Be catuious of connections that feel like home if home wasn't always a safe space for you. Quote Photo Ales Myles

2021 Happy Birthday

I did it! I enjoyed a happy birthday and am pleased to have now officially wrapped up that part of the year. Sweet Greg gets that even the words: Happy Birthday can make me feel immediately stressed, like the historical berating of “look happy” godammit: Only losers & the ungrateful are unhappy.

To me, my birthday still feels like a marker of another year in which I have failed to no longer be depressed, failed to forget and just move on already from things which were shaming and harmful and unnecessarily adding to the difficulty of life as I expereince it. Just another year in which I failed to beCOME worthy, to those who have been consistent and steadfast in attempts to shrink, erase, and silence me- and also demand a performance of happiness by me.

Festivities for the week kicked off with a four day getaway, with only Favorite- to the beach. Just the two of us. Eating when and what we liked, laughing, resting, laughing, sunning, laughing, so much laughing, and nightly binge watching Breaking Bad. I enjoyed every simple minute, the most amount. The much needed vacation eased me into the week of my actual birthday which was punctuated by an evening of favorite things, but also things equally enjoyed by the people helping me to celebrate: Flank Steak, Roasted Broccoli, Parker House Rolls, Salad, Baked Taters, Berry Cobbler, Ice Cream, and We Are the Millers. We ate and laughed until our belly’s could take no more. It was all super connecty and fun and nobody was more or less important for the evening. We were a solid WE.

Favorite always makes more than enough so nobody has to be careful about “taking too much”. And nobody anxiously and resentfully monitoring other people’s plates and fretting a scarcity. We eat a lot. We just do- not greedy or assholey, just voracious eaters with crazy fast metabolism. Sorry not sorry.

Why would a person host a meal and not make absolutely certain to have enough of everything and spare themselves the angst of possibly running out and then judging the people whose fault that is, for eating how much they ate? Like, it is totally avoidable. Don’t host a meal with potentially not enough food, for family and friends. It is insane to create a scenario in which you become judgy and stressed by the quanities eaten by others. Right? It makes no sense, seems petty, stingy and non good-hosty.

I get that for non-family and non super close people events(like social stuff), we must be mindful of our portions and others. I 100% understand and respect that.

While I am deeply disturbed by throwing food away, I am more ok doing that, than not having enough for everyone to satisfy themselves. Ok, rant over for now.

I did receive generous and thoughtful gifts, reflective of my likes and needs and– I want and love all -my- shit. I guess all these words boil down to my realizing and needing to articulate my very basic need and(now) choice to feel seen, heard, safe, welcome, and included within my chosen relations.

EW- I am flashing back hard to birthdays past-rant resumed:

My thinking is that gifts for a special occasion should reflect an appreciation for the recipient’s unique personhood – specific to their likes, interests, needs. Yikes- for Items presented, with an unjustified expectation for a shared appreciation with the “giver”.  To me, these items, posing as gifts are actually assignments, asking a recipient to possess a thing which is not liked or needed, by them, does not reflect generosity or love.  

To be judged as miserable for dissimilar regard for the item is menacing. I am an a-hole for not liking a thing(which has nothing to do with me) or for not pretending to like it???? How about you keep your gift, since you love it so much. Thanks but no thanks! This type of gifting has been beyond stressful and unenjoyable, for me. And here, I am referring to people with close and frequent proximity to me, not loose social or work affiliations. Those loosely connected can feel free to gift or not gift however they like. I hold no expectation for them.

For anyone, posturing as a person of closeness, in need of assigning me an item of their liking as a gesture, feel free to do so on any day but my birthday or Christmas.  I can promise to arrange my face into a smile and fawn over an obscure item of your liking, presented in the form of a gift, on any of the other 363 days of the year.

But I did have a great birthday first with Favorite and then with Sweet Greg–with my boys present for each. Food, Laughs, Truth, Everyone equally wanted, needed, and welcome. This seems simple and basic. Like connection 101. And yet it remains new to me, only in recovery, and divorce from my marriage and FOO have I experienced special days in these ways. Jilan Catherine Ghoneim

YOu can choose what you do but you can't choose what you like to do. Quote by Gretchen Rubin

Choosing

Awwwww— a neeeeeeed to “make people smile”–sounds sweet, wholesome, benevolent. Right? Ummmm… I do not always perceive it that way. Instead, it has felt stressful…because that UNYIELDING NEED/REQUIREMENT typically, (to the smile extractor) implies that: if I am not smiling or overtly pleased, one of us has failed.  

It might be different if “smile patrol” manipulated on the DL, but frequent and open assertions of intent to MAKE EVERYONE HAPPY, with over the top exhibitions as joy maker/martyr, to me, come off as more self-seeking than generous –pursuing control, attention, and outcomes.  Makes me feel like an emotional hostage. How does a anyone relax with a person desperate to curate the moods and faces of those around them?

OH! I just had an idea: How about if we each manage only ourselves and let others be who and how they are?   And calm tf down when someone is not smiling; as it is not proof of defiance, anger, or even discontent.

On the eve of my birthday, I am as grateful as I am anxious about my dinner tomorrow. The anxiety is ptsd and historical -absolutely unrelated to my current reality. (I tried to explain to favorite recently, that depression and anxiety do not care about facts, and are often entirely unrelated to what is happening in the present moment.)

We are celebrating at Favorite’s house with only foods and people chosen by me. I still angst though, because, by nature, I am unsocial, preferring solitude, deep conversations or silence- the opposite of socializing and celebration. But when I am with people who love and celebrate me as I am, these are not problems or defects. Just facts. I am safe and loved. And I enjoy myself, laughing a fuck-ton and still not so much wearing a smile, as my natural facial arrangement.

I am high strung, intense, and deeply affected by sensory and emotional input…even on and especially for birthdays and celebrations, which can easily overstimulate me. Why would any accepting person expect or demand something other? Literally, the date on the calendar changes nothing about these things.

The commandments of a Narcissistic Parent

The Commandments

“You are overreacting, out-of-control and crazy. You should just go along with this and be OK with it.”

When you are on the recieving end of this for your formative years and more, it makes you lose connection with your inner compass, costs you your faith in your ability to perceive and discern. You become lost, all that you lose makes you a loser. Worst of all, you lose, first trust in yourself, and then also trust for and of others. What a sad mess.

Shamey gaslighty maneuvers which communicate the message: “You have failed me so drastically and I am now revoking every right you have within this relationship and family.  Including your right to expressing your needs and your feelings about it.”

“So not only am I going to be righteously abusive and shaming. You don’t get to have or share your reaction to that.”  I will see to it that you are neither heard nor believed. Your experience and feelings are inadmissible.

Decades of this dynamic leave me in obsessive rumination:  Was I born awful- bad at a cellular level?  Do I really make no sense at all to anyone and am I so confused and confusing?  Is my inability to please you due to my lack of capability, strength, and worthiness-  purely defective and perpetually unreasonable? Really? Or was it maybe never actually my job to PLEASE and satisfy you??? I remind my boys constantly that it is not their job to be pleasing. Only to be honest, kind, helpful, and seeking to know their gifts and strengths, and even their struggles. And then to honor them. Displeasing a person is not the same as disrespecting them, except to a narcissist.

I observe in horror as my boys’ father relies on this style of managing and messaging with our sons, accusing them of “not getting it”  “not making sense”  “not having common sense” when their initiatives or inquiries are not inline with his own agenda and desires.  He is attempting to train them to fear his judgment, doubt themselves, to first prioritize his approval/acceptance OR PAY.  I am sickened.  It is familiar(like literally of the family) and vile. We will disrupt the cycle, if we cannot break it.

Living that way did make me very out of control. I lost my shit, but I am getting it back one day at a time. Efforts have been made to silence me here. If what I say is crazy, who even cares who might see or read it, though?

Your sense of being ok as you are is drectly related to the degree to which yur family and community accepted you as you were.

Mental Health Awareness

October is the beginning of the hardest time of year, for me, the season of my birthday and all of the festivity and expectations for holiday cheer and joy. My depression is most clearly evidenced in my lack of joy and vitality. I have lived most of my life this way(though at times better able to hide it). Depressed and joyless, not entirely void of laughter, fleeting moments of pleasure or satisfaction. But without peace, joy, by this definition is an impossibility. JOY: The experience or practice of loving what is.

When you literally hate your most basic unchangeable traits and truths, as I had, joy is not a possible outcome.

What I came to hate, as a person in my family, and my town and my brain(The things I was taught to not accept or love about myself):

A deep sense of shame and guilt which I could not understand or change** my intense emotions** my name** the names of people in my nuclear family** my height** my weight** the clothing I was provided** my inability to feel or be perceived as pretty** calm** happy** pleasing** small** normal** quiet**uncomplicated**resilient**undemanding** the smells and foods in our home** the lack of a god whom I could follow or turn to** the active resistance by my parents, to traditional holiday décor and celebration** my fear** my discomfort** my anger and despair** my nose shape** the intensity of life at home which was rarely engaging and constantly overwhelming at sensory and emotional levels** my large appetite and heightened sensitivity to smell, texture, taste** my anxiety and depression (all of which helped me earn the labels of negative and impossible, making it safe and easy to target or dismiss me—CUZ if I am already naturally a piece of shit dumpster fire, that is on me and how could diminishing/negligent words and actions be responsible for that?)  I was an easy outlet for anyone with a negative urge or instinct.  My reactions to those initiatives made that reality exponentially more true.  My sister capitalized on this and literally springboarded off  of my issues, seizing each opportunity to exacerbate and then illuminate my struggles while showcasing her non-likeness.  As if her greatest achievement —would be limited to her not being ME.   

As an adult and a person in recovery I am now able to recgonize and choose sane reactions to pain and to exit optional dynamics and systems in which I am to hold the soul-wounding role of the thing that is not approved of.   I have found the courage and hope to beleive in and practice wholesome love and connection. Entanglement via genetics and marriage certificates are literally not foundations for sustainable healthy relationships. I had to let those go. Tragically, I hold tightly to much of the pain, grief, and shame of having had no better options. Letting them go did not release me from the effects of trauma, but it does at least create space and opportunity for peace and acceptance, and maybe even joy, some day.

My poor boys and sweet Greg will get to helplessly spectate another holiday season of me failing to love what is. I do love my home, my job, and all my guys, furry four legged ones included. But that love pales in comparison to the exhaustion of learning to regulate, rest, recover, to just be ok with what is.

I am never free from the worry of how the mental health of our family and the legacies of shame and despair are shaping my sons. In honor of MHA- week, I have sought a new counsellor, purchased the BIG RED BOOK, and have signed up for coaching support with goal setting. Survival is not a great goal. I am well practiced at healthier survival tactics and would like to experiment with some actual thriving. I am tired of circling the drain.

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.