I was recently on another site discussing the Netflix series, Maid, with someone. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it. I read the book after seeing the show but for me the show was better. The book deals more with her poverty and work as a maid while the series seems to focus, at least more than the book, on the emotional abuse she suffered from her partner. That emotional abuse struck a chord with me when I was watching it. It was the first time I fully realized that there are others out there like my ex. In my head, abuse was always physical. I assumed for most of my 28-year marriage that my ex just had an anger management problem. It was only near the end when my pastor flat out told me that the relationship was abusive that I began to see it. Watching the Netflix series subsequently confirmed it for me. I feel Netflix (and the author of the book) did a great service to abuse victims in publishing the story. It showed the world that abuse isn’t just physical, that there are emotional abusers as well. And those abusers can arguably be as bad as or even worse than physical abusers.

This person with whom I was conversing reminded me of the scene in the show where the main character, i.e., the victim of the abuse, disappears into the couch. You can watch it on YouTube here: Disappearing into the couch. It is really quite compelling to watch. It’s well along in the series and she has returned to her abuser after briefly escaping. Of course, life is worse than ever for her. She is sitting on the couch, just staring like a zombie when the abuser returns home with a six pack of beer. She doesn’t move as she is now just a shell of what she once was. As she rolls over and ultimately sinks completely into the couch until she disappears, the scene heartbreakingly illustrates her utter despair and hopelessness.

That scene I believe speaks volumes about the effect an abuser has on his or her victim. We all disappear to various degrees depending on the level of abuse and whether we have an outside support system.

You know that moment when the light bulb goes off in your head? You’ve been puzzled about something for so long and all of a sudden, it becomes clear. That’s what it’s like when you finally realize you’ve been dealing with a narcissist.

I just saw a post on Facebook that listed “The Seven Stages of Recovery From Narcissistic Abuse” attributed to “Positive psych.” The stages went like this:

1. The Despair: When there is a conflict with the narcissist that pushed you down to your knees.

2. The Big Bang: Somewhere, somehow, you came across a post about narcissism, and everything starts to click together, feels like an explosion in your head.

3. The Denial: You look for every excuse, desperately not wanting to believe that the person you are with is a monster.

4. The Gooey Stage: Back and forth state of rage, depression, and grief.

5. The Acceptance: You realize there is only one way: cut them out.

6. The rebuilding, you build a new life, narcissist-free.

7. The Thriving: You become healthier, stronger, wiser, AND SO MUCH HAPPIER.

I’m probably somewhere between stages 6 and 7 now and I can honestly say it’s so much better when you get there. me — unfortunately, that wasn’t until the end of year 28.

I know, I know. You’re thinking, “gratitude, really?” After all I’ve been through? After being with a madman (or woman) for all these years? After the lies, deceit, out-of-control rages and ultimate discard?” Yes, gratitude is your answer. Not gratitude for all of that. Gratitude for the good you have. If you’ve escaped but are still struggling, this is where gratitude can really change things. Obviously, you have to grieve. And I did my share of that. I also did my share of wallowing in self-pity. But you know what that got me? Absolutely nothing.

Your life is rough now, things blew up and you are having a hard time dealing with it. What can you be grateful for? There really is a lot. Let’s start by the fact that you woke up this morning. You probably slept in a warm bed.

My alarm blared at 5:15 a.m. and I groggily dragged myself out of bed. What an ungodly hour and still pitch-black outside. It was an office day, something that after COVID only happened once a week. Thank goodness. After thirty-seven years at the job, I don’t think I could have done more than a once-a-week commute anymore. My commute to the city took an hour and a half to two hours. I raced around getting ready, performing my usual rituals. The goal was always to leave the house by 5:50 a.m. to catch a 6:10 a.m. bus downtown. It’s about a three-mile drive to the bus station. I always allowed plenty of time so I might get five minutes to decompress before the bus came. Despite the amount of time, I raced up the numbered route to get to the bus stop as I did every time. I’m just wired that way, I guess. I always had to get somewhere in as little time as possible. This three-lane highway had been reduced to two lanes for the last several months causing perpetual backlogs in traffic. I meandered from lane to lane, trying to find the quickest way up the three miles.

After about a mile and a half, for no explicable reason, I suddenly felt fur at my feet. And the realization came over me immediately: I was still wearing my slippers!

This was a question that haunted me for much of my marriage. After each rage by my ex, I would think, why do I have to live this way? Should I end this nightmare? But then he would calm down and be nice again… for a time. Until the next rage.

I was married for twenty-eight years and dealt with the rages before the marriage began. Was I foolish to have ignored the red flags before marriage? Sure. But I was madly in love. And hindsight is of course 20/20. We went on to have three children together. The early years were not too terrible. He would find some minor slight to rage about a few times each year. Then, things would be relatively nice until the next one. During the peaceful times, he would give me hope that he could be a better man, a better husband, a better father. But my hopes were always dashed.

As the years went on, the rages intensified and increased in frequency. It became more difficult to ignore. Then I became aware of the affairs. To this day, I have no idea when they started. I could piece together that they began at least five years prior to our break-up but they may very well have started earlier. That was a kick in the gut. Most victims probably would have thrown their mate out at that point. But I didn’t. I temporarily asked him to

If you’re considering filing for a divorce from a narcissist or are already in the process, buckle up. It’s going to be quite the ride and none of it is fun. Divorcing a narcissist is a harrowing and emotionally draining experience. The divorce process becomes a battleground where your emotional, financial, and even physical well-being are at stake.

In my case, my ex beat me to the divorce filing, which was probably better for his ego. I had reached the end of my rope, and I was going to tell him to leave. My brain hadn’t gotten to the point

He was sweet, charming, and loving. . . until he wasn’t. I could handle a lot of the narcissistic qualities of my ex: the disguised put-downs, the obsessive need for attention and admiration, the lying. I was even willing to try and get past the infidelity. I just couldn’t deal with the out-of-control rages with seemingly no provocation. Someone once described the narcissistic rage as a toddler having a melt-down. I think that is an apt description.

My ex could blow up at the slightest thing or for nothing at all.

I have to say right out the gate, I barely knew what narcissism was until recently. I had heard the term but never really thought much about it. And I certainly never considered my ex-husband to be one. I know better now.

Let’s start with a fun fact. The word narcissism comes from Greek mythology. There was hunter named Narcissus who was known for his beauty. He could never find anyone he loved, however. One day, he came upon a pool of water and became entranced by the reflection in it. He did not realize it was himself he was looking at. He was so in love with his reflection that he refused to do anything but stare at it all day and night. Eventually, he died of starvation. And that brings us to the origin of the word narcissism, a self-centered personality type who can only love himself.

"Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!" (Sir Walter Scott, 1808)

Sir Walter Scott must have known my ex-husband would arrive 200 years into the future. His statement could not be more true. The lies upon lies upon lies. Sometimes my head would spin. Sometimes he couldn’t keep them all straight and would get tripped up by them.

Ah, the human need for closure. It’s not too much to ask, right? Just acknowledge our pain. Acknowledge your part in it. Maybe even apologize. It would be nice. But, from my perspective, it will never happen with my ex.

I was married for twenty-eight years. I endured all the childish rages which occurred for no apparent reason. I endured the affairs. And after all that, he was the one who filed for divorce. He probably did me a favor as I may have never done it myself. Then he made the divorce process hellish for two years. Finally, it was over. I could move on, find peace. That was a year ago.

Is there any holiday that a narcissist won’t ruin? My husband ruined EVERY SINGLE ONE. Christmas? For sure! Birthdays? Without a doubt! Even a day that was about him, Father’s Day! I could never understand his need to always ruin the holiday. I grew up learning to suck up the little annoyances on a special occasion. It wasn’t about me. And, even when it was about me, like my birthday for example, I would still grin and bear any perceived slight or difficulty. It really isn’t that hard, right? We want everyone to have an enjoyable time on whatever the special occasion is. So, we bite our tongue, grit our teeth- if we even have to. It is after all a special time. It’s usually fun; at least it was until I married a narcissist.

You are perfectly loved. I am perfectly loved. But we struggle to fully believe that don’t we? If you’re reading this, you’re likely in or had been in a relationship with a narcissist. Narcissists are great at manipulating our reality. It’s called gaslighting and is a form of emotional abuse. Fun fact: the term gaslighting comes from a 1944 film called “Gas Light” in which a husband tries to manipulate a wife into thinking she has a mental illness. Here is more information on the play/film Gas Light

You know the story: throw a frog in a pot of boiling water and he jumps right out. But, put the frog in a pot of water that’s a comfortable temperature and it happily stays there. Then, gradually heat up the water and he boils to death. We are the frog when we get involved in relationships with narcissists. If they showed their true colors right out the gate— went into a rage, put us down or heaven forbid physically assaulted us— we would run as far and fast as we can, that is, jump out of that boiling water. But that’s not how it happens. We are heated to a boil slowly.

Were you ever in a relationship that you found bewildering? Did you rack your brain trying to figure out what was causing the turmoil and what you could do to prevent it? Did it seem like no matter what you tried, no matter whose advice you took, the same pattern continued to repeat itself over and over?

I was married to a narcissist for thirty years. I guess technically I was married to him for twenty-eight years when he filed for divorce. But he dragged out the divorce process for almost two years. When I met him, it seemed like a match made in heaven. We considered ourselves soul mates. Six months into the relationship was my first red flag when he exploded at a police officer (more on that to come).