Abandoned umbrella on the ground in a storm, symbolizing isolation and unmanaged pain

The Pain from the Pain

Today, my back hurts—badly. But the pain itself is only the beginning. Almost immediately, I feel panic. That’s my second skin, my automatic response to discomfort: fear. Not just fear of the pain, but fear of what it will cost me. I’ve learned that being unwell, having needs, or showing any kind of struggle leads to consequences—judgment, abandonment, rejection. So I don’t just have the pain. I have the terror of what the pain means about me, about my safety, about my future.

I’ve been fighting for a surgery which keeps getting denied, and I have no confidence that relief is coming. Every day, I’m managing my body with medication that makes the pain bearable, and I wonder: is this my forever?

It is like a panic attack in slow motion. I’m in pain, and I’m alone with it. What I need more than anything is someone to come and sit with me, to regulate with me, to say: “We’ll get through this. I’m here. You’re not alone.” But that’s not happening. And I’m left carrying it—pain, fear, uncertainty—on my own.

Family conditioning and cycles chant, “Serves you right. You got what you deserved.”
Who the fuck thinks or says that when someone is suffering and struggling?
Oh, wait—I think I know.
No matter how much healing work I do, this part never stops hurting.
I will not get over the hatchet-like detachment from my sons, the loves of my life.

People line up for comforting lies but don't want unpleasant truths

The Matthew Effect

“For to everyone who has, more will be given, and he will have an abundance.
But from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away.”

This is what’s known as the Matthew Effect.
Advantages accumulate. Disadvantages compound.

Those who start with luck, privilege, resources, or even just a stable home—tend to keep winning.
Those who start with trauma, poverty, or pain—tend to keep struggling.

And people who keep losing often internalize the idea:
“Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m bad.”

But it’s not about worth.
It’s not about who’s better or who deserves more.

It’s about starting positions—and what builds from them.

Confidence, stability, resilience, deservingness, risk tolerance, belief in your future, agency—those things grow over time, or they erode. The Matthew Effect is a law of momentum.

But momentum can be broken.
And it can be rebuilt. Though I continue trying, I find myself unable to sustain any positive momentum for long.

TRIANGULATION It’s one of the narcissist’s favorite manipulations and they use it to create chaos and then harness that chaos to control and the people in that situation.

Triangulation, Alienation, Gaslighting Children

THERAPIST: So you’re upset that your mom pointed out missed chores and unmet expectations — even after a few consistent weeks of you doing them without reminders?

SON: Yeah. I did them for weeks, then missed a few days, and it’s like she forgets everything I did.

THERAPIST: Feels like the past effort doesn’t count?

SON: Exactly. One mistake, and it’s all erased.

THERAPIST: Do you think those weeks should cancel out the fact that you didn’t follow through now?

SON: Yeah. I don’t have these issues anywhere else. At school, in sports, at work — I’m respected. She’s the only person who makes me feel like I’m always messing up.

THERAPIST: So in your mind, she’s the problem?

SON: Yes. She’s always overwhelmed, emotional, negative. She creates tension. I act out because of how she is.

THERAPIST: So when your behavior is off, it proves she’s toxic?

SON: Right. I’ve thought about it a lot. I’m not difficult anywhere else. She’s the common denominator.

THERAPIST: And once you’re 18?

SON: Then I won’t have to deal with her. I’ll be only with people who get IT.

THERAPIST: Can I ask — does this connect to how she talks about your dad?

SON: Yeah. She’s always bringing up what he did, how he hurt her. But he doesn’t act like that with me. So what is she doing — trying to make me take her side?

THERAPIST: That’s tough. When one parent talks about the other’s harm, and you don’t see it, it puts you in a hard spot. What if it’s not about taking sides — but about acknowledging what’s real for her?

SON: I don’t know.

THERAPIST: You’ve witnessed moments that harmed made her feel scared, alone. That’s not taking sides — that’s honesty.

SON (quiet): Maybe.

THERAPIST: What does your dad do to help you deal with your mom?

SON: He doesn’t really. But he listens. He agrees with me. He gets it. He doesn’t push me to fix things.

THERAPIST: Feels good to be understood.

SON: Yeah. At least someone’s on my side.

THERAPIST: I get that.

SON: So what — I’m supposed to just be perfect?

THERAPIST: No. Just honest. Kind. Accountable. Like you are in school, sports, work. Not perfect — just consistent.

THERAPIST (calm, direct): What do you think it would cost you to show up with honesty and accountability — no matter what she’s doing?

SON: I don’t know. It would feel like I’m giving in. Like I’m saying she’s right.

THERAPIST: But you noticed that when you were doing your part — following through, keeping your word — things improved at home – because you were steady and intentional.

THERAPIST: You’re not responsible for the whole relationship — but you are responsible for what you bring into it. Your choices. Your actions. The good and the bad. Are you willing to consider that?

SON (cool, final): No. I don’t think I need to “work on myself” around her. I just need to stay out of the drama and wait it out. Once I’m 18, I’ll be able to walk away. It’s uncomfortable being near her. I don’t want to associate with her. I don’t want to be like her — she’ll just drag me down.

THERAPIST (calm, firm): It’s important to recognize that when you bring that kind of energy into your mom’s space — the dismissiveness, the disrespect — you’re creating tension. And when she reacts to that, it seems like you only see her reaction as the only problem— what about the energy you bring in the first place?

THERAPIST: When you act that way, she’s not creating conflict — she’s responding to it. Her calling it out is not speaking the problem into existence. You seem heavily invested in a binary outcome- where you are right and she is wrong.

SON: Because she is. It is not worth it.

THERAPIST: Ok, so you have made your decision. How would you expect her to react to someone who has that energy for her and communicates so much disregard in all manner of ways?

When a flower does not bloom, you fix the environment in which it is planted, not the flower.

Living With Trauma and Overwhelm

Growing up highly sensitive and neurodivergent, I wasn’t seen as struggling — I was seen as willful and defiant, seeking control and attention with my needs. Survival meant submission — something I never fully understood or mastered — and it cost me dearly just to exist.

I was not taught to soothe myself.
I was not allowed to understand myself.
In fact, my attempts were discouraged — even punished.

If I had an uncomfortable or overwhelming feeling, it was regarded disobedience and disrespect.
It was regarded as a problem I was speaking into existence.

The responses were shaming, shunning, stonewalling — banishment.
And nobody explained any of it to me. The pain and confusion were devastating.

Nobody said, “Hey, here’s what’s happening. You’re safe. You’re loved. We are here with you.”

My unmasked discomfort became the reason for everything that was wrong.

And I couldn’t process it.
I couldn’t make it make sense.
I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong — and I couldn’t stop doing it — because it was just me: my body, my feelings, my reactions.

I was not taught to regulate.

Now, at 56 years old, I’m trying to learn.

Trying to learn how to stay with myself through discomfort instead of shutting down, spiraling, or abandoning myself the way I was abandoned.
Trying to navigate the panic that comes when my system gets overloaded.

Because it happens fast.
Because trauma rewired my body.
Because sensory integration issues mean I get overstimulated easily — lights, sounds, textures, crowds, too much too fast, any emotional input — and my whole system floods.

And it’s not just the discomfort — it’s the fear of the panic that compounds it.

Terrified: how much will this cost me?

It’s the fear of what happens when I get overwhelmed — because when I was little, the cost of overwhelm was love, inclusion, access.

So I was always anxious.
Anxious about being anxious.
Anxious about getting in trouble for being anxious.
Anxious about ruining everything.

I can’t tell you how many times I heard:

“Why must you ruin everything?”
“Why can’t you just be grateful?”

And I didn’t understand.

I didn’t understand that what they meant was:

  • If I were grateful, I wouldn’t burden anyone with my needs.
  • If I were considerate, I would figure it out by myself.
  • If I were a better kid, I would make it easier for them to be kind to me — by not needing anything.

But I didn’t understand that.
I didn’t understand the code.

I didn’t understand that I was feeling things more intensely than the people around me.
I didn’t understand that what overwhelmed me didn’t even register for them.

And I never could comprehend how in place of comfort, there would be alienation, invalidation, and persecution.

I was raised to believe that any pain of mine- was either imagined or well earned.
Either way, there was no comfort for pain of that sort — for a piece of shit like myself.

No support.
No nurturing.
No safety.

The scapegoats must not be considered credible by anyone else. This is the family's top priority

The Agonizing Cycle of Stonewalling 

The Cycle:

In these relationships (my mom, sister, ex-husband, Younger son), there’s a deep avoidance of vulnerability. Struggling, being hurt, needing something — these are seen as weaknesses, something shameful. “Winners” don’t have hard feelings; they stay cool, invulnerable, and superior.

So when I express a hurt feeling, a need, a boundary — I am breaking the unspoken rule:

Don’t show weakness. Don’t make it messy. Don’t need anything.

Because I have violated that rule (by being open, human, vulnerable), the other person doesn’t meet me with curiosity or care.

Instead, they reflexively defend themselves — by counter- attacking.

They respond with vague accusations like “You’re critical, selfish, unreasonable,” without providing specifics or pointing to incidents that support their claims. When asked to elaborate, they say they refuse to “rehash” the issue. It’s as if they view any attempt to visit the topic as rehashing, even though it’s just a matter of clarification. As if– “You were upset about a thing, I was upset about something, it’s even- let’s move on.”

Why?

Because real conversation would mean facing their own discomfort, their own part — and in this system, discomfort = weakness = failure.

Instead, they aim to invalidate or cancel out my feelings by saying, “Well, you’re impossible,” with an active unwillingness to engage in constructive ways to illuminate my said offense, creating an opportunity for me to reflect and amend.

“When I persist in seeking clarity and a shared resolution, I am denied and dismissed as troublemaking— I am THE problem.” Not any one act, just my being. Wrong at a cellular level.

In short:

  • I directly communicate a need or limit.
  • They respond with vague counter-accusations.
  • They refuse genuine engagement.
  • They frame my need for clarity or repair as being combative or unreasonable.
  • I’m punished/silenced/cast out/erased for needing, for feeling, for asking.

What This Dynamic Is Called:

  • Defensive emotional shutdown (also called “stonewalling”)
  • Gaslighting – “You do bad things. If you try to push for clarity- to know and consider and grow from the bad things you are accused of having done, you are the bad thing.”
  • Shame-based avoidance (they avoid their own shame of imperfection by punishing me for calling out something problematic- imperfect- messy)
  • Invalidation (my needs are framed as wrong or unreasonable)

At its core, stonewalling creates an unsafe relational system, often reinforcing roles like the golden child and scapegoat, and facilitating triangulation, where third parties are used to manipulate and control the dynamic, preventing healthy communication and mutual understanding.

Familiar Shapes

He’s always needed a woman with more.

More money, more shine, more spine.

He likes the kind with a backbone

as long as it’s used to lift him.

Strong is great,

as long as it prioritizes him,

elevates him,

makes him look like more.

The moment it stands for her,

without him at the center,

it’s a threat….time to diminish and devalue, take her down a notch

First, his sisters. Then me.

Now her.

Tall like me. Thin like me.

And with more capital.

I had MUCH before, too—before him.

After?

I was left with less than half of what I entered.

He doesn’t change. He shape shifts.

Adapting to the next host/supply

Takes. Building himself up with borrowed light.

He voted for Obama. Twice.

Because I did.

Then voted for Trump.

Because she did.

No one with a shred of integrity does both.

But he doesn’t vote from belief.

He votes from alignment—

whatever his supply believes, that’s his new truth.

What propels him.

He commits only to what serves him

what launches him forward

on someone else’s energy.

Every time.

I remember the reach. The way she presented herslef to me.

Not open. Not soft.

Something colder. Sharper.

Performance, maybe.

Like she needed to win something I wasn’t playing for.

I said I’m here if it heals.

She wasn’t.

I cant help but wonder if she feels the blur.

The vagueness.

The flickers of unease when the story shifts

but she’s too far in to say wait, that doesn’t line up.

He keeps people guessing—

when the boys will be here

when the money will come

when the tone will turn.

It’s not chaos. It’s currency.

Control always is.

He subtly insured division of me from his sisters, and then my own. It would have happened naturally, but he made sure of it.

From my mother, who rescued me heroically in financial ways- when he witheld support.

And I wonder if she’s kept apart too.

If he spins her just enough to keep her from noticing

that she’s in a pattern that didn’t start with her.

There’s always a villain – in time it will need to be her.

📚 Recommended Reading for Understanding and Healing

These books have been instrumental in helping many understand and recover from the dynamics of narcissistic relationships:

These resources are invaluable for anyone seeking to understand the complexities of narcissistic relationships and embark on a path to healing.

Abusers Mantra- That Did Not Happen

“But What Did She Do?”

Friend:

So you’re not in contact with your daughter anymore?

Family Member:

No, she’s just too much. Always some issue with her. Always making everything harder than it has to be.

Friend:

Wow. What happened exactly? Did she hurt someone? Lie? Betray you?

Family Member:

No, not really. It’s more like… she always has needs and limits and feelings that are too much and make no sense.  So sensitive.  Demanding.  Needy. Always demanding  conversation. It’s exhausting.

Friend:

That doesn’t sound like a crime. Did she ask to talk about something hard?

Family Member:

Yeah, but she turns everything into a problem. Like, she’ll say something felt hurtful, or ask someone to stop doing something—and suddenly, it’s a whole thing. She speaks problems into existence. If she’s upset, that’s the problem. Not what caused it.

Friend:

So she brings up something painful and you say she’s just trying to cause drama?

Family Member:

Exactly. We always told her: stop manufacturing chaos. If you’re hurting, you probably imagined it, earned it, or brought it on yourself.

Friend:

That sounds brutal. What happens when she does try to talk about it?

Family Member:

She gets overwhelmed. Emotional. Then she cries and it’s like, see? You can’t even talk to her. She’s unstable.

Friend:

Did you ever try family therapy?

Family Member:

Yes, once. She completely fell apart in the session. Couldn’t handle us calmly telling the therapist how hard she is. The therapist saw right through her.

Friend:

Or maybe she broke down because the room was against her and you used that as proof?

Family Member:

Whatever. She just needs everything to be her way. We can’t do that.

Friend:

So what’s the worst thing she actually did?

Family Member:

She refused to keep showing up -opted out until we had more useless conversations. She always said she’d come to the table if people would be kind. But she made herself the outsider. Ask anyone—she sucks.

Friend:

But if nobody can name what she actually did—not how she felt, or how you felt about her, but what she really did—then what was she punished for?

Family Member:

For being impossible. Creating Tension to get attention.

Friend:

Hmmm

14 Years Later

Friend:

Wait… so you don’t talk to your mom anymore?

Son:

Nah. She’s impossible. Always on my case, trying to control everything.

Friend:

That sucks. But like—what did she do? Was she abusive? Did she lie to you or betray you? Does she slave you areound with endless and unreasonable chores?

Son:

No. She just… always had these expectations….demands. And like tried to be my boss. Always correcting me. She wanted me to be perfect.

Friend:

Okay… but was she unfair? Like punishing you for stuff that wasn’t real? Was she constantly grounding you or taking your phone for no reason?

Son:

No, not really. I think I got grounded maybe once. She barely ever took my phone.

Friend:

So you weren’t in trouble all the time?

Son:

No, not really. She’d just get mad when I didn’t follow through or when I ignored her.

Friend:

So… she had rules?

Son:

Yeah, but she wanted consistency. Like, if I did something well for three weeks, and then I would drop the ball and she would correct or redirect me. Like the three weeks did not even count.

Friend:

Oh, she wanted you to hold a good standard and get back to doing the good job. That doesn’t sound crazy. That sounds like accountability… parenting?

Son:

She just wouldn’t let me do whatever I wanted. She’d say no to stuff sometimes. She expected respect.

Friend:

Did you guys ever try family therapy?

Son:

Yeah, but I went thinking it’d be my chance to explain my side, and maybe get the therapist to see how hard she is. I don’t think she went in expecting that.

Friend:

So… you weren’t there to try to heal things?

Son:

Not really. And she got upset in the session, started crying, and then it was like—“see? She’s so emotional, you can’t even talk to her.”

Friend:

So her emotional reaction to being overwhelmed was used as proof that she’s the problem?

Son:

I mean… yeah.

Friend:

And the worst thing she did was… not agree immediately to let you drive across the country at 16 without a plan?

Son:

She said I could if I had check-ins and stayed with people we know. But it felt like she didn’t trust me.

Friend:

So she wanted to keep you safe and be part of the planning, and that made her the enemy?

Son:

I guess. But still… she sucks

Narrator:

This is the anatomy of a smear campaign.

A person becomes “too much” only after they become unwilling to be mistreated.

They say, “She’s hard to deal with.”

But what did she do?

Ask again.

From every angle.

Ask louder.

Ask in front of the people who repeat the story.

Ask the ones who believe it.

What did she do?

What did she do?

And if no one can name it,

then maybe—

just maybe—

she didn’t do anything at all.

Maybe she just stopped agreeing to be the scapegoat.

Below are just a few of the books that have been especially informative and healing for me as I navigate my journey of recovery and self-understanding:

It takes so much energy just to exist, adapt, cope, and mask. And when I hit my limit, I’m treated like a problem— like a dirty diaper to be handled and thrown away. I’m not thriving. I’m barely surviving in a world that wasn’t built for me.

Be Grateful or Else

Many of my interactions seem to carry the same unspoken rule:
You better be grateful for what you get. Shut up. Stay put. Or else.

It doesn’t matter if I’m talking to customer service, a doctor, a family member, or someone I once trusted—the pattern is the same. If I fail to mask overwhelm, ask for clarity, brevity, or—God forbid—to resolve, I risk being punished – being shut out.

Growing up, any expression of my discomfort, fear, needs, or boundaries was labelled as ingratitude. Clearly ungrateful—evidenced by my unmasked angst and unmet needs. The message was loud: gratitude and discomfort couldn’t coexist.
And the cost of expressing myself was shame and alienation instead of comfort or assurance. Deep shame. As if feeling bad proved I was bad.
Because if I were grateful and good—worthy and lovable—I wouldn’t feel discomfort. And if I were smart, I wouldn’t show it.

That’s what makes things like customer service and patient care so scary for me now. As someone who is neurodivergent and carries the weight of complex PTSD, these interactions can destabilize me, when they go on and on in a way that makes no sense to me with no clear direction or end in sight. My body remembers what happens when I get anxious. I spin out, shut down, dissociate. Because I’ve been mocked for needing. Cast out for asking for care. Discarded for expressing pain. The secondary feeling of panic over feeling discomfort is the ass kicker. Every time.

I am so over people who don’t seek resolution—only control. People who meet my pain not with care, but with the quiet brutality of silencing me.

I’ve been reading Let Them by Mel Robbins, and yeah—it resonates. But it’s hard when you feel hostage to someone you need something from. When the cost of expressing a feeling or a boundary is having access or diginity denied. When you’re punished for being direct.

So I over-explain. I apologize. I thank people for what I didn’t want. I endure conversations that drain me, because I know the risk of my unmasked discomfort, if I assert my self , I am “difficult” and will forfeit access.

When I’m overwhelmed—and I need a thing to stop, to change, to ease up—I’m not just uncomfortable. I’m panicking. Terrified of being seen as difficult, demanding, or ungrateful—because that’s what I’ve been conditioned to expect.

All I want is a simple exchange. Mutual respect. A clear answer. Maybe, some grace.

But over and over again, the same message:
If you want anything at all, you’d better stay in your place. You better get different. You better watch it.

And I am so goddamn tired of living in that place.

Winston Churchill quote- An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile—hoping it will eat him last.

Serves Her Right

In the family system/code that believes and says, “Serves you right,” my boys seem to have been programmed to interpret my chaos, struggle, difficulty, and misfortune as proof of my badness. Instead of an instinct to comfort me or offer love and support, their reaction is more like: “Yep, that tracks. Makes sense. Serves her right. When will she learn? This is why they/we must treat her this way.”

She has clearly forfeited her right to express needs, limits, preferences, or boundaries. She is to be disregarded as a person—and as a parent with authority. (I literally have a screenshot of a text from my boys’ father to my son saying exactly these words: “Disregard your mother.”)

So, when I struggle—which is often—it reinforces their programming around my inherent and undeniable unworthiness. My difficulty serves as a sign that I am the problem, and that belief pushes them further into the groupthink stating: For us to be right, she must be wrong. For us to feel okay about how she’s treated, we shall agree that she is the problem.

In a zero-sum, binary mindset, someone must be wrong as proof of the other’s rightness. And when you dare to challenge, the response isn’t a conversation or reflection—it’s annihilation- crush anyone who questions you – put them in their place. You rewrite the narrative so you’re either the hero or the victim—and the person you’ve decided to harm simply got what they deserved.

Then, you may comfortably call betrayal and torment a “natural consequence.”

But natural consequences don’t require enforcement. That’s what makes them natural. In this system, though, what’s “natural” is to worry about becoming a target. “Natural” to hold someone else in the crosshairs to ensure your own inclusion/”safety”—for another day.

Sometimes I don’t even feel human. I feel like a ghost of a girl I don’t remember becoming.” — Blythe Baird

No Room for Safety, No Right to Sovereignty

A raw, personal reflection on growing up without safety or sovereignty — and learning to exist in my own body, voice, and truth.

Family in Name Only

So the way that I was handled by the people in charge of taking care of me—whom I will refer to as Family—though really just associations by coincidence of birth and genetics. As my mother’s daughter, and a sister, granddaughter, niece, cousin, whatever—I was not allowed to be dependent or expect/count on them to comfort, nourish, protect, guide, or love me. I could rely on them only for shaming and intermittent reinforcement. They could be counted on to take charge of reducing or rescuing me, but not to simply see and accept me—as I am—my own unique set of feelings, ideas, desires, preferences, and personality.

They never accepted me as one of their own, yet they also denied me the space to stand on my own. At 56, I’m still fighting to claim the sovereignty they never allowed me- Self actualization, I think it is called.

The Sound of My Voice and Scent of My Skin

Still recalling how my mother would please herself and her company by reporting, “Oh, how she loves the sound of her own voice.” — I do not love the sound of my voice, or any other thing about MY self. I never fully felt that I was real, like my very own entity. That I had a self. I often sensed that I existed only as a character in someone else’s dream—and when they woke, I would be gone. And I very much wanted them to wake up.

As a young adult—college and after—when I had my own answering machine and would hear my voice in the recording, I just… I couldn’t believe it was me. That I had a voice, that could be heard. It hit with something like disbelief. Like: I exist, but not really. I guess there’s a difference between existing and mattering.

And also—once, I found a scent which was soothing to me and felt like self-expression—a custom blend of oils which people recognize and enjoy (those who are for me). And sometimes I would sit and sniff my wrist, marvelling that I was here. Like I have a voice. And I have a scent. And sometimes I see my hands and can’t believe they belong to me.

I think this is known as disembodiment.

The Ill-Fitting Life

This disembodiment delivered me to relationships and jobs and even clothing that never fully fit.

Jobs that bummed me out. Ill-fitting clothing. Mismatched relationships. Because—like—when you don’t matter, when nobody can see or hear or feel you in a way that affirms your realness and value, you must be grateful to even have an outfit. Or any person at all willing to stand in the place of a friend or a relationship. I was always being encouraged to show gratitude in the form of pretending to want and feel what I did not. I was judged harshly for said lack of gratitude, as evidenced by my own highly punishable unique wiring and needs- and the audacity to express them.