Today, my therapist asked why my sister or the boys’ father might want to undermine me and damage my credibility. The simple answer is that I refused to submit to them.
A narcissist seeks to “punish” anyone who openly questions them by directly expressing clear limits and needs. They may pretend to be genuinely curious about helping or understanding, but their true intention is to diminish, silence, and erase their target.
Standard Smear Tactics:
Smear campaigns often happen as a form of retaliation for speaking out about or questioning offense to unjustness or unwholesomeness.
I understand that a smear campaign arises from entitlement, a need to be right, control the narrative, and protect one’s status and image. Someone with strong narcissistic traits meticulously curates their public persona to present only as successful and accomplished. Their methods of implementation vary.
Lies and Distortions: Spread rumors, exaggerations, and lies about the target.
Use Personal Attacks to Avoid Substance: Attack the target’s character instead of discussing or working to address and resolve clearly identifed and communicated issues at hand.
Gaslighting: Twist words and create confusion.
Shift blame: The narcissist will shift the blame onto the target to avoid accountability for their own unfortunate behaviors.
Stonewalling: Silent Treatment. Refusal to engage or acknowledge requests to have open dialog about the issue.
Note: I did absolutely present as an insane person.
Unhinged from a highly sensitive and dysregulated nervous system, and without anyone to shelter or teach me self-soothing techniques, I experienced literal nervous breakdowns from sensory and emotional overload. In typical gaslighting scenarios, my sensitivity and inability to manage it were exploited to justify brutality and judgment against me, presented as evidence of my supposed wrongness. “Clearly, she is crazy.” I lived in a constant state of destabilization and panic. But if I am deemed “crazy,” does that make cruelty acceptable?
Today marks the date of my mother’s birth and the continuing birthday – holiday season.
I have been reflecting on my mother’s financially heroic rescue of me (even while she and I were in our own state of brokenness) – When the boys’ father could not force me into foreclosure via withholding support, he demanded his name removed from the mortgage. My mother co-signed a refinance.
He had insisted we sell my condo to purchase OUR home with his name on it (with zero dollars of his own to offer) while also requiring a wedding and a ring which cost more than I was comfortable with and which he had no money to contribute. But the only actual issue was my failure to lighten up and go with the flow. You know, be grateful. After a lifetime of being devalued, to be used was the most I dare hope for.
My entanglement with him never not hurt or felt scary, ever. It was familiar “home”. It was the love I was raised on.
My mother’s ongoing aid during our divorce disturbed his efforts to defeat of me (his need to win and put me in my place) while also pulling from her estate (my sister’s due).
My sibling and the boys’ father had a vested interest in dividing me again from my mother, fueled by the mutual inability to effectively gain dominion, respect, fear, or dependence from me.
True, I am the common variable in those failed relations. I get that. Like a moth to a flame, I sought the precise dynamic I was groomed for.
Imagining my female progenitor and sibling high-fiving over my well-earned ongoing anguish is devastating. See, they along with father of my sons, demonstrated a shared drive to be in charge of my suffering- either the cause or the solution.
While they must remain emphatic that I was “not abused”; choosing words and behaviors which are righteously diminishing and knowingly damaging, is in fact abuse. Covert abuse is a means to control, demean, or harm another person without direct confrontation or physical violence. Covert abusers use strategies such as gaslighting, silent treatment, triangulation, evasion, blame shifting, word twisting and partial incomplete truths – triggering feelings of fear, confusion, doubt, shame thereby targeting a victim’s sense self-esteem, autonomy, connection, security, and well-being.
As always, I qualify- The poor treatment and handling of me – I contmplate and share about this in order that I may process and heal as I do the work to retrieve my spirit. Sharing is in no way an attempt to excuse or justify harmful choices. There is not a malevolent choice by me, which I would stand by or defend- or deny. Unpopular choice, yes. Upsetting, yes. Ruinous/black-hearted, no. ***Disclosing the particulars of my experience, is not an act of blackheartedness.
As for more more more, apparently that is exactly what a love bomber wants you to want and count on. I hate to use that word, because it makes me sound vicitmy and even more lame than I already do.
First, I would like to share that the woman he dated before me, was recently hospitalized after a suicide attempt – claiming the despair of his love bombing and discard were the final straw. I assumed she was crazy and too fragile and unsuitable. He would clearly not ever do that.
Things which are making me feeeel mad at the moment:
For starters, I did not find his profile attractive or compelling, not his picture, not his words. He picked and pursued me. Relentlessly. I literally said NO thank you right out of the gate.
He handled my rejection beautifully with charm, humor, grace, and humility though. So, I was inclined to continue chatting — and then – meet.
He was shorter than I liked and requested in my profile, and he lied (by two inches) about his height which I came to laugh about and forgive and accept because when a person showers you with constant expressions of love in all of the ways, what does height even matter, or religion, or politics? The most thoughtful gifts and generous emotional offerings and direct and repeated expression of a promised future together made me feel a way I had not felt before. What I failed to recognize is that this was a man who will say and do whatever is needed to get the results he desires. I saw this in his interactions with others and thought him so clever and in charge. Not realizing that is WHO HE IS.
His fundamentalist faith, his politics, his hairiness, his necklace, his stupid gun, his very strong southern accent, his sometimes-unfortunate grammar, some of his clothing, his inability/refusal to deliver physically what I begged for over and over.
No no no. right?
He was not what I was seeking and also not who he said he was, but – I was blinded. He literally cast a spell on me. What I did not recognize was that he was doing exactly what he wanted to do, and it had little to do with me, in fact it opposed all that I openly stated I wanted and needed at this time.
My vision for US was to visit once a week and see where it went, no sleep overs, no trips, active disinterest in marriage or cohabitation. (I said all of that in my profile) I don’t thrive with so much proximity, even to my most favorite people. I am not wired for that.
I accept how much solitude and space I need to recover from daily life on earth. What he heard: Challenge accepted: I will get her to agree to what she clearly has decided and plainly stated what she does not want. This man is an influencer, a rain maker, a leader, a hustler. He shared on our first date, that he is the good kind of narcissist. I have found nothing on the internet or in therapy to substantiate that such a thing exists.
From our first meeting, he blew me up 24/7 with messages of love and ideas for our future together, meals, trips, a home….Literally around the clock, even in the hours of the night when most people were sleeping.
He would occasionally say I am so glad you picked me and I would laugh and reply: I did not pick you, I surrendered to you. I would not have picked him and assumed it was because my picker is broken, and I only know how to pick the most unsuitable and lacking partners.
He gifted me and fed me and improved literally any and everything around my home and yard (without suggestion or request by me). Everything he touched turned to gold (including me, I thought) I treasured our physical expression because it seemed to flow from our amazing soul connection. So, while not offering the physical release and relief I craved, it was beautiful and surely my lack of release and relief was due only to my defectiveness.
I hate the reality and still it is true. He made me feel loved and special and safe and seen for all of the hours, days, weeks, months. I experienced security and trust and then an actual chemical dependence on him. THEN- Without a fight or a conflict, like a switch that was flipped, he retreated.
So first the heartache over the loss of what he made me want and believed we had, then – the shame of knowing this could serve yet as more proof to my family of my unworthiness as evidenced by the results in my life. The secondary feelings are twice as impactful as the pain from the actual wound. This is called secondary trauma. There is the initial trauma, then there is the trauma of how a person is handled and supported and viewed. It has been deeply ingrained in me to believe when a person acts in ways which are unwholesome or hurtful, that I have caused or imagined or earned that.
I absolutely am traumatized by this. Trauma— when an experience or event is too big for a person to process and move past. What is traumatic for one person is often not for another. My trauma response is often characterized by being both adrenalized and paralyzed at the same time. The adrenaline cortisol dump wreaks havoc on my mind and body. No sleep makes it virtually impossible to recover and stabilize.
I did not try on a ring but this song!!!
You told me I was the one you couldn’t live without And the way that you said it, I believed it like a vow (like a vow) Maybe I got carried away, and baby, that’s fair But you can’t call me crazy ’cause you carried me there The way that you said it, I believed it like a vow Don’t mean nothing now
We flew to the sun but that high didn’t last It didn’t work out, I ain’t even mad about that I’m sure I’ll get over you being gone I just feel stupid
If you were blessed in any of the following ways, in your upbringing and formative experience, you were privileged.
Felt loved, seen, heard, safe, welcomed, protected, valued, worthy of good things
Had a person in your life whom you could count on for unconditional kindness
Had confidence in any one thing about yourself
Had a person who intentionally supported safety, wellness, connection, and peace for you
Believed that you were capable of creating change and achieving good things
Enjoyed a nourishing connection to a family member, community, group, god, team, hobby, passion, strength or talent – faith in anything good- a loving higher power
Had an adult in your life who was deeply interested in who and how you were, intentionally seeking to know you and– who believed and communicated to you: “You have what it takes”
Had an affirming adult to comfort you in times of distress
Could count on wholesome guidance and direction from someone in charge of caring for you
I was privileged (my life made easier by things I did not earn or create for myself) in the following ways:
A house in a safe area, clothing, food, orthodontia, education, access to intellectual enrichment, an able body- which was also tall and thin (though it was often the source of mockery and abuse), an ability to learn in traditional ways, not being black (I do believe in white privilege, only I was also not considered white, growing up)
I firmly believe I would trade any of those to have been loved deeply and fiercely and undeniably by any person whom I relied on to teach me about myself and love and belonging- to have been safe and free to want, feel, and dream for myself.
For the past months, intractable insomnia has drastically diminished my ability to function. Circling the drain is the best I can do. My therapist encouraged me to address chronic back pain, which is compounding the sleep issue and overall unmanageability. I have avoided this for financial reasons.
This is absolutley a new low. I can live in sustained financial and emotional duress on little to no sleep. However, with incapacitating back pain made worse when seated or lying down— I. Lost. My shit. I AM NOT OK with 24/7 being awake and in pain.
I cracked- phoning Favorite-I wept: “I am going to say some shit to you that you are in no way equipped to handle. I need a fkn break from my body and mind. THIS cannot continue. I want to go to the ER and beg to just be put under. But I am afraid— terrified of waiting too long in an uncomfortable chair, surrounded by overstimulating overhead lighting while surrounded by people using speaker phones, before being strapped into a shitty cot in a taxing position, only to leave with a huge bill and with no answers or relief.” She listened like a champ, offering to bring me dinner or have me over. I visited and we(she) determined that me going to sleep that night, with whatever drugs it takes, was essential. Then, she raided her parents no longer used medications- for my pain mangement plan for the following day. This brought much needed laughter and hope. I have not used any of her parents painkillers-out of fear for the side effects.
That night 1.5mg of my expired clonazepam delivered 6.5 consecutive hours of sleep. Unconsciousness was brilliant and my back pain was eased from having rested. Ah- The gift of a new day rather than just a continuation of all the days which came before. With a recovered-ish mind and body, I enjoyed the endorphins of fervently and successfully facing down tasks which called for some level of executive function, unsure of when I might again benefit from the energy and clarity from a night of rest.
With my neurology, brain chemistry,and metabolism, I am made ill, almost immediately, by substances/medications used to sedate, calm or numb, or reduce pain– For me, vertigo and vomiting are 99% guaranteed.
Add to this my younger son’s 16th birthday last week- and a lack of resources to take him out to eat or do a special thing. No gift, no celebration, no photo. Horrifying evidence of my judgeable worhtlessness and joylessness. It is beyond painful and still true, that I can not provide more OR be different. And I fail entirely at masking the pain of this. AND – my younger sons’ birthday also marks a landmark betrayal and trauma (compliments of his father and my sister) from which I have not recovered and am also expected to “get over”.
So in true C-PTSD fashion–first the hardship, and then the ass kicking secondary feelings of shame over an existence which substantiates (by my family of origin’s code) that good people are happy, comfortable and rewarded. AND THE non-good and unworthy will face unhidable struggle and despair.
Several things occurred last week to escalate my despair. And the thing which hurt the most, was the secondary feeling. You see, any time, I am in pain, or struggle or suffering, I recall how my family or origin would view this as not only what I deserve, but as what I cause and earn, or simply manufacture.
Any observable overwhelm: pain, discomfort, need, sensitivity, or limit of mine which inconvenienced them/called for some level of heightened consideration- went into the pot of: She is a pain in the ass, ungrateful (as evidenced by her inability and unwillingness to just be happy and comfortable and to go with the flow), manipulative, difficult, impossible. WE shall reduce her to a more manageable size. She is unmanageable.
The family system and culture- by labelling me pain in the ass, could collectively and comfortably diminish, disregard, and banish me…once it was established that I did have it coming, right? Will she ever learn that those needs, limits, struggles, pains are hers to manage and bringing them out into the open, shall only increase her suffering (by her own hand—it is her choice).
The system demands a certain posture and kissing of the ring, which I cannot manage or feign, and this was regarded as a breach of the highest level.
What if I had grown up with even one single person who saw me, heard me, was kind and compassionate and DECIDED that I was worth understanding, worthy of peace and comfort and sheltering? What if, just one adult in my life had chosen to concern themselves with exactly why I felt so overwhelmed and pained literally all the time? Instead, this sensitivity and lack of resilience was labelled and “treated” as: a bad attitude, negative, ungrateful, angry, difficult, manipulative, overly sensitive, pain in the ass.
My neurology is such that I feel overwhelmed by most all sensory input. Things which dont even register for some hit me in high definiton at a cellualr level. In response to this: I now live a life of near solitude in my home; my bedroom specifically, which is not unlike a sensory deprivation chamber, dim lighting, mellow color scheme, 68 degrees, silent, orderly, and if any scent at all, lavender. Loud noises, overhead lighting, big or repetitive movements are not allowed in my bedroom. At last, I have a protected and safe space.
I am not unaware that my sensitivity is na lot for others. My HIGH sensitivity is not a choice or a crime or proof of wrongness. In addition to neurodivergent wiring: difficulty sensory processing and constant state of overwhelm (My nervous system feels under siege in the presence of most others— speaker phones, cologne, clicking pens, bright lights, or any visual, auditory, or olfactory chaos.) This state of constant overwhelm calls for more rest than most typically require, yet I rarely sleep or rest, and this leaves me especially vulnerable to emotional impact.
I imagine lil Magda – constantly overwhelmed by the food smells and consistencies, loud voices and music and incorrect temperatures (my body does not regulate temperature-I rarely sweat, no matter how hot-and am prone to heatstroke and then also feel chilled when humidity is present- if it is warm) Does this make sense or feel relatable to most others? No. Is it convenient and fun for anyone? Absolutely no. Does it make me bad? Also No.
Add to that gaslighting and shunning which flowed in response to these unhidable discomforts of mine. The ongoing message: If you are unhappy or uncomfortable, that is on you, do not burden us with it. You have either caused, imagined, or brought on any claimed pain. Oh, and fuck you. Smile godammit. Your failure to arrange your face and attitude to one of pleasure is proof of lack of gratitude and assholery. Fix that or fuck off and pay the price.
You say you’re cold—instead of a blanket or jacket, we will offer a thermostat reading. You say you are hungry, instead of a simple low sensory impact snack, you a get cold dismissal with an offering only of the time of your last feeding as evidence of your lying about hunger and an attempt to manipulate or seek attention. You need a bathroom, nope, you just went. You are sad or afraid (overwhelmed and don’t understand why because you are small and lack the language and understanding of yourself). Look around, everyone is happy. What is wrong with you? Why must you ruin everything? When will you learn? You. ARE. The. Problem. Get different.
Family of origin people and the person I once married would insist I was not abused. Would that also mean that their behaviors and treatment of me were not in fact not abusive? Hmmmm
Emotionally abusive acts and acts of emotional neglect and abandonment are in fact abuse.
Serenity + Flow- easy and magical flow- we were convinced this has not been done before, that we invented this way of being together- as we have neither witnessed nor experienced a connection like ours. Fluid Connection- How is it possible for only the most beautiful energy to flow through and around us, completely unrestricted and unbound? None of those familiar feelings of judgment, resentment, irritation, anxiety
Effortless conversation expanding in all directions
Easy and bellyaching laughter- unbeatable eye contact and smiles, inside jokes and language
The only thing dramatic about us – the intensity of the love – our utter disbelief- Ours – a blessed connection, precious but not fragile
Shared experiences as each of our love languages
Expansion
Mutual desire and yearning for each other’s presence, ideas, voice, touch, scent, taste- at each of the sensory levels- we delight in each other
Kindness, genuine and overarching interest in each other
Easy pivots and adjusting – Tenderness – Erotica (a thing we discovered together)
Beautiful kisses, hugs, touches and all forms of physical expression
Thoughtful surprises:
Books, Random Treats, Flowers, Candy, Snacks, Favorite beverages, Candles, Soaps, Spices, Blankets, massages that were wanted (and never creepy and one sided)
Motorcycle rides – Sunrises and sunsets – Meal after beautiful meal
Shared visions of and desires for a future of more of what we were already doing
Best friends and more
More more more -Please
All this with a man whom I did not pick. At a time when I was actively seeking only scheduled weekly dates. My picker is broken. And then…I surrendered to a man and a connection, I could not have chosen or even envisioned for myself. I surrendered to him. Showing up all the hours in all of the ways -day after beautiful day. Days, weeks, months flying by with a man whom I actively and with repeated efforts tried to NOT choose.
Recovery introduced me to surrender (acceptance- leaning in) rather than force (instead of my will- thy will be done).
I remain lost and confused about my ability to choose. Because my choosing has consistently rested on beliefs and feelings and perceptions rooted in my brokenness (all the lies and myths, I was raised on, the things I was taught about my own worthiness and lovability and capacity for loving and sustainable connection) and resulted in attachments which flow from that very dark place.
I CHOSE the man I married because the dynamic was familiar(like of the family)- disconnected, volatile, fragile, scary- affirming of all the worst things I believed about myself.
I chose my next LTR because, he was kind and honest…but still missing a type of connection I was dying for. I thought that connection was the price to pay for someone who would not actively harm, betray or take from me. Therapy allowed me to understand, I was allowed to want more and capable of more and worthy of more, that I was not an ungrateful monster for desiring more
I have been struggling to share about the untraditional nature of my relationship, which is by far the only profoundly satisfying one I have known – a magical combination of both calm and wildly exciting. Who knew that this was a thing?
Because of my love for candles, O gifted me three nice candles in the most whoelsome peaceful scents. And with regard for my unique wiring and thus an appreciation for high impact tactile experiences, he super surprised me with what were advertised as low temperature candles designed specifically for wax play (not a thing which I had previously known and am more than happy to explore with him).
Anyway, we established a color code (green, yellow, red) to indicate comfort levels and limits. He began dripping wax on my back from the black candle, which I think was supposed to be the lowest temperature, of the three. The very first drop felt not unlike second-degree burn and was an immediate CODE RED+, which we found hysterical.
O continued adjusting the candle to find a range/distance which was hot, but not dangerously so. But, with each drip still CODE RED(ish), he was like “It seems I would have to actually stand on the bed to get the candle far enough from your body to avoid burning you.”
So, we tried the other two candles- both the blue and the red were each just as immediately skin searing as the black one.
O visited the vendor’s website for reviews and tips or things we could do differently- And literally almost all reviews for this product line were in all caps: DO NOT BUY!!!! – some even including photos of blistering and scalding as a result of wax play with these candles.
I suppose we will need a different kind.
On a less fun note, I must express my gratitude for my program of recovery which helps me deal with the boys’ father who has given our older son(with a license for less than a year and has totalled a car) permission to travel alone (in a sixteen year old vehicle) to Kentucky(7+hours) to race and to camp. That neither of us could get to him quickly in the event of car trouble or physical injury, begs all of my old fearful and reactive behaviors to kick in. I feel desperate to tell his father about himself.
Sharing here allows me to resist. I am proud to have expressed my concern with grace- no judgment (or demand) to him. I suspect if he changes his decision, he will claim it is to accomodate me which is farcical to anyone who knows us. It would be because it has been made clear that the responsiblity of any resulting problems will undeniably rest squarely on his shoulders. It will probably be fine. I however, am disinterseted in making decisions which could prove otherwise. I look forward to the relief of some solid wax play. I would like the wax so hot that it, if one degree hotter, would damage my skin. Asap. #sensoryfreak
There’s so much to unpack from the last few months. I was sick for an unusually long 17 days with something that wasn’t the flu or COVID. There was a whirlwind romance that I’m not quite ready to delve into yet. My older son had a bike accident that required surgery and will keep him in a cast for 3-5 months, which is a painful reminder that his father and I will never be able to work as a team again, even in parenting, due to actions taken by him and my sister. I long for the luxury of forgetting and moving on. While staying with his father, my son complained of pain, but his father outright refused to seek medical care, citing costs—even after spending several hundred dollars on our younger son’s homecoming and taking him to urgent care for a COVID test out of frustration over multiple positive home tests. This messaging to our sons is incredibly devastating.
I can’t forget the childcare and child support that the boys’ father unjustly withheld for years before finally agreeing to a 50/50 split. He denied essential medical and childcare needs, placing a heavy financial burden on me as the primary custodian of two young children who were often sick. I was fortunate to find per diem work with a friend, allowing me to miss shifts without fear of losing my job, and I’m grateful for the generous financial support from my mother, which helped us keep our home—purchased with my own money, not a penny of his. I was resourceful and relentless, walking dogs, helping the elderly, and collecting recyclables and junk to sell.
The two sisters the boys’ father relies on have each greatly benefited from divorcing wealthy men. He can count on these sisters for financial support and manipulation, while a third sister remains estranged from him because he cannot manipulate her. These relationships serve as his models for navigating life—seeking to exploit others’ resources while rejecting and diminishing those who are not compliant or actively providing for him.
Not only did he seek to benefit from my resources, but he also aimed to drain me. When he realized he couldn’t take the house from me, he committed to making me lose it. He started by regularly withholding his less than $1,000 a month in support and then demanded his name be removed from the loan, despite having insisted it be included when purchasing the home, which was funded entirely by the sale of my condo, while I was not in a position to refinance.
The costs of my son’s surgery and ongoing care are overwhelming for me. Even more difficult is the reminder of my sister, who ensured the permanent divide between my boys’ parents. How can one forgive, forget, and heal when the harm is ongoing?
Add to that a recent hit and run incident in which I chased down and confronted the driver. That experience felt strikingly similar to dealing with my sister and my boys’ father, leaving me flattened for days. The car accident was minor and could have been resolved quickly if the woman who hit me had taken responsibility without me having to push her.
As a highly sensitive person who at best, sleeps from 10:30 PM to 2:17 AM, I struggle with resilience, compounded by the work of active trauma recovery. Most days, I barely have the mental energy and clarity for the essentials, leaving no bandwidth for a fulfilling life with creativity, goals, planning, or relaxation. After decades of this, I am beat.
The intention for Wholesome Badass is to share my journey, my UN-learnings- openly, inviting community with Trusted Others who also are intensely feeling beings.
By design, it seems, he became my everything; my comfort, my laughter, my peace, my joy. He is the place where I have felt the most alive, the most connected, the most whole. And yet, he is also the thing
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I’ve shared before about the mantra I use to punish myself: “Winners keep winning, and losers keep losing.” Lately, life has felt like an uphill climb, made harder by a tangled mess of medications. With my memory and focus already
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There are moments in parenting that bring me a deep sense of grief, moments when I know I’m falling short. I think about my boys, the love I have for them, and the ways I wish I could be more
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I am seeking healing in the form of a way to channel all of this old information and energy out of me, so that it doesn’t continue backfiring, making me sicker, sadder, and more afraid. What I long for is
