It is really hard to heal from things you were not supposed to talk about. Notes From Your Therapist

Narcissists Seek Validation -Not Help

So, I find it important to note that in my obsessvie reading and information seeking re: narcissitic abuse, or really any kind of trauma, the victims are typically the ones seeking actual professional help. Because we are not naturally wired to process trauma, qualified help is prudent, if not essential. Very odd to observe a narcissist going to great lengths to portray themselves as the deeply wounded vicitm and ALSO not feel the need for counselling and trained professional support for themselves.

I have no doubt that I will take the rest of my days to recover from my experience of those who felt it suitable to systematically diminish and traumatize (my children and) me. My need for support with my healing remains ongoing. I realize that seeking help doesn’t exclude me from the possiblity of having learned and pulled some narcissitc antics, but I was starved for a better way of living and wanted help and change as badly as I needed it. That is where I differ. In recovery we commit to thee work of changing the things we can(ourselves).

My narcissists tend to be overly obssessed with righteous self reliance & shouldering/bulldozing their way through people and situations which are emotionally complex. Like… they are ther own gods (and also deeply needing to be perceived by others as elevated in some ways – and above human/inner struggle) –as well as void of desire to learn, self reflect, change, grow.

Oh and happy national daughter’s day. Obvi.

My Trauma is My Gift

In sharing the ugliest parts of my experience, I exercise my gift to make others feel seen.  For those who have not found the words or the safe places to share experiences that either defy articulation or are generally socially unacceptable, my sharing allows them to feel seen, heard, known, and unalone.  Not just in things that have been done to harm me, but in my own harmful thinking and reactions to confusion, pain, and lack of safe connection. My absolute lack of healthy coping skills and ability to manage, things that were constant, covert, and unmanageable. My transparency and ownership over my choices allows me to show up as a trusted other, for those on the path, or seeking a path to recovery and healing. What if I were to only to report the misdeeds of others alongside the rightness of my ways? Who needs or benefits from that? There is no credibility, no value in that. I am mistaken, confused, and straight up wrong, much of the time—which seems odd given my family and marriage experience with those who are never wrong or sorry for their actual doings. Weird.

Because of my work in recovery, I am able to hear to the pain of others, with a listening and empathetic heart. I can not know their exact pain but I openly understand and acknowledge the grief, shame, disconnection, and patterns of abuse, that often leave victims feeling too ashamed to speak.  Frequently, I am too eager to try to relate my own experience and make it about me which is an unwholesome behavior I am working to correct.  Imposing my experience like THAT is very hijackery.  Most people want to feel seen and heard.  Except for those who absolutely do not:  those who want others to only see, recall, reference, and believe as is required to maintain a group or personal image of goodness, happiness, infallibility.  That is very gaslighty behavior. Toxic. To those people,my healing practices are a threat.  My shining a light on and need to examine things they prefer to remain dark and elusive is upsetting. My efforts to heal and understand, are perceived as a betrayal and an assault. I repeatedly begged for us to do the work to heal together. I was denied. Emphatically. So, I do it on my own, here, with you.

Still, sharing is my greatest gift. Each time a hurting or hurtful person sees a part of themselves in my story which allows them to heal, forgive, acknowledge or amend— WELL, that is recovery at work.  If detailing my life experiences and recovery makes a person feel criticized or bad, that is on them.  That is their ego telling them that something is not right(which is true).  AND It is easier for people like that, to label me the problem, rather than to self reflect, adjust, challenge their own unwholesome choices & behaviors, worthy of examination. They expect for their less pretty and glorifying behaviors to go unmentioned, unacknowledged, unrecognized, overlooked, denied. They will go to great lengths to avoid exposure, vulnerability, accountability.

All people deserve to be seen. I see you. And…I do my best to make myself visible. Here I am. Still.

Step ZERO

So based on my boys’ father’s recent behavior/mood,   I assumed he either had managed to wrangle some female attention from someone other than his sisters or mine or found the right kind of pot. Who knows.. maybe just his brain chemistry was level for a minute, he cycles pretty regularly.  His non aggression never lasts and I continue to try to find a pattern outside of the striking similarity to my sister’s moods and attitudes…reward, fawn, flatter, subtly or overtly criticize, condemn with gossip, ignore, demand, alienate, passively strike below the radar. Anywhom, it would seem as though the pot, girl, or mood did not last.

Friday was my boys’ day to return to me for our week together.  In the morning, my older son called to ask if he could ride the schoolbus here.   Of course he can.  So we planned for that.  Following that, I sent a 4 way text to boys and dad telling my younger son he was welcome to also take the bus here and we would collect their things later in the evening.  With no response, as boys were in school and dad not openly objecting, I assumed younger son would also ride the bus home.  But he called me right after school in a panic saying he did not know what to do.  Because….

Rather than responding to group text to say No, that wont work for me, his dad text him privately to say “Disregard your mom’s text.  I will pick you up.” 

What unnecessary drama and stress.  Who even does shit like that?  Oh wait.  I know two people who do many things-JUST like that.  But for goodness sake,  can children not be spared unnecessary confusion and conflict?  

What an asshole. I am so tired of experiencing this very familiar brand of chaos and conflict.  It is triggering because of the madness of what he did with my sister.  So when he does the things, it reminds me of all of the bullshit she did, does to erase and silence me- to strike me from the record.

How am I supposed to not hate a person who imposes hardship and risk on my young boys? I have not found my willingness yet to surrender his insanity. Recovery reminds me daily, to surrender…to accept the things I cannot change. One day at a time. BUT—I dont want to accept it. I guess, for today, I am back at Step Zero.

AND it is all so fkn gaslighty. Oh really, have I caused you to be sneaky and abusive, again? Very sad that my sons are subjected first to his troublemaking and then also my emotional reactions. But they are clearly witnessing first hand- what he DOES and does not do. He continues to show them, so I do not have to.

Jilan Catherine Ghoneim Whitney

9.11

September 11….What a heartbreak of a day.  Immeasurable loss, fear and grief.  I recall watching the news, alone, in tears, from my home in CA, as I was getting ready for work.  Crying … stunned, I answered a 7am call from my aunt in NY, calling to touch base, as did a few friends.  THAT just made us want to check in.  Right?

Well, I did not hear from my mother or sister(though we were on our usual fractured terms, I kinda thought as my mom and older sister, I might), I group emailed to say how hurt I was that either they didn’t think to call me or they collectively decided not to.  In response to that email, my brother in law sent me a lengthy scathing missive, proudly copying my mother and sister, telling me all the ways I do and will always suck and…. that his secretary’s brother was at the pentagon, so why should they be concerned about me and and and.  JILAN GHONEIM CATHERINE WHITNEY

So, with the blessing of my mother and sister, he came after me for having the nerve to say I was hurt (which is against the rules and upsets everyone).  That is the family tradition.  I directly and openly express sentiments of no or ouch and I get my well earned character assassination and reminder “Who TF do you think you are?”.

I filed for name change the following day.  I thought why TF am I shackled with a name like GHONEIM (mid nationwide assault on terror/”arabs”)which binds me only to people who do this?  It has always been this way.  The collective agreement/need to silence, banish and shame me.  The desperation of that made me louder, not more effective, just louder, terrified, and insane-ish.  Recovery helps me to cope in sane ways to that which is not sane–to see what my options are for self care. I can distance myself, speak my truth without fear, shame, or profanity.  I do that now, here and also in my real life.  Ok, so I am known to still lose my shit with my sons and react with volume and profanity. I do promptly and genuinely apologize and try harder. PTSD makes it difficult to respond and act right, though.

When I visited NC a decade later with no resolution around that email exchange, I was charged with being a bully(not bending over as I am told to, makes me THE bully) for not wanting to join my sister and her husband for dinner.  I offered repeatedly to make time to work things out so we could gather for dinner.  I basically was told to go fuck myself in all of the ways.   Blamed and shamed. OH—And told that I manufactured chaos…because apparently(in sick fkn families) requesting to resolve conflict is the same as creating it. My unwillingness to move TF on and show up for more of the same was the designated problem.

And since I was not to have a voice or say or any impact on the narrative, my sister had me de-indexed on google.  You can still find me on a few rando search engines though. So… if you search my name, Maggie Ghoneim or Maggie Ghoneim Fayetteville NC or Manhattan Beach CA, not even my FB profile pulls up.  Not an article from when I was teaching or did well in beach volleyball tournaments…Only my mother’s obit— another lovely choice by my female sibling to include my ex husband as a survivor.   He literally did not like, respect or care for my mother or sister and only knew them after divorce and was charmed by their proximity to affluence– and the pain, which aligning with them brought down upon me. My sister used my ex to help further divide me from my mother(as if help were needed), at the end of her life and then discarded him once finished. His elevated ability to inflict more financial damage to me without the help of my mom to offset and manage that— and for my sister I am certain she had some greed issues driving that scenario. I imagine them high fiving now—Ew.

I will continue sharing.  I will not forget, pretend, deny, feel shame or allow myself or story to be erased. Perhaps it is a blessing, maybe someone has written ugly truths about me which now cannot be seen. But I am ok with my ugly truths. I am not afraid of what I have said and done. Many many things I feel less than great about, though. My image has never been a horse I would bet on. I am now a person who knows and does better and people who have known me well and for any amount of time in the last 15 years would agree, I am a person who can be trusted. A fierce truth teller with badass integrity. I do as I say I will and I own all of what is mine. When I make messes, as I do, I clean them right up—out in the open. I am not afraid to be openly wrong or to expose a person or situation begging for illumination. Am I emotional? Totally. Can you make me lose my shit? Probably. But do my words and actions on the daily reflect honesty and goodness? Ab-so-fucking-lutely. Do I often look like a mess of a person who has utterly given up? Also, yes. Again, my appearance is just one of sustained exhaustion at all levels. Am I kind? Yes. Freindly and social? Not in the least. Do people with things to hide feel very uncomfortable with me? Of course. Do I blame others for my behavior? Nope? Do I own my bullshit? YUP–100% #transparency 24/7. Will I lie to cover my ass or save my face? Nope. Will I lie to cover yours? Also No.

When toxic types can’t control the way you see yourself, they intiate efforts influence how others see you; they play the martyr under assault. A smear campaign is a preemptive strike to slander and sabotage reputation to reduce possiblity of support network and validity. Designed to silence or to render the victim’s statements, sentiments, objections unwelcome and inadmissible. JiILAN GHONEIM FAYETTEVILLE MARRIED TO FRANK WHITNEY

I do not think sharing the things which my sister can easily have been observed doing to me is smearing her. Her active interference in the lives of my boys, their father, and me is a legit situation—of her doing and deciding. It is literally undeniable and deliberately harmful in ways that will last.

Covid and the Narcissist

While I absolutely do not want another Pandemic shut down, I do experience some smug schadenfreude feelings about what THE SHUT DOWN does to narcissistic types.  Particularly those who refuse to adhere to safety precautions and mandates, while simultaneously hating the disruption to their lives, the most.  Additionally, I confess to feeling pleased by the idea of what shutdown does to folks with insatiable appetites for affirmation. (I believe this is reffered to as narcissistic supply).

Without daily contact with people to impress, manipulate, dominate, or diminish, narcissitic types must be super uncomf—and this feels gratifying.  Not proud of this, just aware and sharing.

My mother’s upcoming birthday triggers all sorts of feelings and flashbacks of pain and harm caused by what appear to be narcissistic behaviors.  While I acknowledge my inability to diagnose NPD, I am able to identify (and harshly judge, obvi) narcissistic actions, attitudes and patterns.  And to be clear, I learned what I lived. I emulated that shit on many occasions.

One trait/need which stands out (to me) is a need to always present themselves as EITHER the victim or the hero.  Always.  Completely void of any sense of legitimate and grounded accountability-  incessant efforts to extract summon praise and pity—unrelenting dedicated efforts to control what others think and feel.

I hate what the shut down does to those who lose income and the children missing school and of course, those whose health and lives are directly threatened.  But I am utterly delighted to think if what it does to the NPD-types.  #sorrynotsorry

Also, while I appreciated less traffic & people in general, it was not easy having two teenage boys to quarantine with. But I cannot deny that it was extremely beneficial for our family in this home. We will take it one day at a time. It is what it is. But also, please— all kids need to go TF to school already(safely, of course). Just saying.

Proud and Protected

There was not a single moment with family or my husband type person- the person who went after all my shit–with endorsements by my female sibling (it literally makes me ill to refer to him as anything other than the father of my children), in which I experienced even a glimpse of pride or protection. I was neither safe from them nor with them— Those decades were the Most Unsafe and shameful times. It was very dysregulating….not knowing how to find safety or to be a safe person. And still the most punishing part, was believing I caused, deserved, and imagined the harmful ways of those in charge of loving me. Lil Magda and even Big Magda needed and deserved a guardian, a nurturer, a guide, a courageous truth seeker/teller.

I now experience flashes of pride and protection within my chosen relationships. They are healthy people and healthy connections. But I have a ways to go in my healing before I will be able to just feel and stay present to what is. I am still highly dysregulated and learning to live life fully remains my greatest challenge. But I do know how to be safe.

i only feel hard to love when im trying to feel understood by the wrong people

Hard To Love

I feel constantly curious as to what my sister could have communicated to THE family to make them ALL (but three) literally ghost me. I was not close with any of them but to hear from nobody when my mother died is more than non-closeness.  It is maddening to have not a sliver of a clue – what they got sold.  What I know for certain is that my female sibling is desperate to save face and gather support for what she was doing and would absolutely say or do anything to appear right and a victim, even while her actions observable to many, demonstrated otherwise.  But seriously, with no contact at all with any of them for years, what could I have been reported to have done to EARN this? Since looking good or innocent or blameless is not part of my situation, I would totally blab unfortunate details about myself right here, if I had even the teeniest idea. I guess Iwill never know. Maybe one day, I will stop hating that so much. Must be unspeakably bad.

What I do feel grateful about is that with no member of the family acknowledging me at the time of my mother’s passing, I do now breathe more easily knowing that nobody shall burden me with information of sickness or death of those to whom I remain genetically linked.  We are not each other’s concerns.   They are all actively in support of this kind of family dynamic or complicit. I do suffer from it though. If the plan was intended to make me feel abandoned and shitty. It absolutely works. Still. Every single day.

This outcome was a lifetime coming though.  I think it is clear that my misdeeds and damaging words(mostly until the age of 40 when I discovered recovery from, a name for, and solutions to– the family disease of perceptions and relationships) were rooted in my feeling impossibly bad, unwanted, and unworthy- basically because I was repeatedly told so. And– Believing that happiness is proof of worthiness, was particularly damaging to a depressed and traumatized child–then adult. From my earliest days, I was unacceptable and undeserving of protection, connection and peace– but for periodic lapses when I either felt momentarily ok or managed to appear so.  

Moving cross country relieved some of that.  Abstaining from contact with my family and ending a fucked up marriage which mimicked that family experience, were steps in the right direction. I have used up my adult life attempting to understand and create space and be different from those who diminsh me– and also have never managed to progress toward discerning what I might actually want or enjoy.  Stopping the bleed has not equalled healedness and peace. It was necessary and affirming right action which seemed promising….until the unholiest of unions: my sister and my ex.  I wake to the grief of that each day…and of course review and study it nightly before sleeping and dreaming of exactly this.   I am grateful for the high observability of calculated cruelty and damage of those carefully executed arrangements. Things done and said which negatively affect my children to this day.  While justifications may abound, there is no excuse and no forgetting or denying the fallout from THAT.

Today is the 1-Year anniversary of the death of our beloved Goldie.  I cried more for that snake and the loss it was to my son than I ever did over the passing of my mother and especially hers. It is also the anniversary of the horseshit birthday party hosted by my sister (for my son turning 8) to include my ex, his sister, and my young sons– AND not me.  

Clearly it is also my son’s birthday which is stressful because I feel more pain than joy which is no measure of my love for him or his lovability and worthiness.   I feel too low to effectively participate in celebratory things, ever.  And my secondary feelings over this are equally intense, feeling sinful about being a depressed and traumatized person, frightened over the ongoing and lasting affects on my sons.

Below are random thoughts I wrote down in the last few weeks that need to be expressed so that I may move beyond the study of them.

If you have dismissed and judged my distress, you have added to it, and no doubt have feelings only bout how wrong and burdensome and at fault I am. You are not my people. I reject you right back. But of course, I wish it were all different.

I have existed in constant fear of the world and the people in it(starting first with those who had the most access to me) and of what they would do to me and allow for me and demand of me. People in my home needed for me to be like them and punished me for failing. My longing for sameness(of people who sickend me, literally) made me want to die. If only I had been a better pretender, abuse getter and master of collective rejection and banishment or simply adopted a mental likeness to them, in the ways in which they needed–so they could be good to me.

My family, nuclear and extended, perpetuated my despair(while judging it) with collective efforts to force unfit solutions(demand I be and feel different) rather than helping me(the youngest of the family) learn to actually deal with it.

Also—Just because you said it doesn’t make it true.  By not saying a thing, you have also not made it less true.

Just because you remember it, does not mean it happened as you think it did.  Not remembering a thing happening does not mean it did not happen.

Love(the kind which I now understand, beleieve in, and practice) says I value you more than I judge you.  I would rather connect than be right or in charge and I will do nothing to harm you. These ways were not of interest to the family in which I was born. My efforts to look at and bridge gaps and to hear each other got me exactly what I have today.

Thank gawd I am no longer alone with these thoughts and experiences. I gave up seeking permission from those whom I needed most to hear me, to see me, to show me love and connection to allow me to be who and how I am.

Today feels challenging. Poor Sweet Greg will be here shortly with his gentle strength, patience, support, and unwavering loyalty. I don’t yet know what to do with it-even after nearly 6 years, it feels awkward and uncomfortable.

Thoughtful Cruelty

I obssess reflect regularly on how my reactions to trauma: insecurity, shame, and depression were treated harshly, by the people on whom I counted most. I was openly and collectively labeled/dismissed as negative and difficult –which apparently makes it acceptable to diminish and to show a person all the ways in which they do not count.   That trauma lasted through decades. And I openly acknowledge that I unknowingly took my unhealed trauma out into the world and intintially tried to flip the script—in ways intended to position me to be on the giving end of the discounting, dominating, dismissing and diminishing. I am not proud of that.  I am now 52 years old and thankfully I now know and do better. There is no excuse for being abusive.

In my family of origin (and later in my pathetic and similar marriage) I was either being invalidated, scolded or handled like a poopy diaper.  The observable manifestations of my discomfort seemed to be regarded as villainous, betrayal, weakness, and punishable.  Oh, also as INADMISSABLE and a moral failing.

Recovery continues to reveal for me that I do not have to feel happy or pleased in order to have love and good things in my life.  See, my life is blessed in so many ways including now, only kind and loving people.  I recognize and honor the blessings with acts of gratitude.  In recovery, we learn that gratitude cannot be extracted in the form of having to pretend to feel or be different from how we actually do. That is something entirely different from gratitude. Not sure what even to call it. Emotional Blackmail. Conditional something. Whatever, that bullshit is toxic and traumatic.

There have been long periods of my life, so dark and in which I was too broken to appreciate anything, much less enjoy it.  Today, I appreciate so many things but enjoy very few.  That is recovery and depression. 

Depression is real and difficult and even traumatic when failure to mask or deny it puts you in the crosshairs of your caregivers and genetic links.

I am unapologetically imperfect, emotionally complex, and actively healing.  My habitual examination is no longer me trying to be heard, beleived, right, good, or better.  THIS is me just fucken trying.  Period. 

I recently made the mistake of re-watching the George Floyd video and felt crushing sadness for living in a world where Derek Fkn Chauvin could look directly into the camera while (publicly even) murdering a man. He felt certain he would be supported and protected because he was being protected and supported by his fellow officers and those who continue to argue for his right and duty to do exactly as he did. Even if Floyd had just murdered a person, this is not legally or morally acceptable. It is also triggering AF because this was my sister with me. Obviously to a lesser degree, since I am not dead, physically. She felt vested to do exactly as she did and does.

I find myself wondering if the cruelty is out of thoughtlessness and unknowing or if indeed it is as thoughtfully administered as it seems. Also, not meaning for a thing to unfold as it did, does not lessen the impact and reality of it having happened. I continue to challenge things which I was taught and learned and remember about family, connection, power, and worthiness.

If standing up for yourself burns a bridge, fuck that bridge Jilan Catherine Ghoneim Whitney

Artificial Indifference

Artificial Indifference—Finally, a word to name the thing which was sought, feigned, and revered, in my family and then an equally fucked up marriage. I observe with sadness, my younger son working to develop this vibe. We call it “Bro Bro” or “Chad” when ever he assumes the “whatever” tone of voice, blank face, and energy– in times when a situation is deeply affecting him or someone else. He refuses/resists acknowledgement or respect for any sort of struggle or discomfort, his or anybody’s.

What the fuck? Poor guy. His father’s bullshit unwillingness to share the most basic logistical information with me regarding our sons, keeps my little guy feeling in the middle. My son is hostage to this highly conflicted postion of needing to share the information his father withholds. He works hard to appear calm, unaffected, and unbiased. He fully knows the price for doing otherwise and seems naturally wired to pull it off. My other son gets completely torn up over this call to disassociate.

What my sister and my boys’ father and our genetically linked peoples, knowingly perpetuate through THIS— is soul killing to children. It is traumatic. Why the constant required hustle to appear indifferent to the natural discomfort from the hurtful things which others think, say, do?

My sons return home today from an 11 day visit with an aunt who openly diminishes me in front of them(because I had the audacity to say no to her, calmly and with finality)…..all in support of their dad(her brother whom she accepts conditionally and whose love she can easily buy). I have an idea: What about being in support of young and developing boys, nephews you would probably insist you would do anything for???? My sons fly home a day later than I was told they would and with no flight or return information offered. Lesson learned. I will not agree to another trip in which they are required to abandon me or themselves completely, in order to enjoy the benefits of inclusion and protection.

I am angry. Recovery does not require that I not feel anger, only that I not allow the feeeeeeling to control me, my words, my actions. I am recovered enough to not comment directly to the boys’ father about these damaging choices and patterns. I accept that THIS is truly the best he can do. I don’t accept it, like feel good about it—so much as I accept the fact of its reality.

I am proud as hell that I can feel this disturbed, rightly so, and still say nothing to compromise my sense of self and wellness. People benefitted from and relied for too long on the distraction of my reactive behaviors.

Motherfukker not only breaks our boys’ hearts and decent parenting codes– but also the law. He is legally required to provide this information. Until he can do that, this will be the last to which I will consent. THIS is not a retaliation by me, just preservation and parenting. I really did marry my snakey sister. I genuinely appreciate actual reptilian snakes doing their snake like things. But the sneaky, crafty, underhanded, hiding in the shadows and slithering tactics. I just cannot.

Recently, I heard someone use the term “my ex”. I realized that I would literally never refer to the emotional, moral, and spiritual clone of my sibling, whom I married, as “MY ex”. He is not MY anything. He is my reminder and my final lesson, I suppose. I refer to him exclusively as the father of my children. And because he probably finds it a more favorable look to have a failed marriage, for which he may blame me, than just plain single AF, I feel certain he proudly employs the term “my ex” in regards to me. Also, I have now met, not one but TWO women who have gone on dates with him and reported that he wasted their first (and only) dates talking about me. Ew. I do beleive that with his steady commitment to his promise to never change, that our boys would be better with one of us gone. This makes me pretty sad. Too much has been asked of them and snatched from them. With a depressed (yes,still) mother who is openly and frequently experiencing pain and a father who insists that you speak a pain/probem into existence by mentioning it or making any attempt to resolve it. Foooock. In denying traumas of the past, the traumas are perpetuated.

On a side-ish and spiteful note, I constantly remind myself of the following in an effort to curb my expectations:

-how the only real “love” relationship the boys’ father had before me(as indicated by him) was with his best friend Roger’s wife, and he blamed her for using him and destroying that friendship. He actually felt victimized by the fallout of the choice to do what he did with her. Apparently Roger has now (30 years later) happily remarried and recovered and generously forgiven him. My boys’ father felt it equally suitable to align with my sister at our children’s expense and to maintain that situationship for exactly as long as she was willing. And… he reached out to his sister’s(the sister he used and discarded repeatedly) ex husband, whom he barely knew when they were married (very hostile and traumatic divorce, so they each probably enjoyed the shared agitation over her reaction to not loving the bullshit) to bond and befriend. And his other sister took up with her ex husband’s best friend as soon as her divorce was final. So, this is what I am trying to work with, along with my own wounds and demons.

This is ridiculous….like I am gossiping and shit talking to myself. My behavior is not always so good. Still. Maybe I will do better tomorrow.

Trying to hurt me by bringing up my past is like trying to rob my old house. I nolonger live there. That aint my stuff.

Today v. Yesterday

If I choose to confront something currenlty taking place, which I percieve as worthy of addressing– and a person attempts to shut me down or divert attention to something from the past, intended to silence me, I now understand that: There is literally no where to go, no reasonable conversation to be expected with someone who feels entitled to use, dominate, or diminish another person— and who’s only tools for managing discord are denial and passive aggression. Facing conflicts directly and being able to work toward resolution rather than victory and domination, is wholesome and badass. Refusal to acknowledge or discuss conflicts is just bad and assy. Winning and losing are for races, games, and wars, and not sustainable and safe relationships.

What a relief to have been freed from the shame of the unfortunate ways in which I handled pain and conflict, prior to the teachings of recovery. Regretful, of course. But ashamed–nope– Not even a little. I would however feel deeply ashamed if I were still doing and saying the things–and then also defending them or blaming someone else for my choice of words and actions.