Tag: am writing

Is It Narcissistic Abuse?

“How do I know for sure if it’s narcissistic abuse?” It’s the question I am asked most frequently by clients in the early stages of disentangling from toxic relationships, and my answer surprises them – beyond understanding that you’re not losing your mind from all the gaslighting, it doesn’t really matter. If you are living the dreadful experience of narcissistic abuse, that is your current “reality,” whether or not that person has narcissistic personality disorder or just an abundance of narcissistic traits and abusive tendencies. Their official diagnosis, or lack thereof, does not have any bearing on you.

When your hand gets burned, does it matter if that happened via a stove burner or hot pan? Does it matter what type of stove or pan? The result is the same, as is the remedy – you need to remove your hand from the irrelevant source of the burn and attend to healing it.

Would your trauma magically convert to healing if it turned out your partner, family member, etc. wasn’t a narcissist, but rather, just someone who behaves like one? 

Spinning your wheels trying to ascertain whether someone is a narcissist is a time and energy-sucking trap, one that people can get stuck in for a long time as they keep their focus on “other” instead of bringing it home to self.  

Would the anguishing pain, anxiety and confusion melt away with proof that your partner “just” has anger management issues? Would the abuse hurt any less if it wasn’t technically narcissistic abuse? Someone else’s diagnosis is their journey – how they affect you is yours.

I was recently reminded of this while working with a company I’d invested in to help me publish Love Without Traffic (the novel). Last month, I still hadn’t received one completed “done for you” service, all of which were to be delivered in advance of my original publishing date, which came and went months ago.

Was the company short-staffed? Were too many new people working there? Did I just happen to get assigned a book production liaison who was better versed in ineptitude than integrity?

What difference did it make? The “why” was not my challenge. What mattered was what I did with it.

First, I tolerated the delays. I made excuses for them. I don’t do this in personal relationships anymore, so it was interesting to see this old, dormant habit popping up in a new way. 

Then, when my patience wore off, I unconsciously drifted into control mode, trying to make the company deliver what was promised when I signed up. It was easy to fall into the trap of giving my power away and trying to force them to meet my needs instead of meeting my own. My efforts felt a lot like trying to get an ex to change, instead of accepting, against the will of my heart, that this was not going to happen.

It had been my choice to remain in such a painful relationship as long as I did. How long was I going to make that choice with a company I’d paid to help me? It was easy to stay stuck due to a belief that I had already invested so much time. How much more delayed would my launch be if I left? How much money would I lose?

With all the lack of accountability and sizable gap between words and actions, it felt a lot like narcissistic abuse. I could also make a strong case that I was experiencing dishonesty, manipulation, minimizing, ghosting, table-turning and even gaslighting. This was fascinating, since narcissistic abuse is one of the themes of the novel. Was the company run by a pack of sociopathic internet marketers? Did it set out to scam me and other customers? Or did it just seem that way? 

It doesn’t matter! The answer is their journey. What I did with it was mine. Regardless of their why, the result was still the same. The only thing that mattered was that the program wasn’t working for me, and my efforts to change that had failed. During my second attempt, I was given an abundance of bonuses that sounded valuable. But two weeks later, the carrots hadn’t filled me in any way. Plus, it dawned on me that the bonuses would tie me to this company even longer. And what would lead me to believe I’d receive the bonuses in a timely and professional manner if none of the other services had been?

That’s when I decided to pull my hand – and my book – off the stove. I’d chosen self-publishing because I wanted to maintain creative freedom. The time had come to see that I felt more like a hostage, unable to move forward until this company did what they’d advertised when I signed up. Even if I lost every penny by pulling my book, it was the right choice. 

So, I called to inform them that I was doing so. They tried to talk me out of the choice with more empty promises but when it became clear I wasn’t going to change my mind, their tone changed. Suddenly, it was my fault none of the services had been completed, because, for example, I wouldn’t accept the formatting issues “no one else would notice.” Like two title pages and links that didn’t work?

Was this usually helpful man, one of my two favorites at the company, minimizing and table turning to protect his commission? To save his ass? Did he really believe in this company and the work he was defending, or did he have to, for a paycheck?  It didn’t matter the reason, or if he’d been the amazing human he originally showed up as or had been charming me all along for the sale. That was between him and himself.

The awareness of this helped me remain loving and grateful for all the support this particular company rep had attempted to give me up until that point. I didn’t defend myself. I simply stated I had a right to an error-free book and reiterated I was pulling it.

He then told me I would end up investing even more money with another company for the done-for-you services than the inordinate amount I’d invested with them, suggesting I couldn’t do it on my own. 

We shared this conversation at the base of Grandfather Mountain in North Carolina, just before I set off on what turned out to be the most dangerous solo hike of my life, complete with cables and ladders along the side of very steep cliffs. When I got to the top, I thought, “Well if I just did that, I can figure out how to publish a book!”

It was a triumphant feeling, as was the moment I was granted a full refund, a rarity for this company. I had to invest a lot more time and energy in obtaining that, but it was well worth it.  

The time I thought was wasted turned out to be a great blessing. Any experience of narcissistic abuse can be, once you take your power back from the crazymaking and learn what it’s there to teach you. 

As usual, life knew what it was doing. Shortly after pulling my novel, inspiration arrived to first publish a different book – one which I’d almost completed several years ago. This would give me an opportunity to make rookie mistakes while self-publishing a book I wasn’t as attached to getting into the hands of the masses. 

It would also give me a chance to build a base of readers who would be excited for Love Without Traffic when I publish, since the books are connected in interesting ways. Like Love Without Traffic, the new book will be of interest and support to anyone growing through narcissistic abuse and other relationship challenges. 

I’m grateful for the experience with the company that led to this. While it looked like they “should” have done things very differently, it turned out they were honoring the exact soul contracts I needed. This is what all the “villains” of our lives are here for. But they only get to help us along our path if we let them.

The first step in doing so is letting go of the need to identify them.

Whether narcissists, pans or hot stoves, they’re going to be what they are regardless of what we want them to be. All the time and energy we waste trying to change them is time and energy we need for ourselves.

What’s one way you bring your energy home to you today? While you’re contemplating that, I’d love your help naming the new book!

Thanks to the last contest resulting in such an amazing name like Love Without Traffic, which also became my mission’s name, I’m currently hosting a contest to name the book I will be publishing first. I’ve decided to move the contest to a Facebook group. Join us! https://www.facebook.com/groups/namemynovel

I posted additional photos from that destiny-changing hike and will be sharing more of the story on the Love Without Traffic page on Insta and Facebook. I’ll be getting more active on social media this summer. Here’s the link for FB. See you there!:  https://www.facebook.com/lovewithouttraffic

 

The Mom Mission

Life always provides guidance on our choices, some of which we wouldn’t typically make. Sometimes those directions come in the form of gentle nudges, and those are usually the hardest to listen to, or even notice. This is especially true if there is fear, discomfort or another form of resistance involved.

I have usually recognized, but not always listened to, those gentle nudges. Often, it has taken forceful and sometimes quite painful pushes for me to make choices that have taken me out of my status quos and comfort zones. But I got one of the most important choices of my life right this past spring.

In late April, I hopped in a rental car and embarked upon the “mom mission,” driving from Longboat Key, Florida to Long Island, New York, to see the woman who birthed and raised me, shaped and nurtured me, and challenged and loved me like no other. 

She’d just been in the hospital for nine nights with pneumonia, which most did not expect her to make it through. I would have left sooner, but the hospital only allowed one (the same) visitor for the entire time and my locally-based sister had thankfully arrived on the scene immediately. I told my mom that she didn’t have to fight, for us – I knew her body had become a very unwelcoming host – but if she did, I promised I would drive up to see her.

I had no intention of leaving Longboat Key, where I’d just rented the first place that felt like home in 3.5 years. I was terrified to make the drive by myself due to how long the drive was. I often take eight hours to drive four, stopping to explore, take photos, immerse myself in nature and charge up for the next portion of the drive. But flying did not seem like a safe option for visiting my mom, and I have a hard enough time cutting off my oxygen supply with a mask when I go grocery shopping. I wouldn’t have fared well on a flight. 

I didn’t know where I’d stay once I got to New York – most people were still hesitant to have guests. I did have an invite for the week, but it was over an hour’s drive from my mom’s assisted living place. I figured I had about nine days of an airbnb in my budget and I could only visit three times in that span, due to the Covid rules of my mom’s center. Each visit could only last 30 minutes.

Those 90 minutes would be well beyond worth the long drive – I would have gone to another planet to see my mom. But I didn’t have any assurance she would even still be alive when I got to New York, which was terrifying. Further driving that fear, she fell when I hit the midway point of my journey.

I held the vision of hugging her close to my heart and dove deeper into faith. 

Just after crossing the Virginia state line, I received a message from a woman on Trusted Housesitters, a bartering site for travelers. She asked if I could be “there” on Tuesday. At first, I thought she must have meant the message for someone else – I had not applied for any recent sits.

She clarified that she meant it for me – she remembered me from a past application, which she’d received after selecting another sitter. She then refreshed my memory by sharing where she lived – not only in New York, but only twenty minutes from my mom’s center! It started the exact day I’d arrive in New York.  

Two days later, I saw my mom for the first time in over a year (she’d been on lockdown most of that stretch) – by far, the longest we had ever gone without one another. I sat on the floor in front of her, holding her hands, staring into her eyes and crying. It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life. I got to hand her an advance copy of Love Without Traffic, the novel, which I’d thought to have printed for her.

“Finally!” she said with a big smile. 

After my visit, my full heart and I “checked in” at a waterfront mansion, complete with two of the sweetest animals I’ve ever met, a botanical garden, stream, pond, and inground pool. I’m no stranger to miraculous manifestations, but even for me, this one was mind-blowingly amazing.

The owner of the pets and home, who has come to be a special friend, asked me to extend twice, due to family challenges. I originally expected to be in New York a matter of days. Several months later, I’m still here.

My mom recovered from pneumonia, but still contended with MS and Parkinsons. It’s been so hard to watch her suffer, but I never once lost sight of what an immense blessing this has been, to share time with my mom, read some of the book she’d been waiting so long for to her, and share time with other family and friends I hadn’t seen in far too long.

Bonds that had once been fractured healed and strengthened. Others picked up exactly as they’d left off, as if not a day had passed. It had been many years since I’d lived in New York and this summer reminded me both of why I left and why I needed to return, for this blessed time.

Never having owned a dog in my life, I somehow became a dog whisperer, training a young and incredibly sweet Maltese who had undergone trauma before my arrival and had separation anxiety. I spent day after day playing with her and her naughty but precious cat sibling and watched the most magical place I’ve experienced outside of a vacation bloom through so many stages of unparalleled beauty.

As a seemingly endless array of flowers, bushes, birds and butterflies came to life, I witnessed the exact opposite happening with my mom. She was no longer able to put any weight on her feet or do anything for herself. She could not even speak more than a few words at a time and often, and it was often hard to understand them. (On my birthday in June, she somehow gave me the gift of a conversation. I sometimes wondered if I’d dreamed that.)

Watching her suffer was emotionally torturous at times. Most of the time, I was able to see beyond her limiting and painful body, into the essence of her true self. The portal was her eyes; I had never before realized the full extent of their beauty. We had many conversations through those eyes.

Last Monday, I read my mom a few chapters of the book. I watched her smile as I told her the latest tales about the beloved animals I’ve been caring for, who she met in person the one day we were able to get her here. I hugged her tightly. We both said I love you, as we always did.

This Monday, I’ll be saying goodbye to the body I intuitively suspected she’d be shedding while I was in New York. My mom passed peacefully into life after life on Wednesday night, in her sleep.

I found out at at 1am and after a talk with my siblings and good cry, went outside to the gorgeous deck. The moment I got out here, I saw the biggest, brightest and most beautiful shooting star dancing across the sky.

There have been many signs since, letting me know she is here, and that is the one that will live on in my heart, forever, along with the love I have for her and the love she had for me.

I haven’t always taken life’s more gentle pushes to make choices that didn’t feel comfortable or easy. But I took the most important one. These months in New York have been so sacred.

I love you, Mom.

(This photo is from several years ago. It’s one of my favorites.)

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