to provide. While I was a child, I was always grasping for answers to the constant emotional, verbal, and physical abuse that plagued my household.

    I learned very early on that I was to be seen, not heard, and that any challenge or inquiry of fun would be met with a tongue-lashing and/or strike to my body. When you are the daughter of a narcissistic mother, you internalize every strike and every word laid upon you. You feel dismissed and discounted. You never feel good enough.

    I remember moments in which I wished for the mother-daughter bond that my friends experienced. I would cry whenever I would read about it in books or see it on television.

    When you are a victim of abuse, you always feel as if what you desire is out of reach because you believe you don’t deserve it. How could someone who gave birth to me inflict so much pain? This question flooded my brain on a daily basis.

    Motherhood is a sacred act of love that was not provided to me, and therefore, I suffered. I suffered with lack of confidence, limited beliefs, fear of failure, anxiety, perfectionism, and lack of emotional closeness with romantic relationships and friendships.

    It was at the age of nineteen that I decided that I no longer wanted to be a part of this life. I made up my mind that this cloak of darkness would no longer plague me. I left.

    I left with all my belongings in a laundry bag as well as what little light I had within me and moved in with my now-spouse’s family. I was grateful that they welcomed me with open arms and that I was safe. Little did I know that the real healing began once I decided to step into it.

    Trauma leaves not only emotional scars but also tiny imprints that influence your thoughts and decisions. I was an adult who knew nothing about adulting and lacked the guidance from a parental figure: I was terrified.

    But I realized that sometimes you must mother yourself. In the chaos you learn how to give yourself the love and affection you longed for in your most powerless moments. 

    I needed to show up for myself and the little girl within me that didn’t have a chance to enjoy life. It was time for me to take my power back and ignite my inner being.

    I started becoming increasingly curious and hopeful about this transition I was beginning to step into, so there were a few steps that I began to implement on this journey of transformation. I hope you may find them useful when you are ready.

    Distance yourself from the toxic behavior.

    Sometimes distance and time help heal and give clarity as well as peace.

    I’ve had to take myself out of situations where I knew I had to protect myself. This allowed me to take time out to really focus on what I wanted and the direction I desired to go in.

    At times this meant limited communication, geographic distance, or emotional distance. This is not always easy, but it will help keep you on track if you constantly remind yourself that it is for the development of your highest good and your healing.

    Surround yourself with people who can lift you up and pour into you.

    Coming from a household where love and warmth were not present can leave you feeling empty. Surround yourself with friends or other family that can lift you up while you are sorting things out. Being around people who were able to showcase this for me provided me with the motivation to continue creating it within myself.

    Develop and nurture a spiritual practice.

    Faith and hope were the two driving forces behind my motivation to leave. I just knew deep down that this was not the direction that I wanted my life to go in, and there were better things out there for me.

    Developing a spiritual practice helped me to gain inner peace when moments of fear, anxiety, and doubt heavily crept in. It comforted me when I had no idea if taking a leap would work out, but the valuable lesson that I learned was that when you take a leap, the net will appear. Meditation, prayer, and connecting to a higher power can create stillness within the chaos.

    Start with unconditional love toward yourself.

    Surviving verbal and physical abuse is no easy feat and can tarnish what little confidence you may have had, which is why beginning to develop that within yourself is super important.

    I had to learn that if I loved myself, I could feel more confident in my abilities and continue pushing forward.

    Give yourself those motivational pep talks, read dozens of books, work with a professional, listen to uplifting music or podcasts. Pour into yourself and become your own best friend. No one can take that away from you.

    Give yourself time.

    There is no one-size-fits-all solution to healing. It is a journey that loops and curves, but it all leads to a transformation.

    It can take time to unravel all that you experienced, but be compassionate with yourself as you figure it all out. Set the intention of working toward a positive transformation and gather the tools necessary to facilitate the change.

    It took me years of trial and error to get to the place that I am in right now, but my intention was always to become better than I was yesterday. Nurture your healing; there is a breakthrough on the other side.

    Continue to make that conscious choice every day to grow, heal, and reach transformation. Don’t shy away from the healing necessary to set yourself free and live the life you deserve to live. You have to shed the old in order to let in the new and no longer allow fear to have a strong hold on you.

    There is beauty in discovering a life of inward and outward victory. Throughout my transformation my breakthrough consisted of this one powerful mantra:

    I am not a victim of my circumstance. I am victorious.

    You are too.

  • Healing from the Trauma of Narcissistic Abuse

    Healing from the Trauma of Narcissistic Abuse

    “Don’t blame a clown for acting like a clown. Ask yourself why you keep going to the circus.” ~Unknown

    When I first experienced narcissistic abuse as an adult, it was at a time when the term “narcissistic abuse” was not so heard of or understood.

    I had met a handsome, intelligent, charismatic, and charming man, and as is typical in abusive relationships, had been completely overwhelmed by the intensity and ‘love’-overload of the early stages.

    Before I could catch my breath, though, the nitpicking started, and so did the heated arguments, the jealousy, the cutting contact, and disappearing for days on end—shortly followed by dramatic make-ups, apologies, gifts, and promises.

    And so had begun the emotional roller coaster ride that is dating a narcissist.

    Many months later, I found myself becoming a different person. I was stressed, anxious, paranoid, increasingly isolated, and cranky. I was totally lost and felt like nobody understood. Friends couldn’t understand why we couldn’t just end things. We were hooked in a destructive bond.

    At the worst points, being caught in a toxic relationship feels utterly maddening. After months of relationship highs and lows, of it being on and off, the gaslighting, accusations, and coercive control, I honestly began to believe I was losing my mind.

    I was stuck trying to make sense of my experience, and the logical part of my mind was desperately searching for answers to so many questions:

    Why did he cheat?
    What was so wrong with me?
    Why did he lie?
    What were lies, and what was the truth?
    Was any of it real?
    Did he ever really say the things he said?
    Was he even capable of love?
    How could things have been different?
    What else could or should I have done?

    These are some of the same questions I hear my clients ask now when they come to me for support in healing from narcissistic abuse.

    The Journey of Healing

    My own recovery started one particularly frantic night. I was incredibly upset and desperate to make sense of what was going on. Searching online, I happened to come across information about sociopaths and narcissists and this particular kind of psychological abuse.

    This was a pivotal moment. I had never heard anybody use the term “narcissistic abuse,” and at that time (this was many years ago), there was hardly any information around about it. But I knew, the moment I read this, that this was it. It shifted my whole perspective. It was shocking and confusing, although overall, an unbelievable relief. I realized this was a ‘thing’ and that, for the first time, other people understood. More importantly, there was a way out.

    Reading more about psychological abuse, I arrived at my first key point in healing:

    I Realized It’s Not Me—I’m Not Crazy!

    Toxic relationships will leave you feeling like you are mad. Often abusive partners will reinforce this by never taking responsibility and constantly telling you in various ways that it is your fault or your issues.

    My narcissistic partner would criticize and undermine me in all sorts of strange and subtle ways, including judgments or ‘suggestions.’ He would often communicate in ways that would leave me doubting or questioning myself. As is the power of being with a narcissist, at the time, I was eager to please and impress.

    If I ever pulled him up on any of the criticisms, he accused me of being negative, told me he was trying to support my personal growth, that I was being sensitive, paranoid, that I was over-reacting, or that I had issues. This kind of abuse in itself is maddening. I realized that all of what I had been feeling was in itself the symptom of being in an emotionally abusive relationship.

    I was not and am not mad, but I was in a mad relationship. I found as I cut contact and removed myself from the toxic dynamic that my sense of sanity swiftly returned. This is something that many sufferers I work with now also experience. You are not crazy, but if you are in an abusive relationship, you are in a relationship dynamic that will leave you feeling like you are.

    Letting Go of the Need to Understand and Know

    It’s our mind’s natural tendency to want to make sense of our experience; however, with narcissism and narcissistic behavior, there is no sense. You can’t apply logic to illogical actions. I created a lot of distress for myself in the early part of my recovery by desperately clinging onto the fantasy that I somehow could understand all the whats and whys.

    Being able to let go of this need to know is a big step in recovery. This was not easy at the time, but I managed this by practicing mindfulness and learning to recognize when my thoughts or attention would drift to the narcissist or on trying to work out the answers or understand the non-existent logic.

    As I became aware of my thoughts drifting to such a futile task, I would then try and tune into my feelings in that moment and ask myself, “How am I feeling right now?”

    I’d mentally label the emotion and any physical sensations that went along with it.

    Then, knowing more clearly how I was feeling (sad, angry, etc.), I would ask myself “What do I need? What can I do for myself right now that is a loving and supportive thing to do?”

    Sometimes this would be to allow myself to cry, punch a pillow, reach out to a friend, or go and treat myself to something nice—to practice self-care. It was a step-by-step process to find ways in which I could gently feel my feelings and attend to my own needs. This also included the feelings I had about not having answers and accepting that maybe I never will. You can gently let go with this refocus and self-care. Make a choice about what may be harmful or helpful to your healing and recovery.

    Considering My Own Narcissism

    I laugh now that my breakup lasted longer than the actual relationship did! The toxic dynamic was addictive and really hard to let go of from both sides.

    An empath will care, forgive, understand, and put a narcissist’s needs before their own. A narcissist will crave the attention, contact, and power. It becomes a dance.

    Narcissists tend to have a disorganized attachment style. Relationships will be push and pull, on and off, up and down. Being in a relationship with a narcissist is a lot like being on an emotional roller coaster ride. It’s exhilarating and draining, but if you stay on, going round and round for long enough, you will get sick!

    Because of the attachment style, the moment a narcissist senses you are pulling away, they will instinctively aim to pull you back in again, throwing all sorts of bait in order to hook you back.

    I was hooked back again and again by broken promises and wanting to believe the fantasy of how things could be.

    I was also hooked by believing that somehow, I could be the one to change him, to make him see, to help him love and feel loved, to make things different, to help him be the person I hoped and believed he could be.

    Truth be told, I wanted to be the one to capture and hold his attention and interest. However, such are the demands of narcissistic supply that it’s impossible that there can ever be one person forever.

    Quite frankly, I had to recognize the narcissism in this. To see the narcissistic fantasy in my idea about somehow possessing some magical powers to help him heal and change. I can’t. In fact, nobody can.

    A narcissist’s healing and actions are their responsibility only—nobody else’s.

    Believing on some level you can be ‘the one’ to change a narcissist is narcissistic to some extent in itself. This doesn’t mean somebody who has this hope has narcissistic personality disorder! It’s just helpful to recognize the ill-placed hope and fantasy.

    Narcissism is one of the most difficult clinical presentations for highly experienced specialists to treat. You do not have the ability or power to change or help an abuser. More to the point, why would you want to?

    Let Go of Fantasy Thinking and Ground Yourself in Reality

    Many people who’ve experienced narcissistic abuse become trapped in an elusive fantasy. Fantasy thinking is clinging onto the hope of how you believe things could be, not how they actually are.

    One of the most confusing things I experienced when in a relationship with a narcissist was distinguishing the difference between fantasy and reality. With this there can be a discrepancy between body and mind. For example, my ex constantly told me that he was being supportive. However, I didn’t feel supported.

    Like in many abusive relationships, the words and the actions do not match. Nobody can really mean the words “I love you” and be violent, critical, or abusive at the same time.

    In recovery, it is vital to distinguish between the hope and fantasy of how things could be and the reality of how things actually are. I often hear people describe the longing for things to be like they were “in the beginning.”

    The start of an abusive relationship can be incredibly intense and powerful. This is the time the manipulator will ‘love-bomb,’ and it can feel exhilarating, romantic, powerful, and highly addictive.

    Intensity is not the same as intimacy, though. Real intimacy takes time and is balanced. Intensity can give you a high that you continue to crave.

    If you suspect you are in an unhealthy relationship, it’s important to take an honest and objective inventory of the current reality, not your ideal of how things were or could be. Right now, how safe and secure do you feel? Currently, what are the actions of your partner or ex?

    It can be helpful to take pen to paper and list the current behaviors or circumstances to help regain some more realistic perspective. Perhaps asking friends or family their view too.

    Take Responsibility

    One of the things I feel most grateful about from my experience of narcissistic abuse is that I really had to learn to take complete responsibility for myself. I had to become fully responsible for myself and my actions: my recovery, my efforts, my self-care, my finances, my health, my well-being, my life… everything.

    Something I see many people do while in a toxic relationship, and even following the end of one, is to become stuck with focusing their efforts and attentions on the narcissist. Over-concerning themselves with what they are now doing, or not doing, or still trying to get them to see things another way, or holding out for an apology from them, or hoping they will change or fulfill all their promises, and so on.

    A particular hook I often hear about in my work now is the abusive partner dangling a ‘carrot on a stick’ when their partner attempts to end the relationship. This can be highly abusive as they step up the promises of providing you with whatever it is they know you wish for, be it proper commitment, a family, a secure home situation, financial purchases, or more.

    I have honestly yet to hear an account of when any of these promises have been honored. Instead, partners are left wasting months and years, even decades, holding on to the fantasy and hope that a partner will provide them with what they need.

    I think it’s important to recognize the bigger perspective. If there are things you want in life, then you take complete responsibility for making them happen.

    Remember, too much focus on the narcissist is a big part of the problem in the first place!

    Healing comes with returning your focus to yourself, acknowledging your own feelings and emotional experience, recognizing your own wants and needs, and gently attending to those yourself.

    I truly believe that healthy relationships begin with the one we have with ourselves. That includes taking full responsibility for all aspects of ourselves and our lives.

    Gratitude

    When I was in the midst of the insanity of narcissistic abuse, I felt like I was in a living hell! At the time, I absolutely would never have entertained the concept of applying gratitude to the experience! Now, though, many years later, I can truly say I am deeply grateful for the experience.

    When I became aware of this particular kind of psychological and emotional abuse, the sheer depths of the pain I was experiencing propelled me to embark on a deep journey of exploration, healing, and recovery and vast personal growth, which I am now eternally grateful for.

    I actively practiced writing about what I could be grateful for in each part of the experience, and—as difficult as that was at the time—it helped to assist my healing.

    I learned about narcissistic abuse. I learned how to spot the signs of both overt and covert narcissism so now I can spot this a mile off. With awareness, I have a choice.

    I had to take a good look at my part in the dynamic, my issues of codependency. I learned boundaries. I’ve learned healthy communication. I worked with a therapist and support group to feel and heal the family origins of some issues that related to why we attract or repeat unhealthy relationship patterns in the first place.

    I learned how to tune into and trust myself and my gut instinct; I always stay close to that now. I learned a huge amount about myself. I know what healthy relationships are and enjoy many of them in my life now. I’m a better, wiser, and more grateful person for going through it all.

    Don’t get me wrong, I would never want to experience it ever again! But I rest confident now that, because of a full recovery, I absolutely will never need to. I do not attract that kind of person anymore. In fact, I can be quite the narcissist repellant because I recognize the warning signs. As well as spotting the signs on the outside and recognizing the abusive actions of others, I now have clear boundaries and the self-esteem to communicate them.

    I have also worked on what needed to be healed inside of me, and for that I am grateful.

  • I Refuse to Inherit My Parents’ Pain and Problems

    I Refuse to Inherit My Parents’ Pain and Problems

    “I wonder how much of what weighs me down is not mine to carry.” ~Aditi

    My dad once told me about his early experiences with my mother’s parents. He shared that he knew right from the start that there was something extremely off with them.

    They were an elderly couple who would constantly curse at one another, belittle and embarrass each in front of others, and yell hate-filled words such as “I hate you,” “I wish you were dead,” and “I’d be better off without you.” He said the fighting would get so aggressive, that sometimes the police had to be called to the house to intervene.

    When my dad finished his story, he sat back and sort of chuckled at the craziness of it all, while I sat there in silent shock and horror. Those were all the things my mother said to me.

    No one else could have known that, because I had never told anyone what really went on at my mother’s house.

    It was the first time I realized that emotional and verbal abuse could be handed down from generation to generation, without anyone ever realizing it.

    My Mother’s Mistakes

    My mother treated me my whole life as if my thoughts, feelings, and even physical condition were invisible, or at least weren’t important.

    She was cruel with her words and calculating with her actions. But the real damage she did couldn’t be seen on the surface, because it went straight to the core of my very existence. She made me believe that who I was and how I felt didn’t matter, and that it truly was a mistake for me to be here.

    I grew up with a vague sense that I was meant to be on the outside of life and love. Destined to always get close, but never able to grasp, or experience it for myself.  Her rage and neglect created a deep loneliness within me, and a longing to mean something to someone.

    My romantic relationships were deep, intense love affairs that were often one-sided. I found myself genuinely wrapped up in the emotion, attention, and affection of it all.

    When the relationship ended, I was borderline traumatized. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t let go. I blamed myself for every possible mistake and went to humiliating lengths to get some of them back.

    And this type of behavior wasn’t only specific to my romantic relationships. I had a trail of broken friendships where my clingy tendencies also reared its ugly head. I was possessive, over-protective, emotionally needy, and easily prone to feeling left out.

    In my subconscious quest for self-acceptance and self-love, I couldn’t see that I was eroding all my relationships, romantic and friendly, from the inside out.

    My Father’s Faults

    What my mother lacked in love, my father made up for with aggressive behavior and shame.

    My father always wanted to be somebody and felt the best way to achieve a sense of self- importance and self-worth was through the workplace. He wanted everyone around him to see how smart he was, that he was natural born leader, and that he could get the job done and make the place all the better for it.

    This need caused him to constantly be in and out of work. Taking on highly powerful positions, only to be asked to leave within a few months due to his over-aggressive and in your face management style.

    He blamed us for his defeats, asserting that he was putting himself through this because “having kids wasn’t cheap, and neither was paying all that child support to your mother!”

    His failures became our faults, and I would spend my adult career trying to rectify them. Trying to find my own sense of importance and value through my career.

    At work, I was an over-achiever and aggressive power-player. It wasn’t even about the money. It was about the sense of self-importance, attention, and validation it gave me. All the things I didn’t have as a child and didn’t know I was searching for as an adult.

    I went from job to job, always leaving for the same reasons¾ “I was overworked and overlooked.” I blamed the industry, the people, the work culture, the office politics, but never myself. My failures were everyone else’s faults, and so the cycle continued until I was out of work, out of money and without a professional ally in the world.

    Repair and Rebuild

    I used to believe that when I turned eighteen and moved away from my parents the pain and abuse would all be over, but instead, it continued to live on in me, and through me, for many years.

    Although my parents had different problems, the result was still the same. Both parents left me struggling with a loss of identity, and a compulsory need for attention, love, and validation.

    Far from escaping my past, I found myself reliving and repeating its most painful parts in the two areas of my life that had ever given me any sense of meaning and purpose¾ my relationships and my career.

    Every bad emotion I had tried to avoid, everything I was trying to escape from as a child—the loneliness, the fear, the isolation—somehow became the foundation of my adult existence.

    My mother’s mistakes and my father’s faults became the core of my identity. Worst of all, I was completely unaware. I felt like I was acting according to my own desires and needs, but I was really just acting out, following a set of behaviors that I had learned as a child.

    I was driven by unseen emotional needs, and it would take many years for me to find a combination of therapeutic and self-help techniques to carve out a life for myself that was a reflection of my own thoughts, feelings, and hopes.

    Starting with acceptance and accountability, I began the long process of undoing my childhood emotional damage.

    I accepted that I had no control over my parents’ decisions, actions, and how they chose to treat me as a child.

    I embraced personal accountability, in that while it was not my fault what happened to me as a child, as an adult, my behavior and my actions were my choice.

    Once I took responsibility, I was able to separate what was mine to carry and what was mine to let go.

    In my mid-thirties, for the first time in my life, I began to discover who I really was, the things I did and didn’t like, who I could be, and more importantly, who I wanted to be.

    I had always sought out leadership roles in companies, not because I was a natural born leader, but because I had a deep-seated need for attention and admiration.

    I found that in both my romantic relationships and personal friendships, there were many times I didn’t agree, but I went along with it, because my need to be loved was much stronger than my need to be me.

    After my career was over, I took a small part-time job working on an assembly line. It wasn’t much, but it was everything to me. It was my chance to rebuild and repair my shattered sense of self.

    It gave a me chance to figure out what I really wanted.

    Did I really want this high-powered, all-consuming career? Did I really want these intense love-affairs that ended just as quickly as they began? Or, were their other avenues of finding personal and professional happiness out there?

    —

    Our parents’ mistakes do not have to be ours.

    My mother was emotionally abused and neglected as a child, and she handed that legacy down by creating the same home in which she grew up for her own children.

    My father was overlooked, undermined, and overall cast aside as a child, and he too passed this on to his children.

    Painful legacies can repeat themselves if we are not careful to do the inner work necessary to stop the cycle.

    Parents can unwittingly imbue us with their faults and characteristics. We become the dumping ground for unresolved emotions, lost opportunities, and broken dreams. We unknowingly carry our parents’ problems, and even their abuses.

    Even now today I still struggle with these problems, but being constantly aware of them gives me hope that I will one day be able to live my life not as product of my past, but as the person I know I am capable of being.

  • I Thought It Was Love, But It Was Actually Abuse

    I Thought It Was Love, But It Was Actually Abuse

    “Alone doesn’t always mean lonely. Relationship doesn’t always mean happy. Being alone will never cause as much loneliness as being in the wrong relationship.” ~Unknown

    I don’t know if it’s the conditioning of Disney movies that makes every young girl dream of finding her Prince Charming, but that was my experience. My prince entered my life just like that, saving me from my boredom and taking me on a roller coaster of excitement. He assured me that our love was going to last forever, and the naivety of being sixteen made me believe him.

    It didn’t take long for his true colors to emerge; sadly, it took me longer to see them.

    I thought the control was over-protectiveness. I thought he cared when he told me what to wear, who I could associate with, and where I could go. The Neanderthal behavior must have touched something primitive in me, and I was overwhelmed with the urge to please.

    Quickly, I went from princess to property. He shouted at me, berated me, and mentally tortured me. And I thought I was being loved.

    To anyone who has never been in this situation, the words “run, Forest, run” might come to mind. However, we say this from an adult perspective, older and wiser. When you’ve been brainwashed since you were sixteen, it takes more than a quote from a movie to see sense.

    Everything became an argument. Every argument taught me to walk on eggshells. If I didn’t conform, he would ignore me. If I refused to listen, he would isolate me. If I cried, he would scream at me. If I had no emotion, he would play the victim.

    I thought I could make him better. I thought he would receive the love from me that he was lacking elsewhere and that this would make him change.

    I thought wrong.

    Nearly fifteen years later, I am the one who holds a lifetime worth of memories that I can’t forget, and I’ve had to recondition myself into believing that this is not my fault. No amount of “what ifs” can change a person’s innate morality. Mentally and emotionally healthy people do not try to make others feel unworthy of love and dress it up to be love.

    If you asked me to define love, I would tell you it is the ability to be unselfish. To be willing to put others first and sacrifice your needs and desires at times. More importantly, love needs to be reciprocated.

    But when I was with my ex, I felt as though I had to work hard to receive love. I needed to shut myself, my thoughts, and my feelings down and simply become a doormat, or else he’d emotionally abandon me.

    So, I tried that. I became a “yes” woman. I lost myself in the world of conformity, and it still wasn’t enough. He accused me of being unfeeling, emotionless, and devoid of passion. So, I changed again. I tried to become more like him. I would scream and shout to try and gain control, and then he called me manipulative and psychotic.

    I tried to combine the two. I tried to be religious. I tried to be a party-goer. I tried to be dominant. I tried to be submissive.

    Nothing worked.

    I cried, begged, and pleaded to be treated like a human. I asked for compassion but received cruelty. I asked for love and had to be satisfied with lust. I wanted hope but felt hopeless. Until I realized that I was asking for something that he was unable to give me.

    A narcissist is incapable of recognizing the needs of another. He/she cannot fathom that people have emotions, unless they are used as a method of control. They thrive on the idea that you believe in them and, rather than granting you equality, they manipulate you into believing that the scraps they throw you are the only ones you deserve.

    He told me countless times that he loved me, so why have I spent the last decade and a half repeatedly asking the same question, “Do you really love me?”

    If he loved me, how could he not understand my pain? How could he be okay with knowing I felt so low? How could he constantly betray me? Why couldn’t he make the same sacrifices as me? Why couldn’t he just be the person I first fell in love with?

    The answer to those questions is simple: The narcissist is a multi-faceted creature, a chameleon who adapts to your weaknesses and uses them to maintain a position of strength. Because of their personality disorder, they are lacking in the qualities that make you who you are.

    They are determined to keep you in a position of subordination because this feeds their need to feel superior, and when you fight to break out of that role, they leave.

    They show you good times to ensure that you feel indebted to them and to make you yearn for them once again. They make up and break up with you so often that you may find it hard to move on. If you do, you likely feel distrusting of people, making you an incomplete partner for a mentally and emotionally healthy human being.

    After a breakup, we often try to make ourselves whole by seeking another, the biggest mistake we could possibly make. Would you purchase an item with pieces missing?

    It’s a little crude to compare a human being to an object, but we cannot expect to ‘move on’ if we are seeking to replace the void left by a narcissist.

    Moving on shouldn’t mean jumping into a relationship with another human. It should mean taking responsibility for why we stayed in this unhealthy situation, recognizing what needs to be addressed and healed within ourselves, and moving on mentally from our trauma.

    My trauma originated from never knowing my father. I yearned for someone who would fulfill the role of a protector. At the beginning, my ex did. It didn’t matter how many times we argued, I knew that he would always fight in my corner, and that made me feel safe. Eventually, the cons outweighed the pros and I knew that I had to break free.

    Now that I’m on my own, I have days when I wake up and forget that I am no longer in this toxicity, I have days where I remember the good times, and I have days when I regret laying eyes on him. However, my days are no longer concerned with how I stand in relation to him.

    I wake up and wonder what I am going to do today. I actively pursue my dreams of being a writer, or I focus on other ways I can improve my life. I research my MARs (Masters by research) topic, I cook the food I like, I wear the clothes that I look good in. Small victories for some, milestones for a victim of narcissism.

    I pray, I meditate, I exercise, and I write. Most importantly, every day I heal. I take back a part of my life that I lost because I made the mistake of trusting the wrong person with my heart.

    I rebuild the relationships I lost when I gave in to his attempts to isolate me from my friends and family—because I didn’t want to argue and because I was ashamed that, for all my outward strength and intellect, I couldn’t find the courage to leave.

    I cut out the unhealthy influences from my life, and if I can’t, I distance myself from them. I refuse to regress to the lost teenage girl and instead, harness the energy of a strong, powerful, and determined woman. I refuse to conform to the idea that a woman is “past her sell by date” and reject the notions of commodifying humans.

    I also reconnect with who I am beyond my roles. I’m more than someone’s mother, daughter, niece, and grandchild. I am a writer. I am a creator. I am a dreamer.

    There is a difference between being alone and lonely. Sometimes we need to be alone to truly rediscover ourselves. The relationship between you and yourself is more important than any other.

  • No One Deserves to Be Abused

    No One Deserves to Be Abused

    “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” ~Kahlil Gibran

    You’re stupid. You’re a loser. You’re worthless. You will never amount to anything. You’re not worthy of love. These are things I’ve told myself throughout my life.

    The experiences I had throughout my childhood led me to believe I was deeply unlovable. I thought that because I had been abused and ignored, there was something seriously wrong with me.

    That’s what abuse and neglect does. It seeps inside you down to the deepest level. It changes you in every way.

    You begin to feel as if you don’t matter. You blame yourself, thinking maybe you did something bad enough to deserve it.

    You push people away. You build walls because it’s easier than letting people in and letting them get to know you.

    You sabotage anything that could turn out to be good because you believe you don’t deserve to have good things.

    You may look for any little thing in a relationship that would make you feel justified in running for the hills because when someone shows you love, it terrifies you.

    Even after the abuse ends your brain finds a way to continue abusing you.

    I grew up with emotionally stunted parents. The only emotion my father knew was anger, and when he expressed it, it terrified me. My mother was a very distant woman who kept to herself and ignored what was happening around her. This left me feeling trapped, with no one to talk to.

    I shut down emotionally just like my mother. The only way to escape my environment was to close in on myself and keep everything inside.

    For a long time I believed my childhood trauma was my fault. I told myself no one could ever love me because my parents didn’t, so how could anyone else? I told myself I was worth less than dirt and proceeded to treat myself as such.

    It’s easy to think that once you leave those people behind life will be better and bright. No more pain. No more heartbreak.

    I thought that leaving the place I was born, the place that had brought me so much pain and sadness and anger and self-hate, would solve all my problems. I thought the words (stupid worthless piece of garbage!) that repeated over and over in my mind daily would dissolve. I thought if I could just get enough distance between myself and my parents, it would all magically fix itself and I’d become a completely different person.

    I was wrong.

    Leaving didn’t solve anything other than putting over 2,000 miles between me and them. I didn’t magically change.

    Those thoughts were still there. They became stronger over time, but at first they weren’t as bad. A few years later I was blindsided with feelings of self-loathing. Every time I made a mistake it was because I was stupid, and you better believe I never missed an opportunity to berate myself for those mistakes.

    I believed the dirt on the ground was worth more than me. There was always this voice in my head whispering “worthless, worthless, worthless,” and I believed it.

    I really struggled. I felt lost and alone. I hated my parents. I held on to so much anger over what had happened that I was blinded by it. If I could keep that anger and pain alive, I could use it to punish my parents. Or so I thought. I was only hurting myself.

    A few months ago I started counseling. I’ve learned a few things about myself and life in general. I hope that if you are struggling or have experienced trauma, these things will help you too.

    1. Abuse is never, ever okay.

    There is nothing a child could ever do to deserve abuse. If you are an abuse survivor of any kind, it was not your fault. You didn’t deserve to be hurt in that way.

    2. You don’t have to believe every negative thing you think about yourself.

    When we’re born, we don’t have all those self-loathing thoughts floating around in our heads. They are ingrained in us by others, and if we live with them long enough, we start to believe they’re true.

    When you start to tell yourself that you are worthless or ugly or stupid, think about that thought and where it really comes from. You’ll most likely find that it stems from an external source. If we examine these thoughts we’ll see that perhaps they aren’t how we truly feel about ourselves. We can change them.

    3. Abuse doesn’t make you any less worthy of love.

    I know that’s hard to believe, but it’s true. Just because someone else can’t see your worth that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

    4. It’s okay to ask for help.

    There are many trauma-informed mental health providers out there. They can be helpful in giving us tools to live better lives. They also set us on the path of being able to see that we do matter and we do deserve good things.

    5. It’s okay to let go of people who’ve hurt you, whether that is a parent, sibling, aunt, or uncle.

    We live in a world that acts as if familial relationships are forever, no matter how poorly we may be treated. Sometimes they are. Sometimes they aren’t. It’s okay to put yourself first. It’s okay to either set strict boundaries or let go completely. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

    6. It’s never too late to take care of your inner child.

    Many survivors feel as though they missed out on a “normal” childhood. Your inner child is the part of you that feels wounded and unworthy. That little child reaches out for you, begging you to listen and be there.

    Ask that part of you what it needs, and do that. It could be something creative like coloring or finger-painting. It could be dancing or playing a favorite game. Or they might want validation for their feelings. Don’t criticize your inner child’s thoughts. Let them know they are loved. Let them know you will be there from now on.

    —

    Healing isn’t easy. If you’ve lived your life believing you don’t matter, it can be very difficult to even want to set out on the path to healing. Give yourself a chance. Don’t give up on yourself, on who you could become. It will take some deep digging, but it’s worth it. You are worth it.

  • Why My Abuse Is No Longer a Secret

    Why My Abuse Is No Longer a Secret

    “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” ~Anne Lamott

    To say I had a tough life would be a gross understatement. Growing up in a strict Catholic Italian family I endured my fair share of emotional and physical abuse. I was unloved and suffered great violence at the hands of both my parents, mostly my father.

    No one ever talked about this. On the outside, we were the ‘perfect’ family. Both my parents had decent full time jobs; Mom was heavily involved in the church and was the pillar of the community. Everyone respected and liked my parents.

    Growing Up Scared

    I spent most of my teenage years terrified of my parents. I hated them and wished I had a normal mom and dad like my friends did. I craved love, compassion, and affection. I so desperately wanted a normal life.

    I’ll admit, I wasn’t winning any “Teenager of the year” awards, but I’m sure my punishment never fit any crime I committed. Dad’s brutal force and mom’s lackadaisical attitude toward it all had me wishing I was dead. On many occasions.

    I have very clear memories of dad storming downstairs into my bedroom after an evening shift at work, ripping off my blankets, pulling me by my leg out of bed, and whipping me. He stopped when he was tired.

    I never knew when these random visits would happen. They just did.

    I feared coming home after school, I feared when they came home from work, I feared bedtime.

    Seeking Redemption

    Long after I moved out and had a child of my own, my mom became parent of the year. No one ever spoke of the abuse. It happened. It was their normal. And life went on.

    My mom finally became the mother I longed for. Dad wasn’t too far behind. Still unloving to me, he adored my child and with that, finally treated me somewhat like a human being. My parents would do anything for me and my son.

    I welcomed these new parents into my life. Loving, supportive, caring, and affectionate. Mom became my best friend. Dad became a father figure to my son. I appreciated this, as I’d separated from Julian’s father when he was just eighteen months old and we never saw him again.

    Through the Years

    As time went on I maintained a very close relationship with my parents. With my father it was mostly for my son; with my mom, it was simply because I let bygones be bygones. I forgave them both and we just moved on.

    I carried the trauma with me throughout my entire life. I spent a lot of time healing and growing. I needed to do that for me. I wasn’t the least bit interested in carrying all that heavy weight around. I had to learn to let it go. And I did.

    I let it go through writing, much to my family’s dismay.

    Finding My Voice

    I can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but I discovered blogging. At first I was blogging about fun Feng Shui stuff. Then I slowly slipped into personal development, and there I found my voice.

    I would share my stories and my readers would reply. They felt me. They totally got it. I wasn’t alone in my healing, and I realized that people desperately needed to hear my stories so they could heal too.

    At first I would share stories of healing from bad relationships (Lord knows I had enough of them), and then I started sharing stories on self-confidence and self-love. The more I wrote, the more impact I was having on others.

    I had found this voice that was helping people around the world, and I was more than happy to use it.

    And Then It Was Time

    I held back for the longest time on sharing my family trauma. I wasn’t sure. Should I or shouldn’t I? Will I hurt people? Will I help people? I struggled with this for years, until one day I finally put it out there.

    I wrote of the trauma, the pain, and the abuse. I poured my heart out about the lack of love and encouragement in my childhood—two things every kid deserves from their parents. I spoke of random beatings and being terrified.

    The replies and emails I received from people around the world shocked me. They thanked me for helping them forgive. They cried. They asked me how I did it and how they could let go and move forward.

    Finally, something good was coming from all this pain. I was not only healing myself, but helping others heal too. The more I wrote, the more we all healed together. And it was a beautiful thing.

    Not Everyone Shared My Enthusiasm

    I was sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that none of my family would ever read my stuff. Surely none of them were open minded enough to read self-help stuff, especially mine. They didn’t read blogs.

    They followed the news and immersed themselves in negativity and drama. They craved and hung on to misery and trauma. They’re not going to read anything from me ever. I was positive of this.

    I was wrong.

    Someone read a blog. I’m not sure who it was exactly, but I have my suspicions. A cousin perhaps. I’ll never know and at this point, it no longer matters. Someone read a blog and shared it with other members of the family.

    It was a good one. It was a Mother’s Day blog, and I went on about how my mom wasn’t always the mother of the year. How she beat me and let my dad do the same. I talked about how not all moms deserve to be honored on this special day.

    However, in my defense, I closed this piece with how my mom later became my best friend and the mom I had always longed for. No one read that part apparently.

    I didn’t become aware that my relatives had read my post until my mom’s funeral in February of 2019.

    My Final Goodbye

    Mom had been suffering with Alzheimer’s for the last fifteen years. We were waiting for her to die. We wanted her suffering to hurry up and end. (Dad had passed away five years earlier).

    I’ve been living in Guatemala for the last four years and hummed and hawed about whether or not I should return to Canada for her funeral. I had said goodbye to her when I left Canada.

    Somewhat reluctantly, I made the decision to return, be with my sisters and family, and say my final farewell to mom. And besides, I hadn’t seen most of my family in a long time. I was looking forward to catching up with them.

    That never happened.

    Being Shunned at My Mother’s Funeral

    I arrived in Canada and spent the first few days catching up with friends and two of my sisters. I was looking forward to seeing the rest of my family over the next two weeks. The day of mom’s funeral I knew I would see them all.

    Not the best place for a family reunion, but isn’t that usually the way? Weddings and funerals?

    I walked into the church and greeted a few people. Then my eldest sister walked in and brushed right past me, uttering a very brief and cold “oh, hello” as she continued to walk away. That’s odd, I thought. We’ve always been pretty close.

    Then another family member walked by without even a word. Hmmm. And then another one. I was numb. What was going on?

    We all congregated in the church for mom’s service, and the whole time I was confused and saddened by the fact that my family was shunning me. Why was this happening? Especially on this day?

    The Final Straw

    After the ceremony, we all headed to the basement of the church for fellowship. There, even more family members ignored me. I’d say hi, and they’d turn and walk away, leaving me standing with my heart broken and my jaw on the floor.

    I still didn’t know why I was being treated like this, though I had my suspicions—that someone had read a blog. And sure enough, two days later, I found out.

    My family members wanted to strangle me. They were disgusted with me. I embarrassed the family. I was a disgrace.

    This is How We Heal

    I spoke to no one after that aside from one sister. She understood.

    I found my voice and lost my family. I learned how to use my voice to help others heal, but not everyone understands this or is ready to heal. Keeping family secrets is sometimes more important.

    I long to have them back. But I realized this is also part of my healing, since it’s led me to release things and people that no longer serve me or my higher good.

    It breaks my heart into a million pieces to know that my family will choose losing a relative over healing. It frustrates me to think that people would rather stay broken, tormented, and in silence than repair what needs to be fixed.

    But I know I’ll never make them understand any of this, or grasp the concept that anger is toxic, negativity is poison, and only in love and forgiveness can we heal what hurts and move beyond the past.

    What’s Your Story?

    Too many of us keep our stories buried deep inside, afraid to share them with the world. Afraid of upsetting the apple cart. Embarrassing our families. We keep the trauma and the pain to ourselves, hiding behind secrets and drowning in shame.

    I did that for years, but when I finally released the truth I was set free.

    What’s your story? What family secrets and lies are you keeping buried deep inside that are tormenting your soul? It’s in talking about them and sharing our stories that we can heal from the pain.

    It is also in sharing our stories of pain and recovery that we can help others find healing and freedom too. Generational curses can end when we speak up and speak out.

    Always remember, the truth will set you free.

    My Final Goodbye

    My time with my family has come to an end. They are no longer part of my life (aside from a few). My heart is broken and I know without a doubt, this healing will take a bit longer, but it’s necessary.

    I know how hard it is to forgive. I also know that some people will never choose forgiveness and would much rather live with anger and hate.

    My wish and sincere hope is that one day, they will see that forgiveness will set them free.

  • From the Spouse of a Narcissist: Here’s What You Need to Know

    From the Spouse of a Narcissist: Here’s What You Need to Know

    “You can recognize survivors of abuse by their courage. When silence is so very inviting, they step forward and share their truth so others know they aren’t alone.” ~Jeanne McElvaney, Healing Insights: Effects of Abuse for Adults Abused as Children 

    When I first met my husband, when he had just started medical school at a large university, I thought he was just insecure. I believed that he would grow out of his need to be the center of attention, receive constant validation, and appear correct and knowledgeable about everything.

    I believed he would become surer of himself and would develop the capacity to listen, love, and be empathetic.

    I humored him by listening to him talk, I tried to help boost his self-esteem by giving him compliments and asking him questions I already knew the answer to, and I expressed pride in his accomplishments.

    His lack of empathy was a concern, but he told me that this is how people in his culture are, and I believed him. I convinced myself that he would get to a place in his life where he would have space for me. I continued to love and support him despite how he treated me.

    As years passed, I began to think that he had Asperger’s. This explained why he lacked empathy and why he behaved the way he did, didn’t it? When I brought this up with him, he got angry and convinced me that I was the problem in our relationship. He even managed to convince our marriage counselor of this.

    I continued to support and listen to everything he had to say, although he rarely reciprocated. When I would bring this up as a concern, he would state that he knew how I would respond because I’m a liberal, and they always respond like X or think like Y.

    In social situations he would demean me and make fun of me, and then call me too sensitive and ask me why I couldn’t take a joke.

    He would justify his actions by saying he thought people would find it funny, even though he was insulting me. When I was firm about the fact that I would not tolerate this behavior, he went out of his way to ensure that I felt invisible. When I brought this up with him, he would tell me that I was boring.

    I was tolerant of this behavior because I grew up in an abusive home, so verbal abuse felt normal.

    I did so much work preparing for social gatherings in the hopes of hosting a fun evening with my friends, but it always ended the same way: with my husband being the center of attention and impeding others from talking and connecting.

    After these events, my friends would often feel hurt about something he said or did. I would bring this up with him, and he would play the victim and tell me that they didn’t have the right to an apology because of what they said or did to him.

    Many times my friends and family would tell me to leave him and would try and show me how his behavior was hurting me, but I wasn’t ready to see it. I didn’t believe them because he had convinced me that I deserved to be treated poorly.

    He burned bridges with my friends and family, and I found myself justifying his actions in an attempt to keep the peace. In order to save these relationships, I asked my friends and family if they felt comfortable around him, and if they didn’t, I would spend time with them when he wasn’t around. This hurt, but these relationships meant so much to me that I could not afford to lose them.

    Whenever I tried to assert boundaries, we would fight, and he’d blame me for trying to set boundaries that went across his. I started surrendering space to him and giving in, even though it hurt, because it felt better than fighting.

    I started to become used to not being seen, not being able to have boundaries, not being treated with dignity and respect. I became used to feeling shut down and drained.

    I looked forward to times he worked out of town so that I could get enough sleep, be alone with my thoughts, do what I needed to do for my health and well-being, and start to feel like myself again.

    The Realization

    One day as I was doing research for my PhD, I came across an article on personality. As I read about narcissistic personality disorder, it hit me like a wave of understanding. He does not have Asperger’s; he is a narcissist. This explains his lack of empathy, his inability to love people, and his inability to be present in situations.

    It explained why he has to be the center of attention—because he needs something called “narcissistic supply” to feel whole. Narcissistic supply can be thought of as a drug in the form of social admiration and attention.

    This explained why he always picked fights and/or tried to make me feel down on my birthday, my convocation, and other events that meant a lot to me. It explained why he would leave events that didn’t allow him to be the center of attention and sulk and go on and on about how bored he was.

    His NPD explains why he cannot be present with me and why he has to go on and on about anything and at the same time nothing. It also explains why trying to connect with him means putting on an invisibility cloak and giving him all my attention and energy.

    The more I read about NPD, the more I began to understand my husband. The literature indicates that people with NPD do not change and do not feel that they have a problem. Adults with NPD have been described as “children who are forever emotionally trapped.” Therapy is not often successful for people with NPD, if they are even willing to go.

    Spouses of people with NPD are encouraged to end the relationship as safely as they can. I know from my own experience that leaving is not always possible and is much more complex than the abuse itself.

    If you are like me, the thought of giving up on another person can be heartbreaking. Sometimes giving up on a relationship can feel like giving up on a part of yourself. So hope, empathy, and compassion propel the relationship onward.

    Also, the thought of being alone can be terrifying. If you’ve been in a relationship with a narcissist long enough, you need time to gain confidence and reclaim your self-esteem.

    If your relationship has been like mine, you have likely been told that you are incompetent, that you are incapable of caring for yourself, and maybe a part of you believes these lies. So don’t rush unless you are in physical danger. Then please, for your own safety, get out! Give yourself time and trust that you will know how to move your life forward.

    I have taken the advice of these authors and have created a life for myself away from my spouse. I engage in meaningful hobbies, have friendships outside the relationship, and take time for myself every day to meditate and recharge. I have stopped feeling guilty for excluding him from parts of my life. This is what I have to do, and I am reasonably happy.

    The more I read and learn about NPD, the more I start to grieve. I grieve for the person I thought he was and what I hoped he would become. I grieve for the relationship I longed for, a relationship with empathy, reciprocity, support, and shared space both physically and ideologically.

    Slowly, I have forgiven myself for enabling him, for giving him supply, and for subjecting my friends and family to his behavior, and I’ve stopped blaming myself for the issues in our relationship.

    Relationships involve more than one person, and both parties are responsible for what arises. Sadly, spouses of people with NPD often carry all the responsibility for the relationship.

    I have stopped telling him sensitive things about my life because he uses them to bring me down or as a source of narcissistic supply. I don’t owe him access to my innermost thoughts and feelings.

    Also, I am in the process of acknowledging the role my past played in this relationship.

    Growing up in a home with verbally abusive parents, I never learned to love or respect myself. Verbal abuse was a normal part of my daily life. As a result, I was conditioned to accept derogation, living without healthy boundaries, and being treated without dignity and respect. Because of my past, I was blind to abuse.

    The future will be different; it has to be. For the first time in our relationship of over fifteen years, I see my husband for who he really is, not who he has led me to believe he was.

    As I see him, I try to have empathy for him. I have learned that people with NPD feel empty inside when they are not seeking supply, and beneath the façade they try so desperately to protect is a person who feels insecure, a person who does not love themselves and is ashamed of who they really are, although they will never admit this to anyone, not even themselves.

    I don’t know what I want to do about the relationship, so I’m giving myself time and permission to reflect and grow. My downfall is that I don’t like to give up on people, but sometimes you need to give up on someone because, if you don’t, it means giving up on yourself.

    I can’t live my life on edge. I can’t be either invisible or demeaned and insulted on a daily basis, and I will not go on feeling sleep-deprived, shut down, and in a state of physical and psychological distress.

    For Anyone Who’s in a Relationship with a Narcissist

    Know it is not your fault.

    You are not too sensitive or needy. You have been told these things by a person who cannot feel deeply the way you do.

    Trust yourself.

    People may have told you to leave, but you need to trust yourself to know what is right for you, and when. In time, you will know.

    Educate yourself.

    Read books and articles on NPD; there are many helpful resources available, such as the Gray Rock method, which allows me to protect my time.

    Find support.

    Your friends and family might not understand what you are going through because narcissists often wear a mask, and the person they are in public can be very different from who they are behind closed doors.

    Seek out support from a therapist who has experience with narcissistic emotional abuse. This individual can provide you with coping strategies, education, and resources that will make your life a little better.

    If this isn’t an option for you, join a social media support group, such as the Facebook group Living with Narcissistic Emotional Abuse (where I am now an administrator). Facebook groups for spouses of narcissists continue to be a source of comfort to me because I have connected with people who understand my experience in a way that friends cannot.

    Keep a journal.

    Narcissists try to twist facts to make themselves look good or make you appear crazy. This is called gaslighting. In order to give yourself validation, keep a journal of events that happen. If you feel comfortable, show this to someone you trust who can validate these situations. This will help you regain confidence in your lived experiences of events.

    Be prepared.

    If you need to confront the narcissist, script what you are going to say first. Write it down, memorize it, and follow it exactly as you have written it. It can be useful to have someone you trust look it over because the narcissist will often try and accuse you of being abusive or unfair in order to suppress your ability to call them out on their behaviors.

    Get clear about your boundaries.

    This may take time. For me, it involved noticing what triggered me when I was with the narcissist. Know what you will and will not tolerate, as well as consequences for violating each boundary. For example, if the narcissist insults you at events, tell them that you will not invite them to join you the next time you go out.

    Do not allow yourself to become drained, and do not feel guilty for needing to take time away to recharge.

    It can take a large amount of energy to be with a narcissist, and you need to invest some of this energy in yourself and in your healthier relationships. Remember that you don’t owe anyone all your time and emotional energy. You aren’t selfish for taking time for you.

    Try to find something joyful in every day.

    Narcissists can be very negative people, and they can suck the joy out of your life. Try to do something you love every day. I go for a walk in nature or watch animal videos, as this reminds me about the joys of life. I also play with my cat.

    Control your own finances.

    Some narcissists try to control their spouses through money, and this can limit your ability to do things you need to do for yourself. Have some money saved and/or obtain a source of income that the narcissist does not know about.

    Be good to yourself.

    Don’t blame yourself for what you could not see before. This can take some of us years. Narcissists are good at wearing a mask. Just educate yourself, and you will peel off the mask and see the narcissists with new eyes.

    As the Spouse of a Narcissist

    As the spouse of a narcissist, I have someone who talks at me, not with me. Someone who needs me but does not respect me. A child who demands attention and has tantrums if he does not get it. A person who does not listen and does not feel what others feel, or understand how others are affected by his behaviors.

    As the spouse of a narcissist, I must walk alone through my struggles, silently feeling my pain while no one sees it, no one sees him.

    Nothing is mine or can be about me; he has to be the center of attention.

    In public, he wears a mask that no one can see through, but at home, the mask comes off and I am subjected to emotional abuse.

    As the spouse of a narcissist, I am the one with the problem—the one who is too sensitive, the one who cannot take a joke. I am the one who needs help, not him. He is not the problem; I am. I am because I see him for who he is, and I cannot pretend anymore, and that is a problem.

    As the spouse of a narcissist, I need to be strong and educate the people around me about narcissistic emotional abuse so that they might never fall prey and never feel my pain.

    As spouses of narcissists, we cannot keep silent because the pain of being with a narcissist can be prevented.

  • How I’m Mothering the Wounded Kid Inside Who Just Wanted Love

    How I’m Mothering the Wounded Kid Inside Who Just Wanted Love

    “Bless the daughters who sat carrying the trauma of mothers. Who sat asking for more love and not getting any, carried themselves to light. Bless the daughters who raised themselves.” ~Questions for Ada by Ijeoma Umebinyuo

    “I failed you…”

    My mother said this to me after I confronted her about my childhood.

    That day, I had a clear image of the young girl I was, the girl I had tried to ignore in the hopes of moving forward. But pain shouts when it demands attention, and the suffering was palpable.

    A memory flashed within my mind. I had tried telling my mother I was hurting somehow. All children have hurt they can’t quite explain, even if it turns out that it’s just an itch or a bruised feeling, but the need to have the boo-boo kissed means everything to the child.

    That day I had found my mother occupied with something more pressing. And I, being the sensitive girl I was, figured that she hadn’t heard me or that I had disturbed her.

    It seemed that I only existed to be cautious of the adults in my life who, at best, were preoccupied with a mysterious something and, at worst, cruel without reason. I existed in a world where children were things you spoke to. Tell them what to do, and they’ll simply do it, because what else are they there for?

    The idea that children had inner lives, breakable hearts, and ideas of their own making was quite dangerous in my childhood. I’d soon learn that it was better to take a vow of silence and say very little. I was starved for the hunger all children have—the hunger to be seen.

    Love requires attention.

    It seems like the older we get, the more we have to reflect on those days when we were at our most vulnerable. We have to look back at the beliefs, habits, and people that shape us if we want to grow.

    When I finally talked to my mother, I was attempting to grow out of a destructive habit I had learned in childhood: denial. If you don’t talk about a thing, or name a thing, then maybe the thing never happened. Perhaps it wasn’t that bad, or maybe it was just a dream.

    I was no longer talking as a child in need of her mother’s attention; I was talking as a woman in need of the truth. I was now an adult who hoped to be a mother someday, and a healer committed to breaking the generational curse of mothers failing daughters, women failing women, and humans failing themselves.

    I poured out the heart of that little girl over the phone. She had needed protection when she was called names, or when someone hit her, or when she was touched inappropriately. She needed to know that whether she was a child or a girl becoming a young woman, she had a right to her body, mind, and spirit.

    My voice cracked through the phone, but I told her anyway. To me, you have never been trustworthy.

    She took a long breath and then spoke almost rapidly, like her life and our fragile bond depended on it. “I’m human; I falter. I never said I was a great mother. I know I failed. It looks like I’ve failed you many times. Forgive me.”

    The pus ball that had always festered in my soul—that sore that kept reddening with anguish—burst.

    My mother revealed something that I think all parents fear showing their children: humanity. At least I know for her generation, showing children a semblance of an emotional life was secondary to putting food on the table, and when you’re not raised on showing your feelings, you forget you have them.

    It’s scary to admit you’re full of contradictions, possibly wounded, and that raising a child, no matter what the circumstance, is difficult.

    In that moment, I understood what the word “grace” meant. It’s such an elusive word, and much better to experience than explain, but I know that my heart broke, love flooded in, and a burden was lifted.

    Her honesty freed me from having to second guess my existence, and it helped me understand the hardship of hers. The mirror I was looking through was no longer foggy. I could see my life clearly; it had texture, color, clearly defined lines, and a burst pus ball that needed cleaning.

    I saw a clear picture of the precariousness in my childhood. It was like my spirit whispered in my ear and confirmed, Yes. It was terrifying.

    So what do we do in the wake of failure?

    My mother’s admission gave me a little taste of what it means to become a mother. You can love a thing and hurt a thing at the same time. I deeply love and adore my mother. I can only imagine the people and circumstances that failed her. I have a softness toward her and a softness for myself that has made my heart grow more space to hold the things I’ll never fully understand. Sometimes, it is what it is.

    After ten years of doing what survivors of any trauma must do to clean their wounds—meditating, numbing, praying, therapy, journaling, blaming, finding community, practicing yoga, raging, and crying—I have come to accept the unacceptable.

    We don’t tell our parents the truth about our experiences to condemn them; we tell them our experiences because we must contend with it. No matter how painful the purge, this raw material from living is the grist that reminds us to do better the next time around. And there’s always a next time around.

    “I am a reflection of my mother’s secret poetry as well as of her hidden angers.” ~Audre Lorde

    This is what I’ve learned.

    Sometimes you must mother yourself. In the wreckage, you learn how to give yourself the love and affection you hungered for in your most powerless moments.

    I adore the little girl I once was. She found worthwhile things to enjoy about life as the ground beneath her eroded. She sang, had her own dance parties, liked to play with balloons, and loved listening to Motown music.

    She saved me, and now I get to take care of her.

    This is my greatest lesson: I can accept complexity as a requisite for living. I can love the mother that gave me birth, be my own mother, and also know that there’s a higher power that loves and watches over both of us.

    I can forgive while remaining protective of the little girl who was hurt too often, and too often ignored.

    Redemption in the wake of failure is possible, though difficult, and yet, it beats continuing a wretched cycle of negation.

    The more I reflect, the more I see that my mother and I, in many ways, are quite alike. It’s now my duty to be fiercely aware of my own demons and angels. If I am a reflection of my mother, what questions do I have to ask myself about who I have become? And what do I hope to pass on, to myself and others?

    I believe my story speaks to generations of children, particularly women, who grew into adult bodies and are still searching for their mothers. The reality is that we are the caretakers and mothers we’ve been searching for.

    The yearning I had as an adult for nurturing and recognition was my soul nudging me to show up for myself. Now you get to take care of you, and you must.

    Mothering yourself is the sacred call to practice love. Here are a few things I did in my own self-mothering journey. I hope you find them useful for your own toolkit.

    Get to know your inner child.

    I started doing inner child work in therapy. My therapist gave me some great activities to get to know what that part of myself was thinking, and I still do the exercises to this day. My tried and true activity is writing in the voice of my inner child with my left hand and responding as an adult with my right. I’ve found this exercise revelatory and recommend it for anyone attempting to rekindle a relationship with their younger self.

    Your inner child never leaves you, and I learned that mine had a lot to say. This helped me learn how to show up for myself emotionally and mother that part of myself that needed validation.

    Meditate.

    Meditation has helped me sharpen my awareness, and it keeps me present to what I’m feeling in my body. The health benefits are great too. Do whatever activity brings you a sense of stillness and focus (walking in nature, cooking, mindful exercise).

    Practice unconditional love, starting with yourself.

    Love is a practice, and in this world we’re taught to see love as transactional. You get love if you can prove that you’re lovable. Choose a different kind of love for yourself.

    Start simply, perhaps by listing what you’ve come to appreciate about yourself and treating yourself with grace when you make mistakes. Find alignment with your values and get to know yourself. Become your own best friend.   

    Distance yourself if you need to save yourself.

    Sometimes distance and time help heal and give perspective.

    I’ve had to take myself out of situations where I knew I had to protect myself. At times this meant limited communication, geographic distance, or emotional distance. This can be tough, but trust that when it’s time to save yourself, you’ll know what to do for your highest good.

    Reflect.

    No one is a saint, and the truth is that we’ve all hurt people and will hurt people. And it’s true that if we do a personal inventory, we’ll see that we have unsavory habits and patterns that need to go. Reflecting helped me see where I would like to grow. I’m acknowledging my own tendencies to shut down, ice people out, and feed into negative stories when I’m feeling defensive or frightened. I see that these habits stem from fear. Reflection provides information. Now, I am choosing to practice more loving habits towards myself and others while honoring my need for comfort.

    Finding a way to reflect is critical. I journal and make music to do this. It’s really helped me see how far I’ve come and where I still have gaps.

    Create rituals.

    Condition your hair on Sundays, or soak your feet in Epsom salts when you get back from work, or go for a swim, or draw before you go to bed, or cook yourself your favorite dinner on Saturdays. Go dance at Ecstatic Dance with your girls on a Saturday.

    Finding rituals for yourself helps reestablish intimacy that you might not have had growing up. It also helps you get to know what you like and brings you peace. Find that for yourself.

    Take care of yourself.

    Did you eat? Shower? Brush your teeth? Did you take a jacket with you because it’s cold outside? Do you like your eggs scrambled or fried? Are eggs even good for your unique body type? Become your parent and look after yourself.

    Don’t force forgiveness.

    Forgiveness will come when it needs to, if it even needs to, and if it doesn’t, then it doesn’t make you any more or less enlightened than the rest of us. It just means this is your path and that you’re working on some intense stuff. Be easy.

    I’ve found forgiveness to be a complicated process that takes time and a lot of honesty. Try to let yourself be where you are, and trust that it’s okay. Bypassing your emotions can feed into denial and numbing to your lived experience.

    The point is not to rush to enlightenment; the hope is that feeling your emotions can help you become whole. Working with a professional and/or support group can help you in your process.

    —

    Learning how to become the caregiver you’ve always needed is not only a gift to yourself; it’s a gift to everyone you meet. I vowed to nurture myself because I wanted to send a message that redemption of the human spirit is always possible, no matter the trauma. My life is a testament to that.

    Take what I say as an offering because you know yourself best, and the medicine that restores me might not be the ideal prescription for you. Feel free to add your own ideas of what makes you come alive to this list. At the end of the day, your experience is your teacher.

  • What My Parents Did to Me and Why I Cut Them Out of My Life

    What My Parents Did to Me and Why I Cut Them Out of My Life

    I wrote this letter to my extended family years after I chose to become estranged from my parents because many of them cut me out of their lives instead of reaching out to hear my side of the story.

    It pains me that I have lost contact with some of them because they refuse to see the full picture, and at times I feel as though I have lost a part of myself. Yet, at the same time, I am free.

    The letter you are about to read comes from a place of acceptance and longing. I have chosen to share this letter publicly because I suspect I’m not alone in what I have been through, and I hope my experience can be helpful to others in some small way.

    —

    I never meant for you to get hurt or caught in the crossfire. I never meant to place you in a situation where you found yourself questioning your loyalties and what you thought was true.

    From the outside you saw a happy home. You saw a child receiving educational opportunities and the latest technology, fashion, and trips around the world, and having birthday parties with friends and family.

    You saw pictures of vacations and holidays where everyone was smiling and appeared to be happy. You read the Christmas cards and email updates describing family vacations, accomplishments, and happy memories.

    You read about my sister getting sick, and you believed the beautiful story of a family coming together to overcome this adversity.

    At a family gathering you watched as my parents presented me with a gift before I went away to university. They acted so proud, and you found yourself thinking “What kind and loving parents.”

    Then, without warning, you found out that I was not speaking to my parents and they were not even invited to my upcoming wedding.

    Maybe you thought about reaching out to me to hear my side of the story, but you didn’t. Instead, you contacted them and you believed their story.

    You began to think that I was nothing more than a rude, entitled, spoiled brat who had decided that she didn’t need her family anymore and didn’t want to help her sister with her ongoing health problems because she was marrying into a “better family.”

    If you did contact me, you tried to convince me to change my mind. You didn’t listen to me and you became frustrated. You declined my wedding invitation and sent me a pity gift out of duty, or you chose not to respond at all.

    The years passed, and when another family member mentioned my name, you either said nothing or asked if I had “grown up and started speaking to my parents again.” Or, you questioned why they would want to continue to have a relationship with me.

    What you don’t realize is that I tried. Behind the family gatherings you attended, the pictures you saw, and the stories you heard, a very different picture was being painted. I kept quiet about this picture, and I even helped to paint it out of fear and shame.

    At times, I desperately wanted to believe that this picture was true. I tried to convince myself that it was, but I have learned that you can only endure pain and abuse for so long before you either give into it, surrendering yourself in the process, or fight to break free.

    After I left for university, I began to change how I saw the picture and I began to accept it for what it was, not what I so desperately wanted it to be.

    I reached out to my parents many times, I invited them to come and visit me, and I suggested activities that we would all enjoy together. I came home for holidays and tried to connect with them. I bought them gifts and tried to fill my old role within the family.

    Each time I reached out I was rejected; they made excuses as to why they couldn’t come and why they didn’t have more time to spend with me over holidays, and they continued to find ways to tear me down. The pain of this rejection ate away and my sense of self-worth, and I started to question why anyone would love or take a genuine interest in me.

    I invited them to award ceremonies and concerts, and while they appeared to express pride over these accomplishments, the story they told me was the same as it had always been:

    “You will never amount to anything. You are going to come to a sad end. They only gave you that award out of pity. You only accomplished that by luck. If you had worked harder you could have gotten first place. You are never going to have a successful career—that’s just a pipe dream.”

    I never told you about these comments or how they tore apart my self-esteem, causing me to question everything I did and everything I knew to be true, because they told me that you would never believe me, and I didn’t want to cause more conflict.

    Out of a sense of compassion I let my parents keep their picture, all the while hoping that you would see mine and reach out to me and be part of my life again.

    I hope you understand that no one comes to a decision like this lightly. For most estranged children, this is one of the hardest choices we ever had to make. A choice that we have agonized over with our friends, other therapists, and in the silence of our own minds.

    Often it takes years of hurt and pain to accept that we will never have the adult relationship that we want with our parents.

    We are taught that relationships with family are the most important relationships we will ever have, and we are socialized to believe that we should continue to have these relationships no matter how they impact us physically and psychologically.

    Society has painted a picture of the estranged child as being the problem, the emotionally unstable one, the one who asked their parents for money so many times they bankrupted the family and had to be cut off.

    Rarely do you hear the voices of the other side, the voices of the children so desperate for love, validation, and approval that they feel empty and continue to try harder and harder until they break. The children that long for their parents to take a genuine interest in their lives, without judgment, and walk alongside them in support during every phase of life.

    But for some of us this picture will never be, and we can either be consumed by that longing or accept the picture that is. I know that this may seem harsh, but sometimes acceptance holds the key to a better life.

    Once I accepted the picture that is, I was free. I still saw parents helping their children buy supplies for university, but I no longer wished my parents would come and help me.

    I still watched the proud parents with the graduates at convocation and longed to be one of them, and I still found myself imagining what supportive parents might have said at my convocation and my wedding, and yes it still hurts. It might always hurt.

    At the same time, I am free from the hope that maybe this time they will come, maybe this time they will be proud of me, and maybe this time I will be enough. I can grieve the loss of what I had hoped for, accept what is, and move forward with my life.

    If we ever talk again, you might ask me, “Would you ever talk to your parents now, now that you have grown up and are living the life you want?”

    As I start to answer that question I find myself again imagining the relationship I had longed for and still long for, but I stop myself. Instead I will ask you a different question: “Can you please forgive me for the choice I had to make and be a part of my life again?”

    Grandma wisely said, “Every choice we make will hurt or impact someone, but sometimes you need to do what is right for you.”

    When I chose to stop speaking to my parents, I had to not only grieve the loss of them but you as well.

    I don’t feel I can call you and reminisce about that time you taught me how to parallel-park, my failed attempt at making grandma’s Christmas pudding, or the camper I saw that reminded me of the one that grandpa had that we used to play in.

    I have no one who has lived through those memories with me to reminisce with, and this only fills me with a greater sense of loss.

    If we ever talk again you might ask me: “Do you hate your parents?” The answer is no, I don’t hate them. The truth is I don’t feel anything for them anymore. In my heart I have forgiven them for the pain they caused me, but I don’t want to open the lines of communication to tell them that, not yet, maybe not ever.

    As I think back on the relationship, and those years of pain, I acknowledge this experience has made me who I am today.

    I strive to live a full life. I fill my days with activities and work that bring meaning to my life and the lives of others. I trust my instincts and I am aware of how people and situations affect my well-being, and I work to reduce the negative impact of these factors whenever possible.

    I’m opening up about this experience because I hope you will start to paint a new picture that allows me to be a part of your life again. But if you don’t, then let me use this experience to help others.

    I have learned that some people can only give us so much, and I am grateful for the only gift my parents could ever give me—my life, a life I will live to the fullest, and one I want you to be a part of it.

    —

    To anyone struggling with the choice to become estranged from their parents, let me ask you these questions:

    Have you tried many times and been rejected? Do you feel that nothing you can ever do or be will be enough? And finally, do you hear their voices inside your head and then question your ability, your instincts, and your self-worth?

    If so, you may need to let go. If you do decide that this is the right choice for you, you will grow in ways you never imagined, and with that growth will come a sense of peace and self-love. You will learn to trust yourself and to care for yourself physically, psychologically, and spiritually which will lead to improved happiness and health.

    Researchers have found that abused children do not stop loving their parents; they stop loving themselves. After I stopped speaking to my parents, I became more confident, I began taking risks, and I learned for the very first time to love myself and accept the journey I am on.

    I earned two bachelor’s degrees, a master’s, and I started my PhD. I taught at prestigious arts schools and wrote and had articles published. My point is not to brag, only to point out that had I not let go of the relationship with my parents, I never would have accomplished any of these things.

    Their stories of what they thought I was incapable of and what I couldn’t be would have held me back, because I would have believed them. My relationship with my parents would have been like a dark seal that I would never have broken through.

    If this is true for you as well, know that you likely will not be alone if you decide to cut ties with your parents; odds are, there will be people in your life that will support you and even take on part of the role a loving parent would have taken. These people might be friends, friends’ parents, neighbors, colleagues, or even extended family. Any number of people might step up once they understand your story.

    They will be grateful for what you bring to their lives and will love and support you unconditionally. It will not be the same, but you will cherish these relationships because they are positive.

    A part of you may always long for a supportive relationship with your parents, but don’t fight this feeling; acknowledge it as a part of your journey.

    You might even find yourself questioning this choice years later and wonder if time could have healed this relationship. Remember why you made this choice, remember the pain, and trust that you made the right decision.

    Also, realize that you didn’t make this decision alone, although it may feel like it. Your parents helped to make this choice with you through their attitudes, their actions, and their refusal to be a part of your life in the way you needed them to. Knowing this may help to ease your feelings of guilt.

    And know this: If you are estranged from your parents, you are strong because you have taken back the paintbrush and are now free to repaint your picture with those who love and support you.

    —

    UPDATE: In response to some of the reader comments questioning her decision, Jen has posted a video follow-up to her article on YouTube here.

  • Overcoming Intergenerational Trauma: We Can Break the Cycle of Abuse

    Overcoming Intergenerational Trauma: We Can Break the Cycle of Abuse

    “Our ancestors knew that healing comes in cycles and circles. One generation carries the pain so that the next can live and heal. One cannot live without the other, each is the other’s hope, meaning and strength.” ~Gemma B. Benton

    I thought I had no value, my opinion meaningless. My sense of self was decimated. Finally, I got angry and attacked.

    “You can’t imagine the pain you’ve put me through!” I yelled. “You don’t even know who I am. You can’t see it. You’re refusing to take responsibility for the way you raised me! Not thinking is not an excuse! You don’t even care to try to understand what you’ve done to me!”

    This was me to my retirement-age parents about a year ago. Those yelling sessions happened several times. They called the police on me once.

    None of it did an ounce of good. They can’t see it.

    The more I have experienced with depression, anxiety, and recovery, the more I am convinced that the events and circumstances of my past—and my parents’ past—have shaped me much more than my brain chemistry.

    I’m pretty confident that the problems I’ve suffered from are derived from generations of unhealthy behavior. I believe the effects of intergenerational trauma shape us much more than we might realize.

    I’m not a researcher, so I only have my own experiences to base this on; it very well could be different for someone else. But from what I’ve seen from my grandparents through my kids, this succession of trauma is difficult to break. It takes different forms, but it always rears its ugly head. In my grandparents, it was alcoholism; in my parents, physical abuse; me, emotional abuse.

    I don’t consider any of us to be bad people, but we have each passed horrible things on to our children.

    My mom’s dad was an alcoholic and very strict. Her mom didn’t actively do anything wrong, but she turned a blind eye to what her husband was doing. Mom won’t talk directly about it, but reading between the lines, I believe her brother abused her as well.

    My dad’s dad was killed in a car accident when my dad was five. That left my dad as the man of the house, with no father figure. His mom never remarried and worked full time to support the family, meaning my dad was mostly on his own.

    So then, this is how it all added up for me: Because of the abuse she suffered, my mom became a narcissist with no empathy. My dad became an absentee father who always blindly agreed with my mom. I was raised so that every good thing I did reflected well on my mother, and every mistake I made was my own fault.

    It took me forty-four years to unravel all this. I’m still trying to figure out who I really am. I know I crave attention and approval from women. I’m insecure and selfish. At times, sometimes for long stretches, I distance myself from my wife and kids. But I’m working on it.

    I’m also working on forgiving my parents. It’s not easy, but I know it’s necessary for me to keep progressing. They’re just flawed people, like me, after all. I’m mainly having trouble with my mom, a selfish, self-centered, and ignorant woman.

    If I forgive my parents, it will be for my own peace of mind. I will know then that I did everything in my power to make peace with them. That doesn’t mean, though, I want to keep them or my extended family in my life.

    Some people aren’t going to change, and we each have the right to decide whether we want that kind of person around us. I feel that most of my family is dysfunctional. It’s a really tough decision.

    My mom’s favorite excuses for her behavior, which she refuses to acknowledge, are “That’s the way I was raised” and “I never thought about it.” Must’ve been glorious to live a life and raise a child without responsibility.

    I know I need to do better. I need to take responsibility for creating change and break free from the intergenerational beliefs and behaviors I see as unhealthy. My family sees this as a rebuke.

    To find my hope, meaning, and strength, I may have to leave my entire family behind. That’s a heavy decision, but it’s one I will probably need to make.

    It will mean that I’ve learned the lessons of my parents and used them to bring power and strength to myself and my children. I can only hope that happiness and peace come along for the ride. That would be the greatest gift I could give to my kids.

    I can’t sit around waiting for the negativity and condescension to go away, or for them to make an effort to understand my problems. In order for me to get better and start living my own life, I need to be the one making the rules. I need to be positive and I need to take care of myself.

    In being raised as children and in raising our own children, we receive many messages. Some are helpful, some are hurtful. We need to be aware of those messages as adults, discarding the harmful ones and emphasizing the healthy ones. We need to be honest with ourselves and others, and willing to admit when we’re wrong. We need to constantly question everything.

    Some of the messages I received growing up were “You’re not as good as you should be,” “Conformity is good, being different is bad,” and “You don’t matter enough,” sprinkled in with healthy doses of guilt.

    My wife and I have tried to instill the opposite in our kids. Everyone matters. Your opinions and feelings are valid and important. Be yourself and follow your dreams.

    None of this is easy. It takes awareness, courage, and the determination to live a better life.

    Some will have bigger hills to climb. Some will look around and find the support they need has been around them all along. Others will be alone and will have to dig deep inside themselves to find the strength to live better.

    No matter our situation, we all deserve the happiness that comes with living our best lives. And the secret isn’t money or success; it’s filling our lives with love. This requires us to heal any childhood wounds that prevent us from giving and receiving love.

    Your present may be built on your past, but it doesn’t have to be controlled by it. In order to break the chains of intergenerational trauma, you will most certainly face some serious challenges. Here are some recommendations from my experiences that may help you.

    Have courage.

    If you look at your past with clear eyes, you’re likely to see a fair bit of unpleasantness. Pain, abuse, manipulation, deceit could all be there. And they could be coming from people you love.

    Facing all of that will take courage and energy. It’s difficult and emotionally exhausting to look at your life objectively. You have to keep reminding yourself to see what’s really there rather than what you’ve always thought or what you want to see.

    Going against the tide of several generations of family is a daunting prospect. You might alienate or offend people you love, but you are worthy of living your life your way.

    Things don’t have to be the way they’ve always been. You don’t need to suffer just because your family chose to suffer in the past. But, understand this is difficult work.

    Have confidence that doing this healthy work for yourself is worthwhile. Stay focused on self-care and keep your eyes on the bigger picture.

    Have a support group.

    A support group can be built of any mixture of people. Friends, relatives, co-workers, or even strangers. It can be formal or informal. The best support groups possess various experiences, perspectives, and personalities.

    What you are doing is huge, and it’s going to be a significant help to have at least one or two people you can lean on while you do this. If you have more, great. But don’t try to do this alone; find yourself a support system before you start.

    My support group is patched together from people who have read my articles and responded to them, people I know from online interest groups, and a few people from real life, too.

    My group has layers, an inner circle I hear from often, a group that checks in every couple of weeks, and a group that is just more encouraging when they hear what I’m up to.

    I’ve had the gift of actually growing my support group while I’m going through this. I’ve opened up to some people and found that we’ve been through similar circumstances. This can give you new ideas and solutions to your problems.

    And don’t forget, a doctor, clergy member, or a therapist can be part of this group for you. You can also consider trying organized local support groups if that appeals to you.

    The more love and support you can gather around yourself, the more strength and conviction you will find you have. This love and support feeds off itself. The more you give, the more you get back.

    Have motivation.

    Remember why you’re doing this. You’re setting out to build a better life for you and your children. The thought of overcoming this pain can be a liberating and positive force.

    Being aware of what put us where we are today will not only give us the motivation but also the direction we need to create positive change for ourselves and our children.

    Not all the changes we make will be successful, but if we keep going and correct our mistakes, we can still help ourselves and our kids learn healthier behaviors. We can stop perpetuating a lineage of abuse, domination, neglect, hurt, and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

    There’s no finish line in overcoming intergenerational trauma. Keep being aware. Keep moving forward, and be the force that is constantly pushing toward healthy change in your family.

  • Unlearning Abuse Also Means…

    Unlearning Abuse Also Means…

  • The Most Powerful Tool for Healing: Tell the Right Stories

    The Most Powerful Tool for Healing: Tell the Right Stories

    TRIGGER WARNING: This post deals with an account of sexual abuse and may be triggering to some people.

    “Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful parts of ourselves.” ~David Richo

    In my mid-thirties, I had what I experienced as a breakdown.

    If you had asked me ten or even twenty years earlier whether I had been sexually abused, I would have said no. But in my mid-thirties, strange and scary memories started surfacing in my body—along with pieces of story and language.

    These pieces of memory and my responses to them seemed to glue together many of the disconnected, unincorporated experiences of my life; it was as if I were connecting the dots and seeing a shape that had been there all along but that I had never perceived before.

    In part, my reading had taken me to recognizing the trauma that I was unearthing. I found myself reading again and again about violence: violence in war, in families, in almost every facet of society. And almost every book I read about violence referenced Judith Herman’s Trauma and Recovery. So finally I took the book out from the library.

    Reading the book, I felt as if I were looking in a mirror.

    I thought I’d had an easy, carefree childhood. Now I needed to reconfront that story and reimagine who I was.

    Herman’s book, published more than twenty-five years ago, is still the bible of trauma studies: it maps out, step by step, how trauma and PTSD affect people; it draws the link between public and private traumas, between PTSD in war veterans and survivors of domestic and sexual abuse.

    It put into language so many of the experiences that I had never been able to name: feelings of dissociation, disconnection between the mind and the body, fear, self-blame.

    At first the experience of reading the book was empowering, and then, as the memories became stronger, I began to have panic attacks. I felt as if I were in the grips of something so much more powerful than myself that I didn’t know if I’d make it through.

    It was as if enormous waves of pain and horror were sweeping over me, and I would lose all sense of myself, all grounding. I felt somersaulted, upside down. I felt as if I was losing the person I had been, slipping away from my old, composed, presentable self into a new identity dominated by this early wounding, scared by the world around me, horrified at what humans do to one another, unable to even imagine feeling safe.

    I felt as if the ground were falling out beneath me.

    Over time, I came to piece together the trauma story: a babysitter had sexually assaulted me when I was very young. Because I was so young and because there were no other witnesses, fear, horror, and shame were lodged in my body without having clear language around them.

    But at first, as the memories started to come, my memories were more physical than verbal: I experienced physical sensations and flashbacks of being pinned down, of not being able to breathe, and piercing sensations of both physical pain and psychological and existential terror.

    It took all of my energy to keep my life from falling apart. I was a mom of two young kids and had a relatively successful professional life as a writer and academic. But now I didn’t have any energy for anything other than raising my kids and taking care of myself.

    I tried to concentrate my energy on bringing my best self forward to get through the day for my kids and to keep up with the daily demands and to be the kind of mom I wanted to be—present, listening, compassionate, even fun. I was able (mostly) to remember how to do this in their company, and the routine of being with them kept me on track and reminded me of the good in the world and, despite my pain, of hope and love.

    But once they went to sleep at night, I was immersed in a dark world of struggle.

    I didn’t know who I was anymore. And my basic trust in my body and in the world felt eroded. Along with the physical memories of the sexual assault and my fear and horror was a deep physical sensation of shame.

    For complex reasons, shame seems to arise as one of the symptoms of sexual abuse, more than in other forms of trauma, especially when the abuse occurs in children. The violation of the body often brings up feelings of self-blame, of separation from the self, and of disgust that gets turned on the self.

    In children especially, it is often easier to blame themselves than to blame the adults who should be taking care of them—it’s a way, subconsciously, to create an image of a safer world, where the adults are reliable, and a sense of control.

    So when these feelings came flooding back with the memories of what had happened, even though intellectually I understood I had not in any way been to blame, I was nevertheless overcome by a physical sensation of shame, spreading from my stomach up into the rest of my body.

    Because the wounding had affected me so deeply, I (irrationally) felt that it had colored every part of me, as if I were covered in filth. I felt as if the very fact that I had been violated as a child spread contamination in my own house as an adult.

    When I wrote, the stories I found myself telling were stories of trauma and horror, violence and violation. And I wasn’t comfortable sharing these stories. These weren’t the stories I wanted to be putting into the world. I largely put my writing career on hold, unsure of whether I’d ever get back to it.

    It was 2009. Sexual abuse was still largely a taboo topic. I felt that I would be judged poorly if I shared my experience.

    I didn’t personally know anyone who was public about childhood sexual abuse. Or if I did, it was something long in the past that seemed no longer to affect them. I certainly didn’t know anyone who was public about being affected by PTSD. And it was clear that what I was suffering from was PTSD.

    I didn’t know anyone who had healed from PTSD. Was this a life sentence?

    At first, I had thought I would get through this breakdown relatively quickly, but I found myself plunging farther and farther.

    Ashamed and scared that I would never heal, my crisis was something I mostly kept to myself. For a long time, I didn’t tell anyone what I was going through other than my husband, my very best friends, and the professionals I reached out to for support.

    I had friends who got sick with other illnesses, and mutual friends looked after their kids, brought home-cooked meals, and the whole community came out in support. But I had no such support, and so in its own way the secrecy around my struggle with PTSD perpetuated the cycle of shame and the silence that I had experienced as a young child.

    One year turned into two and then three. The future that I imagined for myself as a writer and professional seemed forever out of reach.

    Gradually, though, and very slowly, I worked my way out of the crisis. I began to put myself back together, but with a less rigid story of myself.

    I went to therapy. I joined groups of women also suffering from PTSD and practiced speaking about what was happening to me. I developed a strong meditation and yoga practice.

    I began to break the silence and reformulate my own story, and I wrote and wrote in my journal at night, a safe place where no one could see what I was struggling with, but where I could learn to witness all the many different parts of myself.

    Putting into language what had happened and listening to my body with compassion helped me begin to turn the tide.

    As I began to tell just the few people I felt most safe with, many people who I never knew had suffered from trauma began to tell their trauma and healing stories to me, or friends would put me in touch with other friends who had also suffered from sexual abuse and healed. There was a whole underground network of people sharing stories and sharing techniques about how they had healed.

    I was so moved by the stories I was hearing haphazardly that I began to interview people who had suffered any number of different kinds of trauma to understand how they had gotten through their crises. I wanted to learn more for myself if and how people got through the healing crisis and came out on the other side.

    I talked to people who had lost their children and people who had been incarcerated, people who had suffered serious cancers and people who had healed from sexual abuse. I learned from their strength and their ability to make sense of and learn and grow from their own stories—a capacity that I saw made many draw on a deep spiritual sense of self and connection.

    In the people I interviewed, I saw not people broken by trauma, but strong people with great vivacity and much to teach. And I saw that the people who could tell compelling narratives about their life experiences, that is, those people who had really faced head-on, explored, and healed, had a kind of luminosity to them.

    Many had suffered a great deal, but in the face of that suffering, many of them had also found an internal and spiritual richness to meet their challenges.

    Listening to others, I came to have more distance from my own suffering and came to be able to witness my story from the more compassionate space of a witness.

    As I saw how others had grown and deepened in response to their life experiences, I also began to reframe what I was experiencing. I came to develop my own spiritual life more fully. I deepened my meditation practice and was trained as a kundalini yoga teacher.

    Though I had been eager to get on with my life and had perceived the pain and turmoil I was in as harmful and keeping me from all that I wasn’t doing (getting on with my career, etc.), over time, I came to see that that period was not a breakdown, but a time of healing, transformation, and growth.

    And I came to see that I was only able to go through that period of healing and transformation because I was strong enough to bear to look at and process what I had not been able to bear as a child or even as a younger woman. I needed a certain amount of stability in my life and inner strength to face the challenges of my past and allow myself to remember my horror and confusion.

    And as I did this, I began to develop new strength and appreciation within myself.

    What can feel like weakness, confusion, and failure very often is the doorway to courage and resilience.

    Today, I am happy to say that not only have I healed my PTSD, but I also feel much better physically and emotionally than I did before my crisis. I’m able to listen with more openness, compassion, and understanding not only to myself but also to the suffering of others’ around me. And I’m more able to let go of my fear of joy, what Brené Brown calls foreboding joy, and be fully present for the pleasures and beauty of the world.

    I was able to heal because others shared stories that let me know that healing was possible. These stories gave me faith in the ability to heal and were the foundation for allowing me to do the work necessary to get through the crisis. They allowed me to see the disruption in my life and psyche not only as a descent into darkness but also as a path to more light.

    Because I knew to trust the process, even when a part of me found it hard to believe there was ever going to be a light at the end of the tunnel, I kept going.

    From Judith Herman’s Trauma and Recovery to the friends who shared their stories to the therapists who offered trauma support groups to the yoga and meditation teachers who offered their wisdom, I was supported by others who knew about and believed in the possibility of healing from PTSD.

    There were any number of times when I might have turned away from healing in despair, when I might have looked outside myself to solve my problems, turning to substances or throwing myself back into work or even looking to move or change my marriage, instead of staying with the pain inside of myself.

    But I was supported because I knew that the pain and even the shame were part of the process—that they were not unique to me, that there was no way around, but only through, and that when I felt I had hit a wall, it was not time to stop, but instead time to look for extra support and more tools.

    If we believe a narrative that tells us that we need to be moving forward all the time and that feeling pain and shame is a sign of weakness, we will almost certainly miss out on opportunities to heal and grow.

    Like Brené Brown, who calls her breakdown a spiritual awakening, I believe that we can only grow if we allow ourselves to go to those difficult, hurting places, if we don’t expect our lives to unfold in a straight line, and if we share stories not only of the way trauma happens but also of the ways healing happens.

    We need to talk about how healing takes time and energy; the way it often seems to take us down before it can bring us up; the way we sometimes need to go back before we can go forward; and the way, ultimately, it can make us much happier, healthier, more connected to ourselves and others, and more resilient, if we stay with it.

    And we need to make safe places available for healing so that it can run its course. We need to give people time and safety and understanding.

    In the past, cancer was a word that was only whispered, as if the disease itself were somehow secret and shameful. Today, we are public about cancer, but we still often whisper about abuse and PTSD.

    The #metoo movement is starting to change this; more and more people are coming forward to publicly share their stories of abuse.

    And just as our trauma stories are powerful, our healing stories are equally powerful and important. We can and must break the silence and taboo not only around the trauma itself but also around the complicated, messy, long, but ultimately rewarding process of healing from trauma.

    Though PTSD is not often spoken of, it is estimated that 10% of women will develop PTSD in their lifetime and that at any time more than 5 million people in the US are suffering from PTSD. But it’s likely that those numbers are much too low.

    We live in a largely traumatized world, and we can’t heal that trauma if we don’t have the tools to recognize it, name it, witness it, and patiently offer supports for the healing process.

    Denial and shame are natural but immature coping mechanisms and ultimately prevent healing. It can be difficult to break these patterns and look directly at the truth; facing what is difficult can lead to what seems like a crisis and breakdown, but if we stay with our experiences, trusting in the power of healing, we can transform, both as individuals and as a society.

  • Speaking Your Truth Even When It Feels Painful and Shameful

    Speaking Your Truth Even When It Feels Painful and Shameful

    “Vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage. Truth and courage aren’t always comfortable, but they’re never weakness.” ~Brené Brown

    I was sexually assaulted during my senior year of college. Shortly after, I received a hefty check in the mail from the guy who did it as a “graduation gift.” I spent many nights tossing and turning, debating whether I should cash the check or burn it along with his pathetic graduation card wishing me “all the best” in my future.

    I ended up cashing the check and pretending it didn’t happen.

    This was four years ago, and I still cringe every time I think about what happened—and even worse, what didn’t. I lose sleep over all the things I didn’t say, the action I didn’t take, the people I didn’t talk to afterward. In the end, what didn’t happen is even worse than what did.

    I visited my grandmother recently, and we were sharing stories about her career as an educator for many years. In the midst of our conversation, the “#metoo” topic came up, as it was all over the news at the time.

    She shared with me that in all her years in a supervisory role in the school system, there were two occasions where students reported that their teacher sexually assaulted them.

    After the investigations, my grandmother and her staff discharged these teachers from the school district but chose not to press charges against them. Maybe there wasn’t enough evidence to take legal action. Maybe the times were just different back then. But as she told me all of this, I couldn’t help but notice the subtle trace of regret in her eyes. She gazed out the kitchen window and said, “I wonder whatever happened to those teachers.”

    It bothered me for weeks after our conversation. What had happened to the teachers that were dismissed, all those years ago? Did they get another job? Did they move to a new state? Did they ever start teaching again, this time in a different school district, with new students and a clear slate?

    Were they guilty of what those students claimed? Did they, in fact, cross a line? Or were they simply being blamed for something that wasn’t their fault at all—a scapegoat for issues happening to the students outside their classroom?

    Who knows? Who knows what might have happened, or how those two events that occurred so many years ago might have created a ripple effect out into the world today?

    Every action has a consequence, no matter how big or small. But I couldn’t stop wondering, how did those students move forward from that point on? What beliefs did they adopt about themselves, about authority figures, about life in general, after an experience like that?

    How did the accused teachers wake up in the morning, after such a wicked allegation? Did they tell their friends and family the truth? Did they work tirelessly to become better people, so as to avoid anything like that ever happening again? Or did they go on to assault more children in different schools?

    The questions made my mind numb. The possibilities were so varying, so unknown, and yet, so impactful. I couldn’t understand why it was bothering me so much when I personally played no part in this story.

    But now, I’m starting to see the correlation. I’m starting to understand how all of these stories are connected, how our human narratives string together to create significance and meaning, and how it’s so incredibly important to honor and speak our truth. Especially when it comes to things like sexual assault, violence, and power.

    Looking back to my sexual assault experience, I recognize that I felt more guilt and shame about the action that I didn’t take than anything that did happen that night.

    For years, I beat myself up over the fact that I accepted the gifted money as some weird form of apology instead of telling anyone about what happened that night or allowing myself to actually process the emotions behind the event. I simply pretended it didn’t happen and tried to ignore the problem because I didn’t want to deal with the consequences of what might happen if I did tell anyone about it.

    It felt safer to ignore the issue than to bring it to the surface, as if by talking about it I’d somehow make it more real, and if I could just pretend it didn’t exist, it would go away on its own.

    Four years later, I can confidently say that it did not go away. The pain, guilt, shame, and regret from that one night of my life has exponentially grown, and I am just now feeling strong and brave enough to release it.

    I’m writing this because I want other people to know that it’s never okay to pretend a problem doesn’t exist. It’s never okay to let people mistreat, disrespect, or take advantage of you or others. It’s never okay to stand by the sidelines and watch as injustice takes place, to you or any other human being, and not say or do something.

    The only way we can stop injustice is to call it by its name. The only way we can stop darkness is by shining a light on it. And the only way we can take responsibility for our own individual power is to honestly, bravely, and vulnerably share what needs to be said.

    In several of his lectures and writings, psychologist Jordan Peterson references a children’s book that skillfully demonstrates the point I’m trying to make. It’s called There’s No Such Thing as a Dragon.

    In this story, young Billy Bixbee finds a small dragon in his bedroom. When he tells his mother about it, she says, “There’s no such thing as a dragon!” and the two continue to ignore the dragon’s presence as it grows bigger and bigger and bigger.

    Soon, the dragon takes up the entire house, but his mother continues to repeat, “There’s no such thing as a dragon!” She doesn’t acknowledge that the dragon exists until it gets so big that it carries their whole house away.

    There are dragons in many houses all over the world. There are dragons in office buildings, restaurants, bars, shopping malls, street corners, song lyrics, movies, and on social media. There are dragons everywhere, and yet, so many of us continue to ignore they exist.

    We pretend that problems like sexual assault, racism, bullying, and other injustices aren’t there, because it’s often so much easier to ignore them than to actually speak up about what we know to be true.

    But the issue is that when we silence our truth or when we hold ourselves back from speaking up about these problems, we create an even larger, more harmful issue.

    When you hold yourself back from speaking up about something that is wrong, you allow that thing to take on a life-force of its own. You give it more power. You let it continue to bully, rape, steal, lie, put down, hurt, torture, and commit painful acts, to you or to others.

    That’s how evil spreads: through the subtle ignorance and repression of those who experience it first-hand.

    That’s how people who commit sexual assault move from victim to victim undetected.

    That’s how kids who are bullied over and over again show up one day on campus with a gun and massacre their classmates.

    That’s how things like the Holocaust happened.

    Because regular people, like you and me, decided to keep our mouths shut when we knew better.

    I want you to know that no matter what happened to you, you are not alone. Terrible acts are committed every day, all around the world. There are dragons everywhere. That doesn’t take away from the fact that there is beauty and abundance and love everywhere, too. You just have to know where to look, and to constantly turn your attention toward the things that make you feel light.

    I also want you to know that it wasn’t your fault. I blamed myself for a long time and felt like I was personally responsible for what my assaulter did to me, constantly questioning how things might have been different if I had made better choices that night.

    The thing about the past is that everyone, including those who commit acts of violence or evil, is doing the best he/she can with the tools that he/she has available to them at the time. Does that make it right or wrong? No. It simply means that you can’t go back and change what happened in the past, so you have to find a way to forgive yourself for any blame or guilt you feel about it now.

    Every action has a consequence. Part of being a conscious being includes taking the personal responsibility for those actions, which includes inaction.

    When we ignore a problem or make excuses as to why someone’s behavior is acceptable, when deep down we know it’s not, we make a choice to allow it to happen again.

    When we shove something under the carpet and pretend it doesn’t exist, we allow it to grow and gain power over us, until it becomes so big that many others get hurt.

    But when we stand up and speak our truth, we can create true change. When we stand up and speak our truth, we liberate ourselves from the pain and the evil. We become free.

    So start now. Start today. Look around your life and question, what injustices are taking place? What am I tolerating, from myself or others, that I know is harmful? What have I allowed to happen to me or others that isn’t deserved? What truth have I been keeping tucked away from the world? What can I do differently from this moment forward?

    Our stories are connected. Our pain, and our healing, is one. The more we speak up and share what impacts us, the higher we all rise.

    If I could go back to my senior-year college self, I’d sit her down and let her know that it’s okay. That none of it was her fault, that she didn’t do anything wrong. And then I’d give her a pen and a paper and I’d tell her to write, like the whole world’s healing depended on it.

  • Recognizing the Strategic Manipulation of Financial Abuse

    Recognizing the Strategic Manipulation of Financial Abuse

    “I have endured, I have been broken, I have known hardship, I have lost myself. But here I stand, still moving forward, growing stronger each day.” ~Unknown

    There was a time, not so long ago, when I was struggling with the heavy hangover of financial abuse.

    Did you know there was such a thing? I didn’t. I hadn’t a clue… until it happened to me.

    But it turns out that financial abuse is incredibly common, and is often used as a tactic to keep a victim entangled in a relationship where other forms of abuse also take place.

    When money equates to power and freedom, and an individual is deprived of these things, it can seem safest to remain with the person who provides some manner of security—even though they are the cause of the deprivation.

    I am one of the lucky ones.

    Nevertheless, “lucky” rolls off my tongue with a sharp sourness. I may not have been married to him, or even living with him (though not for his lack of suggesting it). I may not have been forbidden to work or had my belongings stolen and sold, as some victims experience.

    There were no children to consider, no child support to withhold, no joint bank account. Getting out was easy for me once I realized what was happening. But within those few short months he still managed to inflict plenty of damage.

    He was charming in the beginning.

    Smooth and slick as oil, and a skilled hunter, he honed in on my recent breakup and optimistic nature. I was ideal prey.

    I was new to town and he offered to show me around. We sang Taylor Swift in the car and went to the arcade. He introduced me to bubble tea. He liked kittens and Disney. I thought he was nice.

    But slowly the manipulations began.

    First it was little things like not taking “no” for an answer when I didn’t want to go out: he convinced me by finally saying it was because he wanted to introduce me to his friends and family. Then it became bigger things like trying to turn me against my best friend, but I rationalized that there are always two sides to every story and it must be some misunderstanding. And then it turned financial.

    He started by convincing me to share the benefits of my good credit.

    At the first sign of my hesitation he reasoned that, if he were really after my money, wouldn’t he be dating someone who actually had some? I was barely getting by, just keeping my head above water, so this made sense to me at the time. I didn’t stop to question why he felt the need to propose such a defensive argument to begin with.

    Playing on my history of unhealthy relationships as well, he claimed that pooling resources was what mature couples did: He had the better job; I had the better credit. But the Meijer card that was supposed to be our emergency grocery and gas fund? He used it on Red Bull and video games.

    When I broke up with him, he claimed that everything he owed me had been a gift.

    Of the hefty amount he’d spent, he paid less than 5% of it back, and when confronted he smugly pointed out that we’d had no written agreement. I did have a number of text messages, however, that should have held up in court, so I looked into suing him. After seeking legal counsel and receiving two concurring opinions, it was understood that—even though I was likely to win—he would be deemed “uncollectible,” as his wages were already being garnished.

    The situation left me feeling helpless and dirty. My car was repossessed. I was eventually served lawsuit papers over what he never paid, and had to file bankruptcy.

    But for all that he took me for, I was also able to tell him “no” on multiple occasions.

    He tried to convince me to take out a business loan so he could buy high-end gaming equipment. His plan was to make money streaming live, hoping to make it big like PewDiePie. And when I refused, insisting that we begin to pay off what we (he) already owed, he attempted to guilt trip me by claiming that I wasn’t being supportive of his/our future.

    He also thought we should take advantage of an SUV “bogo” promotion that was going on at the time, which would tie us together in yet another financial circumstance.

    And then he suggested I move in with him.

    This was a potentially powerful maneuver on his part as he angled for more control over me. There would be more financial entanglement, of course, but on a far more precarious level: I would be subjected daily to his manipulations, and the very roof over my head would be at stake.

    Again I use the word “lucky” to describe myself with a sick taste, but lucky I was. I had already experienced how difficult it is to break up with someone when you live together and money is tight. I was not going to fall into that trap again.

    Financial abuse was not that only abuse that he engaged in.

    Statistics say that this variation is often used to perpetuate others — 98% of the time, to be exact. In my case there was plenty of gaslighting. There was emotional and sexual abuse.

    He tried to turn me against my best friend. He convinced me to do things I was ashamed of. And if you’ve never been in this kind of relationship, it’s hard to explain why I didn’t immediately run in the other direction.

    It’s subtle and it’s layered and it’s messy.

    He knew how to make the ridiculous sound reasonable. He knew how to push for my sympathy. He was a skillful manipulator, adept at twisting appearances to his favor. He was always ten steps ahead, strategizing, seeking the checkmate.

    And yet I saw a light within him—a person who was ready to move beyond his past, the person he said he wanted to be. I placed my faith in that person, and I will never know if he never truly existed, or if it was someone he just didn’t know how to be. Maybe that light was just another lie.

    For others, the story may be very different.

    They might stay for the children.

    They might make comparisons and think, “It’s not that bad.”

    They might fear judgment or ostracization for ending their marriage.

    They might even truly believe they deserve no better, or that they could never make it on their own.

    So yes, I am lucky. I made it out. And here is what I learned.

    1. Don’t doubt yourself.

    A manipulative abuser will gaslight you, coming from every angle to make themselves appear right and make you seem wrong. If something feels like a red flag, it probably is. Listen to your internal warning system and let it guide you away from danger.

    2. Stand your ground, even when it’s exhausting.

    They will do their best to wear you down until you run out of reasons to resist. They will ask and beg and argue and belittle and rationalize, and the frightening part is that it will probably make sense. Don’t give in. You know what is right for you. Trust that.

    3. An explanation is not required.

    Not for them, and not for yourself. You are justified in walking away from circumstances and people that make you feel threatened, regardless of whether or not you can explain it. And you owe them nothing. Trying to explain why you’re leaving will only be met with more gaslighting.

    Abuse isn’t always a black eye, or even insults and degradation.

    Sometimes it’s having a comeback to every refusal until you’re too mentally beaten down to argue anymore.

    Sometimes it’s all the right words with all the wrong intent.

    Sometimes it’s wheedling and cajoling and convincing from a silver tongue laced with poison.

    And while all varieties of abuse are terrifying, infuriating, and damnable, I feel that financial abuse is the stickiest of all. It is the web that holds you captive as the spider has its way, leaving you desperate, vulnerable to other forms of attack and manipulation (e.g., sexual, mental/emotional, physical).

    If you take nothing else away from my story, know this:

    You deserve better.

    If you think you might be a victim of financial abuse, please reach out and seek help. You can also click here for answers and assistance.

  • Letting Go of the Victim Label: The Past Will Not Define Me

    Letting Go of the Victim Label: The Past Will Not Define Me

    TRIGGER WARNING: This post deals with an account of domestic violence and sexual abuse, and may be triggering to some people.

    “Things turn out best for the people who make the best of the way things turn out.” ~Unknown

    It wasn’t long ago that I lived my life as a professional victim.

    It wasn’t intentional, but somewhere along the way I had internalized the fact that my victimhood gave me an excuse to remain stuck. As long as I was a victim, I had a reason to wallow in sadness and self-pity, a reason to not move forward, and sympathy that was poured upon me like praise—because no one wants to shame the victim, right? So I put on my victim’s Badge of Honor and remained firmly planted in the past.

    The thing about being a victim is that it doesn’t end there. Resentment is not far behind, and I soon found myself immersed in resentment. After all, I never asked to be born into a household filled with domestic violence, nor did I ask be molested by someone I shared the same bloodline with, but it happened, and I resented it.

    In my mind, no one could understand what it was like to live in constant fear of the day that your mother would be murdered. No one could understand the hopelessness that comes with feeling unsafe day after day. But I did.

    I knew what it felt like to be awakened in the middle of the night by screaming voices, dishes crashing against walls, or the volume on the TV up as high as it could go, because if he was angry, no one was getting a good night’s sleep.

    I knew what it was like to wish for death, because death was better than terror.

    I knew what it felt like to live in a household where everyone walked on eggshells because the alternative was an encounter with rage.

    I knew what it felt like to have a dysfunctional childhood while others had what I thought to be a fairytale life, and I resented it.

    I could not reconcile why some children were born into wealth and privilege and I was not. I did not understand why my family, which should have been a safe haven, was the exact opposite. Why were some children loved and adored, and I molested and used? It wasn’t fair, and I wasn’t going to let life, or anyone who would listen, forget it.

    I didn’t ask for that life, I was a victim, and had earned the right to complain about it as much as I saw fit. I did not realize that I had the power to overcome everything I had experienced, and maybe there was a part of me that didn’t really want to. I knew who I was with my experiences, but what was my identity without those stories? It was time that I found out.

    It took a while for me to even realize that I needed to let go of the victim label, but thankfully the day came. It became too much effort to be sad and depressed about something that happened, and was not changing.

    I began to read every self-help book I could find in hopes that one of them held the key to my emotional relief. I began attending counseling sessions and put forth the necessary effort to get the most out of each session. Then, one day it happened. I woke up knowing enough was enough.

    No, life wasn’t fair, but this was the only life I had, and I had better make the most of it. I knew that in order for me to move forward, I had to accept this fact. My experience was my experience, and nothing was going to change what happened to me, but I could surely change how I responded to it.

    The first thing I did was remove toxic people from my life. I understood that as a child I had little control over the people I was exposed to, but as an adult, it was my responsibility to set strong boundaries, even if that meant removing some people.

    This was no easy task, and I immediately felt waves of fear and guilt. I was so used to not having boundaries, and being expected to accept bad behavior just because it came from family. Still, I followed through with my plan to set boundaries or to sever ties completely.

    Next, I began to follow the advice I had received from literally hundreds of self-help books. I began to retrain my mind from the mentality of a victim, to one of strength, poise, and success.

    Almost immediately, I stopped feeling sorry for myself and began to feel empowered and capable. Yes, I had bad experiences growing up, and yes, those experiences affected my life, but I did not have to let them define me.

    I worked diligently to change my self-talk and I was very intentional about ensuring that I would make the most of my life. I had wasted enough years existing, and I knew that it was time to start living.

    Retraining my mind became my full-time focus, as I knew that all success starts in the mind. I continued with counseling and was told that I had a form of post-traumatic stress disorder, which was evident from my having nightmares about the abuse in my home, even though I was an adult and in a safe place.

    I learned how witnessing domestic abuse and being molested affected my self-esteem, the way I viewed relationships, and the way I viewed the world.

    I learned that none of it was my fault, and that I did not have to continue to tell myself those stories. I had new stories to tell. We all do. You too, can move past the pain and hurt you have endured in this lifetime. You can forgive, even if you never forget, and you can move forward. It won’t be easy, but it will be worth it.

    My transformation didn’t happen overnight, and neither will yours. I spent years studying the power of the mind, and being intentional in my desire to turn my life around.

    Today I am free of toxic relationships and toxic thoughts. I’ve replaced my victim badge with a crown of success, love, self-confidence, and peace. And I replaced self-pity and sadness with a fierce determination to live my best life, free of resentment.

    I recently met a man who told me he has found happiness all his life by learning to “play the hand he was dealt.” I smiled, because I had come into the wisdom that this is truly the only way to live, because “Things turn out best for the people who make the best of the way things turn out.” The choice is ours to make.

  • Twisted Love: What I Learned from Being in an Abusive Relationship

    Twisted Love: What I Learned from Being in an Abusive Relationship

    “Never wish them pain. That’s not who you are. If they caused you pain, they must have pain inside. Wish them healing. That’s what they need.” ~Najwa Zebian

    Most of us don’t grow up and say we’re going to be killers.

    Most of us don’t grow up and say we’re going to hurt people.

    We don’t grow up thinking and planning to hurt ourselves.

    But there are moments in our lives in which we’ve stepped outside of ourselves and made decisions that impair our lives. Decisions that remain with us for a lifetime.

    Then we have difficulty forgiving ourselves because what we did went against everything we’ve ever believed. We wonder if this is who we’ve always been. We wonder if we’re able to change.

    Pivotal Moments in Time Teaches Us Everything We Need to Know

    I remember when I slapped my ex-girlfriend.

    We were arguing for hours. She made a horrific comment about my son, and I snapped. I slapped her. I felt ashamed.

    For the first six months of our relationship, things were great. Then I started to pull back. I realized I was too invested in her and not in my home life. I was not only caring for my son but also my teenage sister.

    Things changed.

    I went from being with her regularly to telling her I couldn’t stay. Because she felt abandoned by me, she became verbally abusive. When we argued I would walk away because I knew what was coming next.

    She knew my vulnerabilities and every last dark secret of my soul. And she used them as if they were ammo in an Ak-47 to eviscerate me. This led to her becoming physical. It went on for months. We were held hostage by pain, fear, and a twisted love.

    I found myself holding on to someone who bullied me but loved me, who wanted to love me despite my pain but hated me because of my pain. Most of the time I felt suspended in the twilight zone.

    However, the relationship became more and more emotionally and physically abusive. It never seemed like it was abusive. It was common for lesbians to “have drama.” It was common to be pushed once, maybe twice.

    But, I knew something was wrong when I started to hit back. I’ve never been in a fight in my entire life, and here I was brawling with the love of my life.

    Relationships Do Have An Expiration Date

    But it makes sense. I grew up in an abusive household with a dominating aunt. There were several years of not fighting back, several years of taking the abuse, several years of not raising my voice.

    I grew up feeling undeserving of love. I grew up in a household of shame, of never feeling good enough. It makes perfect sense I would repeat this cycle as an adult with my most important teacher.

    When someone calls you a pansy, a doormat, or says you’re too sensitive, it reaffirms that you have no self-worth.

    I found myself finally fighting back.

    I resisted for so long, and I took the beatings, the name-callings the same way I did as a child. But at that moment, I didn’t know who I was. I smashed objects to the ground, I kicked, I choked, and the both of us became other people.

    We became little girls who have been frightened our entire lives, little girls whose families promised to love them but didn’t. Little girls who were both abandoned. One withdrew from the world, and the other fought the world with intense rage. Little girls who feared the other would leave.

    During our last fight, I told her to leave. I couldn’t say any more sorries, nor could I hear them from her. I didn’t like who I was with her.

    Often we stay in relationships way past the expiration date. It curdles and creates a sickness in our bodies. I checked out of the relationship because our relationship ended years ago but we both couldn’t bear to let the other go. Afraid of the solitude that laid ahead of us. Comfort erodes joy.

    When you find yourself in a relationship and you don’t know who you are, that’s when you leave. When you see yourself doing things that seem like an out of body experience, that’s when you leave. When you find yourself hating coming home knowing that person will be there, that’s when you leave.

    I feared to leave her behind because I understood her pain. I understood why she was angry. We were opposites. I calmed her because I knew how to. I felt guilty wanting to leave. But hurt people, hurt people.

    Tie Up Loose Ends Before They Crush You

    If you have unaddressed pain and begin relationships with people who also have unresolved issues, these issues will surface in the ugliest and most unexpected ways.

    We don’t train our thoughts and we don’t heal our hurts because most of us aren’t living from the inside out. We don’t know how to. Then we try to love each other, and it just doesn’t work.

    You wouldn’t race in a Kentucky Derby without training. We enter relationships without making the necessary connections and insights from our childhood that made us who we are today.

    We don’t learn to understand the person that looks back at us in the mirror. We haven’t developed ways to begin authentic introspection. But most of all we haven’t mastered our emotions. We’re emotionally stunted individuals who fight for what we lost in our childhoods just to feel it in our adult lives. We struggle to fill the deep craters in our souls.

    My aunt was abusive out of fear. I learned later she was dealing with a bitter divorce. She emigrated to the States a married woman with three children (and me as a fourth), and within months her husband abandoned them. She didn’t know the language. And at one point was living in a homeless shelter. She was angry.

    We never learned how to love. My ex-girlfriend didn’t learn it in her home, and I didn’t learn it in mine. People can’t give you something they don’t have. We can’t expect them to unless they are aware, willing, and have done or are ready to do the work.

    We don’t know what we don’t know. But once we do know it’s our responsibility to change.

    When We Learn the Lessons They Won’t Be Repeated

    Being in an abusive relationship taught me the following things:

    Focus on self-love.

    The world opens up to us when we begin to love ourselves. It’s going to be impossible to create loving relationships without first looking within and loving ourselves. This goes for both platonic and romantic relationships.

    Two of the best books that started the process for me was The Gifts of Imperfection and The Power of Vulnerability. I soothed the abused child inside of me through compassion, love, and forgiveness. I began practicing the use of gentler and kinder words towards myself. A question I began asking is, how can I love myself more today?

    Let go of control.

    We can’t control other people’s feelings; we can’t control if and how they heal themselves. It isn’t our responsibility to heal people. All we can do is have compassion, empathy, and love for them. What is under our control is our decisions to stay or leave, the way we react, and whether we reach out for support.

    Nothing’s wrong.

    There’s nothing wrong with us. We’ve learned defense mechanisms either in our childhood or young adulthood that protected us. We’re humans having a human experience. But we don’t need those defense mechanisms anymore. What protected and worked for us as children, no longer serves us as adults.

    Be gentle.

    The inner critic will peer its disruptive head around the corner with the attempts to tear us down. It’s at this very moment we have to be gentle with ourselves by using compassionate and loving language. The more we do this, the more we minimize the sounds of the inner critic.

    We’re loveable.

    Despite not feeling loved, I am still loveable. No matter how deep our scars are and no matter how many painful experiences we’ve had, we’re still loveable.

    We’re enough.

    I’m enough. The Universe created us, and if you believe in a spiritual deity, know that they don’t make mistakes. We’re enough, we’re not too much, and we’re not missing anything. We’re enough because the Universe created us perfectly imperfect.

    “Self-respect, self-love, and self-worth, all start with self. Stop looking outside of yourself for your value.” ~Rob Liano

    Life often takes us on an unbearable path for reasons we may never know or understand. And sometimes we aren’t always able to assemble the puzzle pieces. But we aren’t beholden to our circumstances, and despite our situations, we can rise above, heal ourselves, and begin to live the best life possible.

    It begins with a decision. A decision to no longer hurt, a decision birthed from worth, and a decision to forgive.

    Wherever we are in life, it’s never too late.

    It’s never too late to begin loving from within.

  • Why I Now Appreciate Years of Pain and How Gratitude Healed My Life

    Why I Now Appreciate Years of Pain and How Gratitude Healed My Life

    TRIGGER WARNING: This post deals with an account of abuse and may be triggering to some people.

    “Hope is faith’s impoverished sister, but it’s a start.” ~Maureen Barberio, Gettin’ Out of Bullytown

    My life wasn’t always easy. It’s not always easy now, as a matter of fact. But there was a very long period where it was quite difficult and painful. It is sad how many of us can say that, isn’t it?

    I grew up in a dysfunctional home with two sisters. My father was an alcoholic and was physically and verbally abusive. My mother, herself a victim of my father’s verbal abuse, was very loving and complimentary but could do little about my father’s behavior. My mother, sisters, and I have always been very close.

    Each time I was yelled at, and with each blow I received, a little bit of my spirit was broken.

    Instead of gaining confidence during my grade school years, so I could enter the teen years ready to face the hormonal changes and roller coaster of emotions that go along with them, I went into the teen years feeling unworthy of anything good. I looked at my sisters and saw such beauty in them. I looked in the mirror and saw nothing but flaws.

    In addition, I had done what so many children do: I assumed all blame for the abuse my father was heaping on me. I continued to look up to both my parents, as impossible as that may sound, and I took to heart every word spoken about me.

    The fact that my father found me so imperfect and flawed meant it must be so. And being imperfect and flawed meant I was unlovable. The guilt and shame I felt about this was devastating, although at the time I had no idea that guilt and shame was what I was feeling.

    While other girls in high school got prettier and prettier, while my sisters became prettier in my eyes, I viewed myself as less and less attractive. I watched the excitement others had about boys and dating, and I knew in my heart I would never have those things. I’d never fit in. I was different. I was unworthy.

    There’s nothing like leaving a house of sadness on a sunny day, unable to enjoy the beauty of nature because your heart is so heavy that you want to die. There’s nothing like going to school and seeing how carefree your friends are, all laughing and having a great time, and joining in with them even though inside you feel like a piece of garbage who shouldn’t even have friends.

    I felt phony because I had so many secrets, not the least of which was my unworthiness, which they either didn’t see or they recognized but never mentioned out of pity for me.

    Even the most confident girls struggle in high school with all the changes they’re faced with. Imagine going into it convinced you’re nothing but a hideous thorn in everyone’s side. Those high school years magnify the negatives, but with the help of a loving, supportive family, young women come out of them feeling good about themselves and their future. I came out of those years just feeling worse about myself.

    By the time I hit my late teens I was convinced I would never have what ‘normal’ people have in the way of a life where there’s a man who cares about you and you plan for the future and build a life together.

    I was living in emotional pain, and to lessen that pain, I began drinking and using drugs. I wasn’t resorting to these things all the time, but I was using them as tools to help me instead of seeing the root of my problems and pain.

    In my early twenties, I met a man I thought was simply wonderful. The attention felt incredible. I started feeling better about myself. He loved me! This was as close to feeling loved and carefree as I had ever felt before, and it was so different that I embraced it.

    Six months after meeting, we began living together and then married when I was twenty-six, despite the fact that by that point he was drinking heavily and doing a lot of drugs. I guess it didn’t matter to me, because I was doing the same.

    Somewhere along the way, he began being very critical of me, so I found myself on the receiving end of verbal abuse once again. I tried harder to please him, as I had spent my childhood and teen years trying to please my father while always missing the mark. The little bit of my spirit that remained was constantly chipped away.

    To cope with the reality of increased disappointment and anger on the part of my husband, I went through periods of abusing drugs. During other points in our marriage I decided to live without taking substances, but my husband would push me to join him, and to keep the peace, I did.

    Even though I was a fully functioning adult, had jobs and attended college, I spent more than twenty years in a verbally abusive, alcohol and drug-fueled marriage.

    Each morning I’d wake up and tell myself I wasn’t going to drink or do any drugs, and each day that I failed I grew more and more disappointed in myself. I felt such intense shame about who I was and how I was living that it was difficult to even think about. I spent much time feeling depressed in a place of darkness.

    Growing tired of our lifestyle, we eventually stopped drinking and taking drugs and discovered we had nothing in common. The verbal and emotional abuse continued. So at the age of forty-five, I moved out of our home into another property we owned. I had no faith that my life would ever be better, but I hoped it would, and as the quote above states, that’s a start.

    There is something that is so satisfying about seeing a neglected garden of weeds and taking steps to clear them out to see what you can grow. Or watching a caterpillar move through various stages until a beautiful butterfly emerges.

    There were many uncertainties I was facing, but I decided that the Universe gives us each a garden—our lives—and it’s up to us to tend to that garden to see what beautiful things we can grow. Each of us is a beautiful butterfly, and sometimes we must let ourselves go through the process of getting rid of a hard shell in order to emerge as our true, beautiful selves.

    I was uncertain about who I was, what I wanted to do next, and had a million questions that couldn’t be answered. At the urging of a friend who had mentioned it numerous times, I finally gave in when she once again said, “Why don’t you try Centers for Spiritual Living? I think if you go it will help you.”

    And so I went. As soon as I walked in the door I felt like I was home. I actually felt something within me that was so moved on an emotional level that I cried.

    A wonderful speaker talked about gratitude and challenged us to spend forty days writing down everything we were grateful for, an exercise meant to shift our focus and put it on the good instead of what we felt was lacking in our lives. The Minister handed out a journal to each of us, and the person who walked out of the church that day wasn’t quite the same as the one who had walked in.

    Over the next forty days I diligently did my homework by trying to find something I was grateful for. At first it was hard. I’d sit for five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes, and wonder what it was that I was grateful for.

    Oh wait, I’m grateful I don’t drink and take drugs anymore. I wrote that down. I’m grateful to be out of an abusive marriage. I wrote that down. Those seemed a little bit like I was still putting my focus on negative things, however, and I had to ask myself whether or not I was grateful about anything positive.

    Well, yes, I was grateful I finally took my friends advice and went to the Center for Spiritual Living. I was grateful my friend told me about it. Oh, and I was grateful for my friend! In fact, I was grateful for all the new friends I’d made. I was grateful to be living in a place where there was a Center for Spiritual Living to even go to. I was grateful to be living in a place that is surrounded by beautiful nature. I was grateful for nature!

    This is how it went every day. I would struggle to write something I was grateful for, but once I wrote down one thing, it would lead me to another and another and another.

    Sometimes I would close my journal and notice I’d spent thirty minutes writing and it felt like it was only five minutes. The floodgates would just open and I’d get lost in thinking about how wonderful my life had become. One more thing for which to be grateful!

    I so loved this exercise that I did it for a second time once the forty-day challenge was up. What happened after that was nothing short of astounding. I became more interested in the spiritual aspect of life, and filled with a bit more confidence, signed up for A Course in Miracles. I was starving for this kind of information, which seemed to fill me up!

    I began getting out more. I signed up for a couple of classes at the local university, in order to complete my studies and get a degree. I continued the practice of writing down the things for which I was grateful, only now it didn’t take five, ten, or fifteen minutes before I could think of something, I was already coming up with things while I was still reaching for my notepad and pen. I still found the flow to be the same though. I’d write down one thing, which would lead to another and another.

    I continued spending time at the Center, signing up for classes, and reading books to be discussed. It was a whole new world I was being exposed to.

    In the years that followed the dissolution of my marriage I achieved my goal and actually earned two degrees, graduating Cum Laude. Somewhere along the way, I began looking at my image in the mirror differently. I thought: Deborah, you’re not half bad! In fact, you’re pretty! You’re kind. You have a good heart. You’re lovable!!!!

    I met a wonderful man and got married. I started my own business, and I love the work I do.

    As I continued my spiritual studies and practice of gratitude, I came to be blessed more and more. I became a licensed Practitioner at our local Center for Spiritual Living, started a second business, and have become even closer to my two wonderful sisters, enjoying my time with them laughing and joking as though we’re three little girls.

    My life looks nothing like the life I lived until I was in my late forties, and yet, I’m grateful for that earlier life because the pain of it has led me to so many wonderful places. My heart and spirit have healed, and I am committed to spreading the word about the blessings you will receive through the daily practice of gratitude.

    This doesn’t mean my life is perfect, or without worry, or even absent from the occasional feelings of guilt or shame about something, but I am able to quickly deal with those feelings and put my focus back on the things for which I am grateful. And that has made all the difference in the world.

    Can you relate? Just for today, write down some things you feel grateful for. There are plenty of things. Just look out the window, go for a walk, and you’ll find them. Keep doing that each day and make it a habit.

    Think of some things you’ve always wanted to do but didn’t pursue because of fear, shame, lack of confidence, etc., and commit to doing just one of those things. Baby steps. That’s all it takes.

    And when you start feeling down or worried, open up your journal and read through your lists. It will move the focus from the negatives to the positives. You’ll find that writing about gratitude will lead to feeling more positive about your life, prompting you to take action that brings positive results—and even more blessings and opportunities. I’ve noticed this snowball effect in many lives, starting with my own.

    As I live a life that consists of gratitude, I see where every negative experience has molded me, taught me, made me compassionate, and led me to be the wonderful and best version of me that I can be today.

    Isn’t that a blessing?