Woman to Woman

We survive narcissistic abuse together. We fight immorality. We love our kids. We love ourselves. Solidarity
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We’re healing

I cannot begin to say how grateful I am.

I escaped. I thought I was gonna die.

We’re thriving and it’s so beautiful. Hearing my children laugh and joke and explore and feel free.

Yes it was worth being betrayed by my friends and family. Yes it was worth the rape, the homelessness, the court cases, the bullying, the poverty.

Now my eschew have a chance to find their selves, their meaning, without the pressure of being in a narcissistic cult.

I survived and God am I proud of what I achieved. I achieved.

ICOC

By Justine Lieberman

I just shared this on my page and thought some of you might feel similarly.
Trigger warning****
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When I share my story about being in an abusive relationship nobody says, “but you never talk about the good parts!” When I share how I was hit regularly by my ex’s brothers, how I was verbally abused and raped repeatedly both vaginally and anally, nobody is bothered that I didn’t stay. When I share how my boyfriend demanded my paychecks and followed me when I left the house, how he unplugged wires in my car so I couldn’t leave without his permission, nobody is asks me to remember why I loved him. When I share how his brothers threatened my life and eventually tried to kill me, nobody wants to know how positive qualities.
But when I talk about the cult I was raised in, how I was verbally abused, molested and brainwashed, former and current members question why I don’t talk about the “good” parts of the church.
My longest most abusive relationship was with this cult. Any semblance of identity was smashed to pieces by this cult. I don’t speak out about this place for any other reason than to bring awareness, to stop the abuse, to save others. So, no. I don’t talk about the “positive” or “fun” times very often. Those times are clouded by remembering the fear, the pain, the inability to be myself, to find myself. Stop asking me about the “good” parts of the cult. Yes I have lifelong friends who grew up with me, and were abused alongside me. That’s called trauma bonding. The biggest reason we are still close is because we suffered together. Asking me to hold onto the good is gaslighting. The “good” doesn’t outweigh the bad. The bad was bad, and I don’t wish it on anyone. If your experience was different… Lucky you.

The monster within

Have you got one? I have. I’m getting to recognise her, meet and greet, even go beyond the niceties, sometimes.

As I spend more time alone, I see her more clearly. Flashbacks of her torment, torment me. It’s just too much. The vivid images of her pushing away tossing, flinging out people, places things fills me with fear. Total fear.

Total recall of anguished tears staining her gorgeous apple shaped -cheeks, formed by a heavenly host. Rivulets of tear tracks have left powdery white marks channeled into viscous pronouncements…

Controlling, manipulating, strangling the freedom of Others. Coercing with a sweet smile and a homemade biscuit. Smothering people in love so that they can all but do as instructed. And when ‘no’ is whimpered by a brave soul, she turns….

That’s who I have been. I have needed My Way and without it I’m a dangerous devil.

Some soothsayers and sages, tell me its the Lack in my life that made the Monster. That I should stop calling her the monster and accept the lost infant child without love, without safety, without security that She is..

I just don’t know if I can love her…however needy and raggedy she looks. I’d give money to a beggar on Tottenham court road station but for Her, I have no change. Never. I’ll stick to hating her.

Drrrrained

Thank God I’m going out tonight. Hoping to find some positive energy to turn that down pression toward light and sun.

Winter is seeming to drain the life blood out of me.

This week feels like its put alot of us on the back foot

Days are hard and night seems to be the most inviting. Itching for unconsciousness to take me far away.

Ofsted under the brand spanking new framework put the whole school on heightened alert and tension.

Failing hot water drove me and the kids to biting one liners, filling up kettles and buckets with boiling water, incessant moaning and endless calls to the Council.

Proving I should retain child benefit that my ex is trying to take from me, find witnesses for an oncoming court case and fight for benefits that are my Right: enveloped me in mounds of hard, unsympathetic, blank, crackling, white paper – the canvass for hard evidence, I Must Find.

This is too hard.

It’s All on me.

4 hours of driving each day in a derelict car that needs daily top ups of water and oil filled me with exhausted numbness.

Couldn’t even write a blog. Couldn’t enunciate the sadness fog.

Can’t even find it in me to care if the Conservatives get in again, or look forward .. .

Broken

I am with my dear friend.

Have you ever felt like the broken you can only reveal itself in front of very special people?

I don’t even reveal this self to me.

Somehow, the honesty and realness of this connection means the painful stuff just oozes out.

I find myself behaving in strange ways that I don’t recognise…from the strong,independent, black, conscious, single mother I have been told I am.

I find myself filled with fear, a little girl, a baby sucking my thumb, I’m scared of being used, I’m scared to voice my feelings, I’m trembling to say ‘no, I don’t want this’.

Somehow, connecting with this traumatised child inside me is healing me, piece by piece.

Hearing her, holding her, accepting her is eschewing a new serenity.

Thank you Nikolas.

Free at forty…

I had the best night last night.

Just what I needed after a terrifying session at court and drowning in yet more admin around future court cases, benefits,police requests and the like.

Hanging with great people who were foot loose,fancy free and forty plus!!!

Just like me…

I must say…as a recent divorcee with children to care for, life is taking off,taking shape, taking me….

I love it.

I love picking and choosing, musing, ignoring whatever I want with no one to answer to. No muse, mentor, oppressive authority figure.

Just me and my conscience.

It’s invigorating and enlightening to learn how capable I am, with none of those voices of the past telling me how incapable I am.

It’s the best high to see my children slowly coming to life as I am too: resurrected from the religious prison we were dying in.

And it’s super special to bond with other single parents living, loving and hurtling toward our 50s.

The conversation richocheted from cows methane, to fatherly roles,to mixed race politicking, to work stress to mental health to …laughter reigned.

All over Malaysian delectable and wine. Cheers to the first of many.

Blessed bonding.