How to Reap the Benefits of Post-Traumatic Growth
“The
world
breaks
everyone
and
afterward
many
are
strong
in
the
broken
places.”
~Hemingway
We
all
know
of
post-traumatic
stress
(PTS)
but
how
many
of
us
know
of
post-traumatic
growth
(PTG),
a
very
hopeful
and
attainable
way
of
life
beyond
the
loss,
adversity,
and
trauma
we’ve
experienced?
It’s
a
term
that
was
coined
in
the
1990s
and
is
becoming
more
popular
now
as
positive
psychology
and
the
specific
area
of
resiliency-building
have
gained
momentum
in
our
society.
What
is
post-traumatic
growth?
It’s
positive
change
and
growth
that
comes
about
as
a
result
of
an
adversity
or
loss.
It
is
channeling
our
pain
into
something
positive.
It’s
more
than
simply
returning
to
the
life
we
had
before
the
negative
event;
it
involves
psychological
shifts
and
changes
in
ourselves,
our
beliefs
and
attitudes,
our
actions,
the
meaning
and
purpose
in
our
lives,
our
relationships,
to
an
even
greater
level
of
functioning.
This
is
not
to
say
we
don’t
suffer
and
feel
tremendous
pain.
In
fact,
we
first
need
to
allow
ourselves
to
go
through
the
painful
and
awful
feelings
that
we’d
prefer
to
squelch
down.
It’s
similar
to
the
grieving
process
where
we
have
to
go
through
it
to
come
through
it.
It
is
only
later
on,
as
the
intensity
of
our
negative
feelings
lessens
and
softens,
that
some
small
bits
of
sunlight
begin
to
push
through
the
looming
clouds
and
we
begin,
very
slowly,
to
move
forward
and
integrate
the
challenge
into
our
lives.
We
rebuild
a
new
normal.
Without
having
a
formal
concept
or
name
to
put
to
it
years
ago,
I
went
through
my
version
of
post-traumatic
growth
as
an
outcome
of
my
daughter,
Nava’s
miracle:
her
survival
and
complete
recovery
from
a
near-fatal
medical
crisis.
She
was
on
a
respirator
in
a
drug-induced
coma
for
four
months
and
then
in
a
rehab
hospital
for
nine
months,
relearning
and
eventually,
miraculously,
regaining
every
motor
and
body
function.
Upon
her
return
home
from
a
year-long
hospitalization
and
rehabilitation,
I
went
back
to
work
and
resumed
my
life
back
home
(as
I
had
been
living
up
at
the
rehab).
Needless
to
say,
I
was
thrilled
to
have
witnessed
this
miracle—her
survival
and
recovery—and
I,
as
her
mother,
felt
I
had
been
given
a
second
lease
on
life
as
well.
As
time
went
on,
however,
I
felt
uncomfortable
inside—empty,
bored,
and
filled
with
angst,
feeling
like
this
just
wasn’t
enough.
And
then
I’d
feel
guilty
over
feeling
this
way;
after
all,
I
had
our
miracle,
what
more
could
I
possibly
want???
Going
back
to
life
as
before
felt
so
small
to
me.
I
had
just
witnessed
life
at
its
most
fragile,
sitting
by
her
bedside
listening
to
every
beep
and
bleep
of
machines
that
breathed
for
Nava
and
kept
her
alive,
with
tubes
coming
out
of
every
opening
in
her
body,
on
a
bed
that
rotated
in
all
directions.
One
minute
she
had
been
eating
a
blueberry
muffin
waiting
for
a
procedure
and
the
next
she
was
on
a
ventilator
fighting
for
her
life.
If
this
didn’t
make
me
realize
how
our
lives
hang
by
the
thinnest
of
threads,
then
nothing
would.
And
I
began
to
feel
my
inner
stirrings
and
angst
more
and
more.
This
was
slowly
becoming
clear
to
me:
I
had
just
witnessed
something
miraculous.
I
had
to
do
something
to
honor
it.
As
people
do
things
to
honor
a
life
that
doesn’t
survive,
I
felt
a
burning
need
to
do
something
to
honor
the
awesomeness
of
a
life
that
did,
against
all
odds.
It
was
clearly
not
enough
to
just
resume,
to
pick
up
the
pieces
where
I
had
left
off.
That
would
be
like
whitewashing
away
this
most
traumatic
year
in
my
life,
not
giving
the
miracle
of
life
the
respect
and
glory
it
warranted.
Not
to
mention
the
miraculous
complete
recovery
as
she
slowly
began
breathing
and
eating
on
her
own
after
more
than
half
a
year
with
tubes
and
then
a
tracheostomy.
And
so
began
the
struggle
of
what
to
do.
I
also
felt
a
strong
sense
of
urgency
to
do
and
not
waste
time
on
this
earth
where
we’re
given
an
unknown
and
unpredictable
amount
of
time.
In
hindsight
this
was
my
angst
to
grow
and
push
through.
It
was
all
percolating
inside,
and
my
frustration
then
became
what
to
do…
I
attempted
many
different
things
that
I
deemed
meaningful:
from
clowning
with
Patch
Adams
to
foster-raising
a
puppy
for
the
disabled,
to
writing
a
book
(which
didn’t
go
anywhere
at
that
point)
and
other
smaller
endeavors.
I
was
in
search
of
something
big,
though,
the
way
some
people
start
organizations
and
foundations
out
of
their
tragedy.
But
that
didn’t
happen.
But
what
did
happen
beyond
these
random
experiences
of
adventurous
do-gooding,
as
I
see
so
clearly
now,
is
that
it
was
all
happening
on
the
inside.
So,
while
I
was
in
frantic
and
frustrated
search
for
that
external
something,
I
was
living
{and
continue
to
do
so}
more
richly
engaged
than
ever.
As
I
stated
above,
a
sense
of
urgency
to
doing
what
I
set
my
mind
to
now,
rather
than
putting
it
off,
became
my
M.O.
When
I
saw
a
class
in
the
city
I
was
interested
in,
instead
of
waiting
until
the
summer
when
I
was
off
from
my
school
job,
I
schlepped
into
the
city
once-a-week
for
the
class
during
the
school
year.
A
friend
of
mine
would
say,
“Whatever
you
say
to
Harriet,
she’ll
run
with
it,
so
be
careful!”
Now
in
all
fairness
I
was
always
a
doer
and
proactive.
But
this
part
of
me
took
on
a
whole
new
level
as
I
became
much
more
intentional.
My
interests
in
various
things
soared,
and
I
began
to
feel
like
there’s
just
so
much
out
there
to
learn
and
do;
the
world
became
my
oyster.
Everything
I
was
exploring
had
meaning
to
me,
and
what
didn’t,
I
eventually
threw
by
the
wayside.
After
a
few
more
years
at
my
school
job,
I
left,
deciding
to
do
what
I
truly
wanted
to
do
in
my
professional
life:
work
with
people
going
through
grief
and
loss
(in
all
areas)
in
a
clinical
setting—my
practice—and
support
them
on
their
journey
in
coping
and
eventual
growth.
As
someone
who
was
always
interested
and
in
awe
of
people
who
lived
on
well
despite
their
hardships,
I
developed
and
curated
my
own
project
of
finding
and
interviewing
people
to
learn
and
put
out
there
for
others
to
see,
the
qualities
and
coping
tools
that
led
them
to
grow
and
thrive
beyond
their
challenges.
This
eventually
became
my
book.
And
so
post-traumatic
growth
was
firing
inside
me.
How
can
it
work
for
you?
Drs.
Tedeschi
and
Calhoun,
of
the
University
of
North
Carolina,
who
coined
this
term
of
PTG
have
identified
five
main
areas
where
we
can
experience
post-traumatic
growth
as
an
outcome
of
our
adversities:
Relating
to
Others
Increased
closeness
to
others,
increased
compassion
and
empathy
to
those
going
through
difficulties,
greater
authenticity,
and
connection.
Connect
with
people
on
a
deeper
and
more
real
level.
Recognize
where
and
with
whom
you
feel
more
understood,
connected,
and
supported.
How
are
you
responding
to
others
in
pain?
Do
you
feel
more
sensitive
to
those
suffering?
Has
your
helping
hand
been
extending
more
to
those
in
need?
Have
your
relationships
taken
on
greater
meaning
in
your
life?
Are
you
making
more
time
for
them?
Appreciation
of
Life
Awareness
and
gratitude
for
what
we
have,
focus
on
beauty
and
goodness,
living
with
more
presence
and
intention;
the
absence
of
taking
things
for
granted.
Begin
to
take
pleasure
in
the
ordinary
things
of
life,
for
it’s
the
everyday
beauty
and
pleasures
that
call,
nourish,
and
fill
us.
What
are
you
noticing
now
that
you
rarely
noticed
before?
What
are
you
slowing
down
to
really
see?
Are
you
being
more
mindful
and
reveling
in
the
now?
Awe
is
a
positive
emotion
that
fills
us
with
wonder
and
boosts
our
well-being.
What
beauty
calls
out
to
you?
Is
it
the
mountains
that
give
us
a
perspective
of
smallness
and
humility
in
their
grandness;
or
the
expansiveness
of
the
star-filled
sky;
or
the
ocean
with
its
ups
and
downs
of
the
waves
in
their
calmness
and
subsequent
crashing;
or
the
rise
and
set
of
the
sun
that
we
can
always
count
on
for
appearing
and
then
disappearing?
New
Possibilities
Re-evaluating
what’s
important
and
what
truly
matters/priorities;
stepping
outside
one’s
comfort
zone
and
taking
risks;
openness
to
new
ways
of
living,
to
new
experience,s
and
learning/taking
on
new
endeavors.
Take
stock
of
your
life
and
think
about
your
top
values
and
priorities.
What
now
seems
unimportant
since
your
tragedy,
trauma,
or
crisis?
After
processing
your
grief
and
emotional
pain,
what
new
opportunities
are
you
interested
in
exploring?
How
are
you
looking
to
expand
yourself?
What
have
you
realized
means
more
than
anything?
How
can
you
better
honor
those
things
in
your
personal
and/or
professional
life?
How
can
you
spend
your
time
and
energy
in
ways
that
reflect
your
values
and
what
truly
matters
to
you?
Personal
Strength
Greater
confidence
and
self-esteem,
recognizing
and
appreciating
one’s
abilities
and
competence,
self-pride,
greater
resilience,
and
coping
abilities.
Reflect
upon
your
strengths
and
allow
yourself
to
feel
good
that
you
got
through
your
difficulty
in
ways
you
thought
you
never
could.
How
did
you
cope
with
pain
and
hardship
in
healthy
ways?
What
strengths
did
you
use
to
help
get
you
through
the
trauma/adversity?
Recognizing
those
strengths,
how
can
you
continue
to
bring
them
forth
in
ways
to
enrich
your
life?
There’s
a
very
interesting
free
survey
you
can
take
here,
that
lists
and
puts
your
character
strengths
in
order.
What
are
your
top
five;
how
do
they
coincide
with
the
way
you
see
yourself?
Spiritual
Change
Transcendence
to
things
beyond
ourselves,
renewed
purpose
and
meaning,
questioning
and
searching
as
we
reconfigure
our
newly
designed
tapestry.
Consider
the
existential
questions
of
life
on
a
more
personal
level.
Instead
of
“what’s
the
meaning
of
life,”
ask
yourself,
“What’s
my
purpose
and
meaning
here,
and
how
do
I
re-create
that
for
myself?
How
do
I
connect
to
my
meaning
on
a
day-to-day
basis?”
How
are
you
redefining
success
and
living
well?
How
do
you
want
to
spend
your
days
on
earth?
What
mark/impact
do
you
want
to
leave/have?
How
has
your
perspective
broadened
beyond
yourself?
Are
you
more
connected
to
a
purpose?
—
Once
the
bad
circumstance(s)
happen,
growth
can
occur
in
the
aftermath
as
we
seek
to
create
good,
find
new
ways
of
living
that
can
be
enriching
and
meaningful,
and
develop
and
grow
in
any
of
the
above
areas.
Creating
new
goals
and
finding
positive
ways
to
adjust
to
a
new
reality
is
the
hope
and
potential
for
post-traumatic
growth.
Knowing
this
possibility
for
change
and
growth
exists
and
that
we’re
not
doomed
to
live
out
the
misery
of
our
challenges
and
losses
can
give
us
something
to
strive
for.
To
some
it
comes
more
naturally,
to
others
it’s
something
to
work
toward.
Either
way
it
points
to
a
better
way
to
live
through
and
beyond
our
inevitable
life
challenges.
About
Harriet
Cabelly
Harriet
Cabelly,
LCSW
is
a
therapist,
positive
psychology
coach,
and
speaker. She
has
a
private
practice
specializing
in
grief
and
adversity.
She
is
passionate
about
helping
people
cope
and
grow
through
their
critical
life-changing
circumstances.
She
is
one
of
the
coaching
experts
on
970AM,
The
Answer-Conversations
with
Joan.
Harriet
published
her
first
book Living
Well
Despite
Adversity.
See
a
typo,
an
inaccuracy,
or
something
offensive?
Please
contact
us
so
we
can
fix
it!
How to Love an Addict (Who Doesn’t Love Themselves)
I
grew
up
in
a
family
of
high-functioning
addicts.
We
looked
like
the
perfect
family,
but
as
we
all
know,
looks
can
be
deceiving.
No
one
was
addicted
to
drugs,
so
that
obviously
meant
that
we
had
no
problems.
Cigarettes,
alcohol,
food,
and
work
don’t
count,
right?
I
have
come
to
realize
that
what
we
are
addicted
to
is
nowhere
near
as
important
as
the
admission
that
we’re
addicted
to
something.
When
we
try
to
make
ourselves
feel
better
by
telling
ourselves
that
gambling
or
porn
or
beer
is
nowhere
near
as
bad
as
crack
or
heroin,
we
are
merely
lying
to
ourselves.
In
the
recovery
movement,
we
call
this
denial.
Denial
was
the
foundation
my
life
was
built
on.
We
did
not
speak
of
my
grandfather’s
abusive
behavior
and
alcoholism.
We
did
not
question
my
grandmother’s
chain-smoking
habit.
We
did
not
mention
my
other
grandfather’s
drunken
falls
and
injuries.
We
never
tried
to
help
my
aunt
who
was
eating
anything
she
could
get
her
hands
on.
No
one
questioned
the
countless
hours
my
father
spent
working.
There
were
so
many
things
we
just
never
talked
about.
There
were
so
many
things
that
were
secrets.
Things
I
had
to
hide.
The
unspoken
family
rule.
I
loved
my
family
members.
I
still
do.
They
were
good
people.
They
tried
really
hard.
They
just
didn’t
know
how
to
look
after
themselves,
to
value
themselves,
to
love
themselves.
They
did
the
best
they
could
under
the
circumstances
and
with
the
lack
of
awareness,
information,
and
support
at
the
time,
and
I
don’t
think
it’s
ever
fair
to
judge
that
from
the
outside.
I
have
gone
through
my
stages
of
anger,
judgment,
and
resentment
and
come
out
the
other
side.
All
that
is
left
is
sadness
and
love.
I
loved
my
family
members.
I
loved
them
so
much
and
all
I
ever
wanted,
even
as
a
little
girl,
was
for
them
to
be
happy.
I
wanted
my
granddad
to
not
drink
come
4pm
so
he
would
stay
the
lovely
man
that
he
was.
I
didn’t
want
to
see
him
shout
and
cry
and
fall
over.
I
didn’t
want
to
be
scared
like
that
and
watch
my
grandmother
cry
while
helping
him
up
and
cleaning
away
the
blood.
He
was
a
good
man,
but
he
had
seen
the
worst
of
World
War
II
and
I
don’t
think
he
ever
recovered
from
that.
Maybe
he
would
have
been
an
alcoholic
without
those
experiences;
I
will
never
know,
and
it
really
doesn’t
matter
because
he
was
not
just
that.
He
was
kind
and
generous.
He
played
with
me
and
made
me
laugh.
He
cuddled
me
in
bed
and
told
me
story
after
story.
We
had
so
much
fun
together.
Remembering
those
happy
times
will
warm
my
heart
for
the
rest
of
my
life.
I
will
be
forever
grateful
for
those
happy
memories
and
the
time
I
had
with
him.
I
guess
that
he
is
the
first
addict
I
ever
loved.
My
grandmother
was
the
kindest
person
I
have
ever
met.
In
my
eyes,
she
couldn’t
have
been
any
more
perfect.
I
wish
that
she
had
lived
longer
so
that
I
could
have
had
the
opportunity
to
get
to
know
her
as
an
adult.
What
would
I
have
seen?
Would
I
have
seen
a
woman
who
didn’t
set
any
boundaries?
Would
I
have
seen
someone
who
gave
and
gave
without
ever
really
getting
anything
back?
I
don’t
know.
I
cannot
say.
But
she
was
definitely
the
love
of
my
life.
And
maybe
that’s
because
she
might
have
been
codependent
and
treated
me
like
a
little
princess,
or
maybe
it
is
that
she
was
just
one
of
the
kindest
people
the
world
has
ever
seen.
It
might
even
be
both.
It
doesn’t
matter
who
it
was
and
what
they
were
addicted
to,
I
loved
them.
I
truly
loved
them.
I
loved
them
then
and
I
love
them
now
even
though
they
are
no
longer
alive
and
haven’t
been
for
decades.
Addiction
may
change
how
they
behaved
at
times,
but
it
didn’t
change
the
essence
of
them.
And
that’s
what
I
have
always
loved.
It
doesn’t
mean
that
I
was
blind
to
everything
that
was
wrong.
It
doesn’t
mean
that
I
didn’t
sense
that
something
was
terribly
wrong.
Today,
I
love
the
addicts
in
my
life
from
a
greater
distance.
The
pain
of
loving
someone
who
doesn’t
love
themselves
is
too
much
to
bear.
We
speak
and
we
care,
but
there
is
an
emotional
depth
we
can
never
reach.
A
depth
I
craved
then
and
I
depth
I
will
crave
if
I
let
myself
forget
who
I
am
loving.
Because
that’s
what
I
found
to
be
my
solution
for
maintaining
relationships
with
people
I
love
but
who
struggle
to
love
themselves:
I
can
love
them,
but
I
can
only
do
so
by
accepting
that
there
is
an
emotional
distance
I
will
never
be
able
to
bridge.
I
have
to
accept
that
the
closeness
I
seek,
I
can
never
get.
I
may
get
a
hint
of
it
every
now
and
then,
but
I
can
no
longer
allow
myself
to
be
lured
into
wishing
and
hoping
that
things
will
change
how
I
want
them
to
change.
I
can
love
them
and
I
can
hold
space
for
them,
but
I
cannot
change
them.
What
I
can
do
is
remove
my
expectations
and
hopes
and
dreams
for
them
and
their
relationship
with
me
by
accepting
the
reality
of
our
situation.
This
gives
me
freedom.
It
gives
me
freedom
to
love
them
while
being
true
to
myself
and
honest
about
my
feelings.
It
allows
me
to
enjoy
the
contact
and
connection
that
exists
while
having
healthy
boundaries
in
place
that
protect
me
from
sacrificing
my
own
well-being
and
peace
of
mind
in
a
misguided
attempt
to
save
them
from
themselves.
It
is
that
separation
that
finally
allows
us
to
connect.
It
gives
us
space
to
respect
our
struggles
and
each
other
as
individuals.
As
long
as
I
failed
to
see
that,
I
tried
to
change
them,
and
that’s
what
stopped
us
from
connecting.
And
so.
learning
that
I
cannot
change
another
person
and
that
only
they
have
the
power
to
do
so,
opened
me
up
to
actually
being
able
to
love
them.
I
also
learned
that
I
cannot
love
another
person
into
loving
themselves.
I
used
to
believe
that
meant
that
my
love
wasn’t
good
enough—that
I
wasn’t
enough—but
I
now
know
that
the
love
they
needed
and
the
love
they
sought
was
the
one
that
only
comes
from
within.
Because
if
my
love
could
have
saved
them,
it
would
have.
I
loved
them
that
much.
But
love
that
comes
from
the
outside
needs
to
be
able
to
connect
with
the
love
that’s
on
the
inside,
and
that
love,
they
just
hadn’t
connected
with.
That
love
they
never
found
during
their
lifetime.
And
so,
they
couldn’t
teach
it
to
anyone
else
either.
No
one
knew
about
it,
and
everyone
just
coped
with
their
pain
in
the
only
way
they
knew
how
to.
I
wanted
them
to
look
after
themselves
and
be
happy
so
very
much.
I
wanted
them
to
be
healthy
for
me.
I
wanted
them
to
stay
alive
for
me.
I
didn’t
understand
that
I
couldn’t
save
them.
I
didn’t
really
comprehend
that
part
for
most
of
my
life,
which
paradoxically
has
cost
me
a
lot
of
my
life.
I
know
the
yearning
and
the
craving.
The
wishful
thinking.
The
rollercoaster
of
hope
and
crestfallen
disappointment.
The
believing
in
them
and
cheering
them
on
only
to
watch
them
fall
again.
But
I
was
always
on
the
outside.
It
was
never
in
my
control.
It
never
really
had
anything
to
do
with
me
or
meant
anything
about
me.
I
just
happened
to
be
born
into
my
family
and
love
them.
For
most
of
my
life
I
wondered
if
I
did
really
love
them
or
if
I
just
loved
what
they
did
for
me,
but
I
can
now
say
with
absolute
certainty
that
I
loved
them.
The
things
I
loved
doing
with
them,
I
haven’t
done
in
decades
and
yet
the
love
is
still
as
strong
as
ever.
As
is
the
gratitude.
I
am
grateful
for
the
kindness
they’ve
shown
me
and
the
lessons
they’ve
taught
me.
I
am
grateful
for
their
perseverance
and
their
endurance.
I
am
grateful
for
the
thousand
things
they
were,
because
they
were
more
than
addicts.
They
had
dreams
and
aspirations
when
youth
was
on
their
side.
They
had
things
they
liked
and
favorite
clothes
they
wore.
They
had
friends
and
social
lives.
They
danced
and
they
had
fun.
They
kissed
and
made
up.
They
tried
really
hard
to
be
the
best
people
they
could
be,
and
how
could
anyone
ever
say
that
that
wasn’t
good
enough?
They
never
did
anything
to
intentionally
purposefully
hurt
or
harm
anyone
because
they
were
good
people.
Good
people
who
never
hurt
or
harmed
anyone
but
themselves.
And
witnessing
that
was
painful.
Knowing
that
that
is
what
happened
and
continues
to
happen
is
still
painful.
It
is
a
reality
I
wish
wasn’t
true.
If
there
was
something
I
could
do
to
change
that,
I
would.
But
I
know
I
can’t.
And
that
is
the
reason
why
I
can
love
the
addicts
in
my
life.
When
I
thought
that
I
could
change
them
or
save
them,
I
couldn’t
love
them.
Love
accepts
people
as
they
are.
It
does
not
seek
to
change
someone
so
they
fit
in
with
your
idea
of
them.
Love
is
inherently
respectful.
Trying
to
change
someone
isn’t.
I
could
never
really
control
them
or
their
substances,
and
I
have
lived
with
the
panic
of
not
being
able
to.
But
I
have
made
friends
with
it.
I
now
know
how
to
soothe
myself
and
in
that
way,
I
take
care
of
myself.
I
have
achieved
what
they
never
could.
I
cannot
control
what
my
addicts
do
to
themselves.
I
cannot
control
the
choices
they
make.
But
I
can
control
my
choices.
And
I
choose
health,
growth,
and
love.
I
will
not
continue
the
family
heirloom
of
addiction
and
self-abandonment.
Instead,
I
have
learned
to
love
in
healthy
ways.
And
that
includes
me.
I
have
learned
to
take
care
of
myself
and
dare
I
say
it,
like
myself.
But
I
couldn’t
have
done
it
if
it
wasn’t
for
my
family.
While
they
provided
me
with
my
challenges
and
relational
struggles,
they
also
provided
me
with
kindness,
love,
and
strength.
For
some
reason,
they
managed
to
love
me
enough
to
let
know
that
there
is
another
way
of
being
because
that
is
what
has
kept
me
going.
I
always
knew
there
was
something
wrong.
I
just
didn’t
know
what
it
was.
And
I
also
always
knew
that
there
was
a
better
life
out
there,
and
I
was
right.
I
just
wish
that
my
addicts
could
have
also
had
that
experience.
I
wish
we
could
have
had
it
together,
and
I
don’t
think
that
I
will
ever
stop
wishing
that.
But
I
accept
the
reality
that
is
and
I
will
continue
to
do
for
myself
what
they
could
not
do
for
themselves
so
my
children
will
not
share
the
struggles
of
the
past.
I
focus
on
what
I
can
control,
and
I
take
full
responsibility
for
my
own
life.
I
look
after
myself
how
I
wish
they
had
looked
after
themselves.
I
do
it
for
me.
I
do
it
for
my
children.
And
I
do
it
to
honor
them.
Because
I
know
that
they
would
want
for
me
what
I
wanted
for
them.
The
difference
is
that
I
am
able
to
give
it
to
them.
And
I
do
so
with
all
my
love.
About
Marlena
Tillhon-Haslam
Marlena
loves
people
and
life
and
is
passionate
about
finding
ways
to
make
our
human
experience
as
fulfilling
as
possible.
She
works
as
a
psychotherapist,
relationship
coach,
and
Clinical
Director.
She
loves
to
connect
on
Instagram
or
via
her
Love
with
Clarity
and
Codependency
Today
Facebook
groups
and
pages.
She
is
an
expert
in
human
relationships
and
sees
them
as
the
lifeblood
of
a
meaningful
existence.
See
a
typo,
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inaccuracy,
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offensive?
Please
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How Mother Nature and I Manage My Depression
“I
go
to
nature
to
be
soothed
and
healed,
and
to
have
my
senses
put
in
order.”
~John
Burroughs
I
sat
on
the
front
stoop
sobbing,
unable
to
move.
Hunched
over
like
a
heaving
dog
hugging
my
knees
and
clutching
a
wad
of
decomposing
tissues.
About
fifteen
minutes
before,
I’d
managed
to
get
myself
off
the
couch
where
I’d
been
parked,
withered
and
absent,
for
the
fourth
consecutive
day,
and
had
made
it
through
the
front
door.
Once
there,
I
tried
to
stay
upright,
but
like
cool
syrup
I
slid
down
the
side
of
the
wrought
iron
railing
and
down
onto
the
steps.
Now
all
I
had
to
do
was
get
up
and
walk
to
the
mailbox
and
back
and
maybe
I’d
feel
better.
But
I
couldn’t
do
it.
It
was
too
much.
I
hoisted
my
ladened
head
from
my
knees
and
stared
out
the
driveway
to
the
mailbox
about
seven
hundred
feet
away.
It
may
as
well
have
been
ten
miles…
or
fifteen
feet.
It
didn’t
matter,
it
was
too
far.
“Please
just
help
me
get
up,”
I
pleaded
to
a
somber
sky.
The
help
didn’t
come
and
so
there
I
sat
crying,
searching
for
the
energy
or
the
wherewithal
to
make
myself
move.
Fifteen
minutes,
twenty
minutes,
twenty-five…
the
time
oozed
by
thick
and
distorted.
It
had
happened
before,
more
than
once,
and
had
overtaken
me
at
varying
speeds
and
intensity. Sometimes
it
leached
in
with
the
change
of
seasons;
like
an
inflatable
pool
toy
left
floating
past
the
end
of
summer,
sad
and
wilted,
the
air
having
seeped
out
in
infinitesimal
degrees.
Sometimes
I
could
fight
it
off,
catch
it
before
things
got
too
grim.
Not
this
time.
I’d
felt
myself
spiraling
down,
hot
wind
escaping
me
until
I
was
in
a
deflated
heap,
slack
and
flaccid
on
the
sofa.
It
had
happened
a
few
years
ago,
although
not
this
bad,
and
a
chirpy
classmate
had
suggested
that
I
just
“snap
out
of
it!”
“Just…
‘snap
out
of
it?’”
I
repeated.
“Yeah!!
Snap
out
of
it!”
“It’s
not
that
simple,”
I
said.
“Sure,
it
is!
Like
the
song
says,
‘Put
on
a
happy
face!’”
“Are
you
kidding
me
right
now?”
“No,
I’m
not kidding,”
she
said.
“It’s
mind
over
matter.
Just
distract
yourself
by
doing
something
that
makes
you
happy.
Stop
thinking
about
it…
you
know,
snap
out
of
it!”
I
looked
at
the
woman
through
a
haze
of
disbelief
and
deadpanned,
“Just
snap
out
of
it.
Gee.
Why
didn’t
I
think
of
that?”
Another
friend
enquired,
“Why
don’t
you
just
ask
for
help
when
things
get
bad?”
“Because
you
can’t,”
I
said
“What
do
you
mean
you can’t?
You
just
pick
up
the
phone
and
ask
for
help.
It
takes
two
seconds!”
“I
mean
you
can’t;
not
when
you’re
in
the
depths
of
it.
That’s
the
insidiousness
of
it.
When
you
need
help
the
most
is
when
you’re
least
able
to
ask
for
it.”
“That
doesn’t
make
any
sense,”
the
friend
replied.
“If
you’re
sick
you
call
the
doctor.
If
your
car
breaks
down
you
get
it
to
a
mechanic.
If
you
have
a
drinking
problem
you
go
to
AA.
When
you need help,
you ask for
help!”
“That’s
like
telling
someone
who
is
trapped
under
a
piano
to
walk
over
to
the
phone
and
call
the
movers,”
I
scoffed.
“You
simply
can’t”
“Of
course,
you
can!
You’re
not actually trapped
under
a
piano
and
you’re
not
paralyzed,
are
you?”
“Well,
no,
obviously
it’s
a
metaphor.
But
in
a way you
are… paralyzed,
I
mean.”
“Oh,
come
on…
I
think
you’re
being
a
little
dramatic.”
“And
I
think
you’re
being
dismissive
and
oversimplifying
it.”
“Because
it’s
pretty
simple.
You
just
ask
for
help.”
“I
don’t
think
there’s
anything
I
can
say
to
help
you
to
understand
how
it
feels.
I
just
don’t
know
how
to
explain
it
if
you’ve
never
experienced
it.”
“Well,
I
think
if
someone
needs
help,
they
should
just
ask
for
it.”
I
sighed
and
said
“Maybe
the
name
says
it
all.
It’s
a
good
name
for
how
you
feel.
‘Depression.’
There’s
the
word
depression
like
a
hole
in
the
ground
and
you
definitely
feel
like
you’re
stuck
down
in
a
hole.
And
there’s
depression
in
the
sense
that
something
is pressing down on
you.
It
absolutely
feels
like
there
is
a
physical
weight
holding
you
down.
It’s
inexplicably
heavy.
It’s
heavy
in
your
mind.
It’s
heavy
in
your
lungs.
It’s
heavy
in
your
body.
Sometimes,
when
it’s
really
bad,
it’s
nearly
impossible
to
move.”
“Nearly impossible…
but
not
impossible,”
my
friend
said.
“You
could
still
get
to
the
phone.”
Okay…
Whatever…
But
that
was
then
and
now
I
was
alone.
No
nonbelievers
to
convert
nor
pep
talks
to
deflect.
Medication
had
worked
to
a
degree
and
only
for
a
while.
The
struggle
to
find
the
right
prescription
and
dosage
combined
with
the
ever-growing
list
of
side
effects
had
proven
too
much.
I
also
swore
I
could
feel
the
drugs
in
my
system,
and
they
made
me
feel
toxic,
for
lack
of
a
better
term,
and
I
couldn’t
stand
it. So,
under
my
doctor’s
guidance
I’d
titrated
off
my
meds.
I’d
discovered
that,
for
me,
the
best
way
to
loosen
the
grip
of
despair
and
keep
it
at
bay
was
intense,
intentional,
physical
exercise.
As
I
slowly
increased
the
time
I
spent
walking,
then
running,
my
doctor
kept
close
tabs
on
my
progress.
It
had
worked.
It
was
my
magic
pill
and
like
any
prescription,
I
had
to
take
it
without
fail
or
face
a
relapse.
I’d
found
that
he
more/less
I
exercised
the
more/less
I
wanted
to,
and
the
better/worse
I
felt;
it
was
self-perpetuating
in
both
directions,
and
over
the
past
couple
of
months
I
had
gotten
lazy;
my
laziness
turned
into
malaise,
the
malaise
had
become
despondence,
and
despondence
had
gotten
me
here.
Sitting
languid
and
bleak
between
a
spitting
gray
sky
and
the
gravel
drive.
It
was
late
September
in
Mid-Coast
Maine.
The
days
were
growing
shorter
and
winter
would
not
be
long
behind.
The
hibernal
season
was
always
a
struggle
and
it
was
harder
to
manage
my
mood.
The
window
of
opportunity
was
closing.
If
I
didn’t
get
ahead
of
it
straightaway
there’d
be
no
escaping
without
medical
intervention.
I
had
to
move
my
body
so
my
mind
could
follow,
it
was
the
only
way
out
and
would
happen
right
now
or
not
at
all.
I
had
to
dig
down
deep,
excavate
some
minuscule
untapped
reserve,
the
survival
instinct
maybe,
and
use
it
to
push
back
against
the
darkness
with
everything
I
had
left.
Okay.
On
the
count
of one…
two…
three… I
took
a
deep
breath
in
and
with
the
exhale,
slowly
rolled
forward
off
the
step
onto
my
hands
and
knees
into
the
small
dusty
stones.
I
looked
out
to
the
end
of
the
drive,
toward
the
empty
road
and
the
stand
of
pines
beyond,
then
hooked
my
eyes
onto
the
mailbox. Just
get
there. Crawl
if
you
have
to,
but
go.
I
crept
a
few
feet
forward
on
all
fours,
the
sharp
pebbles
jabbing
into
my
knees
and
palms
“I
think
you’re
being
a
little
dramatic…” I
rolled
my
eyes
and
set
my
jaw. Sitting
back
on
my
heels,
I
pushed
with
my
hands
and
came
up
into
a
four-point
squat.
I
sat
there
for
a
minute
keep
moving
keep
moving
then,
fingers
splayed
on
the
ground,
I
stuck
my
fanny
in
the
air,
grabbed
hold
of
my
thighs
one
at
a
time,
and
hauled
myself
up.
Arms
crossed
over
my
stomach
and
chest,
stooped
and
shivering,
I
hugged
myself. Move.
Move
your
feet Taking
tiny
steps,
increments
of
half
a
foot-length,
I
shuffled
forward;
right,
left,
pause…
right,
left,
pause… “God
it’s
so
hard.” Keep
going
keep
going…
Over
the
past
couple
of
years
I’d
become
an
athlete,
a
trail
runner.
I
ran
twenty-five
or
thirty
miles
a
week,
up
and
down
ski
slopes
in
the
summertime,
yet
right
then
I
could
barely
move.
There
was
nothing
physically
wrong
with
me,
but
depression
is
an
autocrat
and
I’d
fallen
under
its
totalitarian
rule.
It
forbade
me
from
moving
with
my
normal
grace
and
ease
and
instead
had
me
shackled
and
chained…
but
I
kept
going.
“You
should
die
from
this,”
I
breathed
out
loud.
“If
there
was
a
true,
proportionate
cause
and
effect,
feeling this bad should,
in
all
fairness,
kill
a
person.” Keep
going
keep
going.
“But
it
doesn’t.
It
squeezes
the
life
out
of
you
but
doesn’t
actually
kill
you.”
I
was
halfway
to
the
mailbox. I
didn’t
pick
up
my
feet,
just
sort
of
slid
them
along,
rocking
back
and
forth
like
a
sickly
penguin
leaving
drag
marks
behind.
It
hurt
to
move,
it
hurt
to
breathe.
“Please
help
me,”
I
turned
my
face
upward
and
beseeched
the
misting
sky.
“Please
give
me
a
sign.
I
need
something, anything,
so
I
know
this
will
be
worth
it.
If
you
do,
I
promise
I’ll
believe
it
and
I
won’t
give
up. I
promise
I’ll
keep
going.” Right,
left,
right,
left. I
was
closing
in
on
the
letterbox,
tears
flowing.
My
body
ached.
I
got
no
sign,
no
random
flash
of
light
nor
clap
of
thunder,
just
the
sound
of
the
breeze
in
the
pines
and
my
feet
scratching
in
the
pebbles.
When
I
was
about
ten
feet
away,
I
extended
an
arm, right,
left,
right,
left,
almost
there…
reaching… fingertips
touching
the
cold
damp
metal.
“I
did
it,”
I
feebly
cried. Maybe
there’s
something
in
the
mail
today…
maybe
that
will
be
my
sign. I
opened
the
box
and
peered
inside.
Nothing.
Just
a
flyer
from
the
market
with
its
weekly
specials—not
even real mail,
just
more
junk.
But
with
or
without
a
sign,
I’d
made
it.
Oh…
God…
I
turned
around
and,
clamping
my
Kleenex
and
the
stupid
flyer
to
my
chest,
stared
blankly
back
down
the
driveway
to
the
house. Now
I
have
to
do
it
again.
It
was
so far.
“Just
get
it
over
with
and
then
you
can
be
done.”
I
breathed
in
and
started
back…
right,
left,
right,
left,
right,
left,
I
resumed
my
melancholy
march.
My
gaze
was
fixed
yet
something
moving
high
in
a
tree
caught
in
my
periphery…
a
bird;
a
crow
or
raven
maybe.
I
paused
and
looked
up,
and
there
he
was
flapping
his
wings
just
a
bit,
arranging
himself
on
his
perch.
The
huge
chocolate-colored
body
and
glorious
white
crown
were
unmistakable,
even
at
this
distance.
Bald
Eagles
were
common
up
here,
but
this
was
no
ordinary
creature
and
I
knew
it. Strength,
pride,
power,
Mother
Nature
to
the
rescue
again.
Yes,
this
was my eagle
and
I
understood
the
message
he
brought.
I
sniffled,
dragged
my
damp
sleeve
across
my
nose
and
cheek,
and
nodded.
“Okay,”
I
whispered.
“Thank
you.
This
is
good.
I
can
do
this”
I
regained
momentum. Right,
left,
right,
left. I’m
a
runner,
I’m
an
athlete,
I
eat
hills
for
breakfast,
Goddammit. Keep
going. Hand
outstretched,
I
grabbed
hold
of
the
railing
and
climbed
the
three
steps
to
the
house.
I
made
it
back,
albeit
barely,
and
let
myself
inside.
I
got
out
of
my
wet
clothes
and
wrapped
myself
up
in
my
accomplishment
and
a
fluffy
robe.
I
would
get
a
little
something
to
eat,
I
thought,
take
a
hot
shower,
go
to
bed,
and
watch
TV. I
still
felt
like
hell,
but
I
did
it.
I
would
get
some
sleep
tonight
and
first
thing
tomorrow
morning,
I
told
myself,
I
would
go
to
the
mailbox
again…
and
maybe
just
a
little
bit
farther.
*
*
*
*
When
a
person
releases
any
type
of
toxicity
from
their
lives
or
stops
accepting
their
drug
of
choice,
in
whatever
form
it
takes,
after
years
of
abuse,
they
discover
all
sorts
of
things
about
themselves
that
may
have
been
masked
by,
or
mistaken
for,
their
addiction.
One
of
the
things
I
unearthed
when
I
got
sober
was
a
history
of
severe
depression
that
I’d
attributed
to
alcoholism;
I
was
wrong,
they
weren’t
one
and
the
same.
They
were,
however,
mutually
parasitic,
two
separate
entities
that
fed
off
one
another.
Which
came
first,
the
depression
or
the
alcoholism,
I
have
no
idea
and,
frankly,
it
didn’t
really
matter
to
me.
My
substance
abuse
certainly
exacerbated
my
despondency,
but
cessation
didn’t
cure
it;
I
was
left
with
chronic,
sometimes
debilitating
bouts
of
despair.
My
first
twelve-step
sponsor
suggested
we
meet
for
weekly
walks
at
the
town
reservoir,
a
three
thousand-acre
forested
reserve
dotted
with
pristine
watershed
lakes.
It
was
to
become
a
transformative
practice.
Once
a
week,
we
walked
and
talked
our
way
around
a
popular
three-mile
loop
where
I
learned,
among
many
other
things,
a
quote
that
I
believe
helped
save
my
life:
“Move
a
muscle,
change
a
thought.”
This
quote
introduced
me
to
the
theory
that
physically
moving
the
body
helps
dislodge
negativity
and
facilitates
a
healthy
thought
process.
It
also
reintroduced
me
to
my
love
of
the
woods,
something
I’d
forfeited
long
ago
to
alcoholism.
The
activity
became
so
enjoyable
that
I
began
to
seek
out
my
new
like-minded
friends
for
a
“walk
at
the
Res,”
building
healthy
relationships
in
a
tranquil
setting,
eventually
heading
out
on
my
own
as
well.
I’d
walk
the
loop
after
work
as
the
days
grew
long
and
hike
for
hours
on
sunny
weekend
mornings.
I’d
often
catch
glimpses
of
deer,
even
a
doe
with
her
fawn.
It
relaxed
me
and
made
me
smile,
which
may
not
sound
like
much
but
for
me,
as
sick
as
I’d
been,
it
was
a
big
deal.
Surrounded
by
the
soft
shapes
and
sounds
of
the
forest,
the
whispers
of
the
breeze
rustling
the
leaves,
the
sound
of
water
moving
over
rocks
in
the
creeks
and
the
birdsong
in
the
trees,
and
the
rich
smell
and
feel
of
earth
under
my
feet,
I
found
the
magical
world
I’d
claimed
as
a
girl
and
then
left
behind.
Being
alone
in
nature
I
found
peace
and
my
very
first
feelings
of
joy
as
an
adult.
I’d
forgotten
that
joy
existed,
let
alone
that
it
was
something
that
might
be
available
to
me.
Not
to
be
understated,
it
also
kept
me
occupied,
away
from
dangerous
environments
and
temptation.
As
the
happiness
in
my
heart
grew
and
my
healthful
body
returned,
I
began
going
for
short
runs.
It
wasn’t
easy,
but
I
kept
at
it,
physically
challenging
myself
gradually,
mindfully,
and
without
impunity.
The
endorphins,
already
being
released
on
walks
and
hikes,
increased
proportionately
with
the
pace,
the
distance,
and
demand
of
the
terrain.
I
was
feeling
strong,
happy,
empowered;
literally
and
intentionally
changing
the
chemical
balance
in
my
brain.
With
the
blessing
and
guidance
of
my
therapist,
I
slowly
replaced
my
antidepressants
with
scheduled,
purposeful
exercise,
proud
to
be
scaling
my
active
participation
in
my
recovery
under
the
watchful
eye
of
my
doctor.
After
several
years,
I
traded
regular
visits
with
my
shrink
for
the
occasional
tune-up
with
a
sports
physician. Nature
was
at
the
center
of
my
spiritual
healing
and
running
and
hiking
had
become
my
medicine. And
like
any
medicine,
if
I
kept
taking
it,
it
kept
working
and,
well,
if
I
didn’t…
****
Day
by
day,
I
had
allowed
one
excuse
after
another
to
erode
my
commitment
to
exercise
and
disrupt
my
healthy
routine,
but
I’d
just
sloughed
it
off.
“No
big
deal,”
I
told
myself.
“I’ll
get
back
to
it
tomorrow.”
But
my
“tomorrows”
were
adding
up
and
before
I
knew
it,
momentum
was
lost
and
the
pendulum
had
swung.
Then,
my
relationship
fell
apart.
My
conditioned
response
would
have
been
to
run
it
off;
take
my
anger
and
pain
into
the
woods
and
leave
it
there
rather
than
turn
it
inward.
But
it
was
too
late.
My
depression
had
already
taken
hold
and
gotten
ahead
of
me,
so
instead
of
hitting
the
trail
I’d
spiraled
down
and
hit
the
couch…
and
I
stayed
there
for
days.
It
was
a
very
difficult
lesson,
but
I
learned
it.
I
have
yet
to
make
that
mistake
again.
Today,
nearly
twenty
years
after
my
long
journey
to
the
mailbox,
I
have
a
million
things
to
do.
But
first,
I
went
for
a
run.
I
know
I
need
to
make
intentional
exercise
a
priority,
and
to
celebrate
the
small
victories
when
all
I
can
manage
is
a
short
walk.
When
you’re
depressed
it
can
be
hard
to
see
this,
but
small
wins
are
wins,
nonetheless.
If
you’re
struggling
right
now,
I
get
it.
I
know
you
can’t
just
snap
out
of
it.
I
know
it’s
hard
to
ask
for
help.
I
know
you
might
need
medication,
and
there’s
nothing
wrong
with
that.
But
perhaps,
like
me,
you’ll
find
it
helpful
to
get
out
of
your
head,
get
outside,
and
get
moving.
If
there’s
one
thing
I’ve
learned
it’s
to
never
underestimate
the
healing
power
of
physical
exercise
and
mother
nature.
About
Amie
Gabriel
Holistic
Wellness
expert,
certified
yoga,
meditation,
and
group
fitness
instructor
specializing
in
mind/body
fitness,
women's
wellness,
12-step
recovery,
processing
grief
and
depression,
and
celebrating
joy.
Amie
creates
mindful,
nature-based
programs
and
retreats
focusing
on
the
inseparable
connection
of
mind/breath/body/spirit/intention. Her
work
has
been
featured
at
Canyon
Ranch
Lenox
and
Tucson,
Mayflower
Inn
and
Spa,
Washington
Depot,
CT,
Silver
Hill
Hospital,
New
Canaan,
CT,
among
others. She
has
written
a
book
on
healing
through
holistic
wellness
to
be
published
in
2020.
See
a
typo,
an
inaccuracy,
or
something
offensive?
Please
contact
us
so
we
can
fix
it!
Healing from the Trauma of Narcissistic Abuse
“Don’t
blame
a
clown
for
acting
like
a
clown.
Ask
yourself
why
you
keep
going
to
the
circus.”
~Unknown
When
I
first
experienced
narcissistic
abuse
as
an
adult,
it
was
a
at
a
time
when
the
term
“narcissistic
abuse”
was
not
so
heard
of
or
understood.
I
had
met
a
handsome,
intelligent,
charismatic,
and
charming
man,
and
as
is
typical
in
abusive
relationships,
had
been
completely
overwhelmed
by
the
intensity
and
‘love’-overload
of
the
early
stages.
Before
I
could
catch
my
breath,
though,
the
nitpicking
started,
and
so
did
the
heated
arguments,
the
jealousy,
the
cutting
contact,
and
disappearing
for
days
on
end—shortly
followed
by
dramatic
make-ups,
apologies,
gifts,
and
promises.
And
so
had
begun
the
emotional
roller
coaster
ride
that
is
dating
a
narcissist.
Many
months
later,
I
found
myself
becoming
a
different
person.
I
was
stressed,
anxious,
paranoid,
increasingly
isolated,
and
cranky.
I
was
totally
lost
and
felt
like
nobody
understood.
Friends
couldn’t
understand
why
we
couldn’t
just
end
things.
We
were
hooked
in
a
destructive
bond.
At
the
worst
points
being
caught
in
a
toxic
relationship
feels
utterly
maddening.
After
months
of
relationship
highs
and
lows,
of
it
being
on
and
off,
the
gaslighting,
accusations,
and
coercive
control,
I
honestly
began
to
believe
I
was
losing
my
mind.
I
was
stuck
trying
to
make
sense
of
my
experience,
and
the
logical
part
of
my
mind
was
desperately
searching
for
answers
to
so
many
questions:
Why
did
he
cheat?What
was
so
wrong
with
me?Why
did
he
lie?What
were
lies
and
what
was
the
truth?Was
any
of
it
real?Did
he
ever
really
say
the
things
he
said?Was
he
even
capable
of
love?How
could
things
have
been
different?What
else
could
or
should
I
have
done?
These
are
some
of
the
same
questions
I
hear
my
clients
ask
now
when
they
come
to
me
for
support
in
healing
from
narcissistic
abuse.
The
Journey
of
Healing
My
own
recovery
started
one
particularly
frantic
night.
I
was
incredibly
upset
and
desperate
to
make
sense
of
what
was
going
on.
Searching
online,
I
happened
to
come
across
information
about
sociopaths
and
narcissists
and
this
particular
kind
of
psychological
abuse.
This
was
a
pivotal
moment.
I
had
never
heard
anybody
use
the
term
“narcissistic
abuse,”
and
at
that
time
(this
was
many
years
ago),
there
was
hardly
any
information
around
about
it.
But
I
knew,
the
moment
I
read
this,
that
this
was
it.
It
shifted
my
whole
perspective.
It
was
shocking,
confusing,
although
overall,
an
unbelievable
relief.
I
realized
this
was
a
‘thing’
and
that
for
the
first
time,
other
people
understood.
More
importantly,
there
was
a
way
out.
Reading
more
about
psychological
abuse,
I
arrived
at
my
first
key
point
in
healing:
I
Realized
It’s
Not
Me—I’m
Not
Crazy!
Toxic
relationships
will
leave
you
feeling
like
you
are
mad.
Often
abusive
partners
will
reinforce
this
by
never
taking
responsibility
and
constantly
telling
you
in
various
ways
that
it
is
your
fault
or
your
issues.
My
narcissistic
partner
would
criticize
and
undermine
me
in
all
sorts
of
strange
and
subtle
ways,
including
judgments
or
‘suggestions.’
He
would
often
communicate
in
ways
that
would
leave
me
doubting
or
questioning
myself.
As
is
the
power
of
being
with
a
narcissist,
at
the
time,
I
was
eager
to
please
and
impress.
If
I
ever
pulled
him
up
on
any
of
the
criticisms,
he
accused
me
of
being
negative,
told
me
he
was
trying
to
support
my
personal
growth,
that
I
was
being
sensitive,
paranoid,
that
I
was
over-reacting,
or
that
I
had
issues.
This
kind
of
abuse
in
itself
is
maddening.
I
realized
that
all
of
what
I
had
been
feeling
was
in
itself
the
symptoms
of
being
in
an
emotionally
abusive
relationship.
I
was
not
and
am
not
mad,
but
I
was
in
a
mad
relationship.
I
found
as
I
cut
contact
and
removed
myself
from
the
toxic
dynamic
that
my
sense
of
sanity
swiftly
returned.
This
is
something
that
many
sufferers
I
work
with
now
also
experience.
You
are
not
crazy,
but
if
you
are
in
an
abusive
relationship,
you
are
in
a
relationship
dynamic
that
will
leave
you
feeling
like
you
are.
Letting
Go
of
the
Need
to
Understand
and
Know
It’s
our
mind’s
natural
tendency
to
want
to
make
sense
of
our
experience;
however,
with
narcissism
and
narcissistic
behavior,
there
is
no
sense.
You
can’t
apply
logic
to
illogical
actions.
I
created
a
lot
of
distress
for
myself
in
the
early
part
of
my
recovery
by
desperately
clinging
onto
the
fantasy
that
I
somehow
could
understand
all
the
what’s
and
whys.
Being
able
to
let
go
of
this
need
to
know
is
a
big
step
in
recovery.
This
was
not
easy
at
the
time,
but
I
managed
this
by
practicing
mindfulness
and
learning
to
recognize
when
my
thoughts
or
attention
would
drift
to
the
narcissist
or
on
trying
to
work
out
the
answers
or
understand
the
non-existent
logic.
As
I
became
aware
of
my
thoughts
drifting
to
such
a
futile
task,
I
would
then
try
and
tune
into
my
feelings
in
that
moment
and
ask
myself
“How
am
I
feeling
right
now?”
I’d
mentally
label
the
emotion
and
any
physical
sensations
that
went
along
with
it.
Then,
knowing
more
clearly
how
I
was
feeling
(sad,
angry,
etc.)
I
would
ask
myself
“What
do
I
need?
What
can
I
do
for
myself
right
now
that
is
a
loving
and
supportive
thing
to
do?”
Sometimes
this
would
be
to
allow
myself
to
cry,
punch
a
pillow,
reach
out
to
a
friend,
or
go
and
treat
myself
to
something
nice—to
practice
self-care.
It
was
a
step-by-step
process
to
find
ways
in
which
I
could
gently
feel
my
feelings
and
attend
to
my
own
needs.
This
also
included
the
feelings
I
had
about
not
having
answers
and
accepting
that
maybe
I
never
will.
You
can
gently
let
go
with
this
refocus
and
self-care.
Make
a
choice
about
what
may
be
harmful
of
helpful
to
your
healing
and
recovery.
Considering
My
Own
Narcissism
I
laugh
now
that
my
break-up
lasted
longer
than
the
actual
relationship
did!
The
toxic
dynamic
was
addictive
and
really
hard
to
let
go
of
from
both
sides.
An
empath
will
care,
forgive,
understand,
and
put
a
narcissist’s
needs
before
their
own.
A
narcissist
will
crave
the
attention,
contact,
and
power.
It
becomes
a
dance.
Narcissists
tend
to
have
a
disorganized
attachment
style.
Relationships
will
be
push
and
pull,
on
and
off,
up
and
down.
Being
in
a
relationship
with
a
narcissist
is
a
lot
like
being
on
an
emotional
roller
coaster
ride.
It’s
exhilarating
and
draining,
but
if
you
stay
on,
going
round
and
round
for
long
enough
you
will
get
sick!
Because
of
the
attachment
style,
the
moment
a
narcissist
senses
you
are
pulling
away,
they
will
instinctively
aim
to
pull
you
back
in
again,
throwing
all
sorts
of
bait
in
order
to
hook
you
back.
I
was
hooked
back
again
and
again
by
broken
promises
and
wanting
to
believe
the
fantasy
of
how
things
could
be.
I
was
also
hooked
by
believing
that
somehow,
I
could
be
the
one
to
change
him,
to
make
him
see,
to
help
him
love
and
feel
loved,
to
make
things
different,
to
help
him
be
the
person
I
hoped
and
believed
he
could
be.
Truth
be
told,
I
wanted
to
be
the
one
to
capture
and
hold
his
attention
and
interest.
However,
such
is
the
demands
of
narcissistic
supply
that
it’s
impossible
that
can
ever
be
one
person
forever.
Quite
frankly,
I
had
to
recognize
the
narcissism
in
this.
To
see
the
narcissistic
fantasy
in
my
idea
about
somehow
possessing
some
magical
powers
to
help
him
heal
and
change.
I
can’t.
In
fact,
nobody
can.
A
narcissist’s
healing
and
actions
are
their
responsibility
only—nobody
else’s.
Believing
on
some
level
you
can
be
the
‘the
one’
to
change
a
narcissist
is
narcissistic
to
some
extent
in
itself.
This
doesn’t
mean
somebody
who
has
this
hope
has
narcissistic
personality
disorder!
It’s
just
helpful
to
recognize
the
ill-placed
hope
and
fantasy.
Narcissism
is
one
of
the
most
difficult
clinical
presentations
for
highly
experienced
specialists
to
treat.
You
do
not
have
the
ability
or
power
to
change
or
help
an
abuser.
More
to
the
point,
why
would
you
want
to?
Let
Go
of
Fantasy
Thinking
and
Ground
Yourself
in
Reality
Many
people
who’ve
experienced
narcissistic
abuse
become
trapped
in
elusive
fantasy.
Fantasy
thinking
is
clinging
onto
the
hope
of
how
you
believe
things
could
be,
not
how
they
actually
are.
One
of
the
most
confusing
things
I
experienced
when
in
a
relationship
with
a
narcissist
was
distinguishing
the
difference
between
fantasy
and
reality.
With
this
there
can
be
a
discrepancy
between
body
and
mind.
For
example,
my
ex
constantly
told
me
that
he
was
being
supportive.
However,
I
didn’t
feel
supported.
Like
in
many
abusive
relationships,
the
words
and
the
actions
do
not
match.
Nobody
can
really
mean
the
words
“I
love
you”
and
be
violent,
critical,
or
abusive
at
the
same
time.
In
recovery,
it
is
vital
to
distinguish
between
the
hope
and
fantasy
of
how
things
could
be
and
the
reality
of
how
things
actually
are.
I
often
hear
people
describe
the
longing
for
things
to
be
like
they
were
“in
the
beginning.”
The
start
of
an
abusive
relationship
can
be
incredibly
intense
and
powerful.
This
is
the
time
the
manipulator
will
‘love-bomb’
and
it
can
feel
exhilarating,
romantic,
powerful,
and
highly
addictive.
Intensity
is
not
the
same
as
intimacy
though.
Real
intimacy
takes
time
and
is
balanced.
Intensity
can
give
you
a
high
that
you
continue
to
crave.
If
you
suspect
you
are
in
an
unhealthy
relationship,
it’s
important
to
take
an
honest
and
objective
inventory
of
the
current
reality,
not
your
ideal
of
how
things
were
or
could
be.
Right
now,
how
safe
and
secure
do
you
feel?
Currently,
what
are
the
actions
of
your
partner
or
ex?
It
can
be
helpful
to
take
pen
to
paper
and
list
the
current
behaviors
or
circumstances
to
help
regain
some
more
realistic
perspective.
Perhaps
asking
friends
or
family
their
view
too.
Take
responsibility
One
of
the
things
I
feel
most
grateful
from
my
experience
of
narcissistic
abuse
is
that
I
really
had
to
learn
to
take
complete
responsibility
for
myself.
I
had
to
become
fully
responsible
for
myself
and
my
actions;
my
recovery,
my
efforts,
my
self-care,
my
finances,
my
health,
my
well-being,
my
life…
everything.
Something
I
see
many
people
do
while
in
a
toxic
relationship,
and
even
following
the
end
of
one,
is
to
become
stuck
with
focusing
their
efforts
and
attentions
on
the
narcissist.
Over-concerning
themselves
with
what
they
are
now
doing,
or
not
doing,
or
still
trying
to
get
them
to
see
things
another
way,
or
holding
out
for
an
apology
from
them,
or
hoping
they
will
change
or
fulfil
all
their
promises
and
so
on.
A
particular
hook
I
often
hear
about
in
my
work
now
is
the
abusive
partner
dangling
a
‘carrot
on
a
stick’
when
their
partner
attempts
to
end
the
relationship.
This
can
be
highly
abusive
as
they
step
up
the
promises
of
providing
you
with
whatever
it
is
they
know
you
wish
for;
be
it
proper
commitment,
a
family,
a
secure
home
situation,
financial
purchases,
or
more.
I
have
honestly
yet
to
hear
an
account
of
when
any
of
these
promises
have
been
honored.
Instead,
partners
are
left
wasting
months
and
years,
even
decades,
holding
on
the
fantasy
and
hope
that
a
partner
will
provide
them
with
what
they
need.
I
think
it’s
important
to
recognize
the
bigger
perspective.
If
there
are
things
you
want
in
life,
then
you
take
complete
responsibility
for
making
them
happen.
Remember,
too
much
focus
on
the
narcissist
is
a
big
part
of
the
problem
in
the
first
place!
Healing
comes
with
returning
your
focus
to
yourself,
acknowledging
your
own
feelings
and
emotional
experience,
recognizing
your
own
wants
and
needs,
and
gently
attending
to
those
yourself.
I
truly
believe
that
healthy
relationships
begin
with
the
one
we
have
with
ourselves.
That
includes
taking
full
responsibility
for
all
aspects
of
ourselves
and
our
lives.
Gratitude
When
I
was
in
the
midst
of
the
insanity
of
narcissistic
abuse,
I
felt
like
I
was
in
a
living
hell!
At
the
time,
I
absolutely
would
never
have
entertained
the
concept
of
applying
gratitude
to
the
experience!
Now,
though,
many
years
later,
I
can
truly
say
I
am
deeply
grateful
for
the
experience.
When
I
became
aware
of
this
particular
kind
of
psychological
and
emotional
abuse,
the
sheer
depths
of
the
pain
I
was
experiencing
propelled
me
to
embark
on
a
deep
journey
of
exploration,
healing,
and
recovery
and
vast
personal
growth,
which
I
am
now
eternally
grateful
for.
I
actively
practiced
writing
about
what
I
could
be
grateful
for
in
each
part
of
the
experience
and—as
difficult
as
that
was
at
the
time—it
helped
to
assist
my
healing.
I
learned
about
narcissistic
abuse,
I
learned
how
to
spot
the
signs
of
both
overt
and
covert
narcissism
so
now
I
can
spot
this
a
mile
off.
With
awareness,
I
have
a
choice.
I
had
to
take
a
good
look
at
my
part
in
the
dynamic,
my
issues
of
codependency.
I
learned
boundaries.
I’ve
learned
healthy
communication.
I
worked
with
a
therapist
and
support
group
to
feel
and
heal
the
family
origins
of
some
issues
that
related
to
why
we
attract
or
repeat
unhealthy
relationship
patterns
in
the
first
place.
I
learned
how
to
tune
into
and
trust
myself
and
my
gut
instinct;
I
always
stay
close
to
that
now.
I
learned
a
huge
amount
about
myself.
I
know
what
healthy
relationships
are
and
enjoy
many
of
them
in
my
life
now.
I’m
a
better,
wiser,
and
more
grateful
person
for
going
through
it
all.
Don’t
get
me
wrong,
I
would
never
want
to
experience
it
ever
again!
But
I
rest
confident
now
that,
because
of
a
full
recovery,
I
absolutely
will
never
need
to.
I
do
not
attract
that
kind
of
person
anymore.
In
fact,
I
can
be
quite
the
narcissist-repellant
because
I
recognize
the
warning
signs.
As
well
as
spotting
the
signs
on
the
outside
and
recognizing
the
abusive
actions
of
others,
I
now
have
clear
boundaries
and
the
self-esteem
to
communicate
them.
I
have
also
worked
on
what
needed
to
be
healed
inside
of
me,
and
for
that
I
am
grateful.
See
a
typo,
an
inaccuracy,
or
something
offensive?
Please
contact
us
so
we
can
fix
it!
6 Things to Remember When You Think You Don’t Matter
In
a
world
with
billions
of
people,
in
a
culture
that
promotes
being
special
and
making
a
big
mark,
it’s
easy
to
feel
like
you
don’t
matter.
Maybe
you’ve
felt
it
all
your
life—like
you
have
no
purpose,
no
value,
and
nothing
to
contribute
to
anyone
around
you.
Maybe
you
feel
it
off
and
on,
when
you’re
struggling
to
find
love
or
direction
and
think
you
need
to
somehow
prove
your
worth.
Or
maybe
you
know
that
your
life
has
value,
but
every
now
and
then,
when
your
head
hits
your
pillow,
you
wonder
if
in
the
end,
it
will
matter
that
you
lived
at
all.
I
know
what
it’s
like
to
question
your
worth.
I
grew
up
feeling
inferior
and
unsure
of
myself,
and
felt
lost
and
insignificant
for
many
years
after
that.
As
an
insecure
introvert
with
high
anxiety
and
low
self-esteem,
I
simultaneously
wanted
to
belong
and
hoped
to
find
a
way
to
stand
out.
So
I
could
feel
important.
Valuable.
Worth
knowing,
worth
loving,
worth
remembering
when
I’m
gone.
I’m
also
naturally
a
deep
thinker,
which
means
I’ve
often
questioned
my
place
in
the
world
and
the
meaning
of
life
itself.
If
you
can
relate
to
any
of
what
I’ve
wrote,
I
hope
you’ll
find
some
comfort
in
knowing…
1. You
are
not
alone.
We
all
struggle
with
the
question
of
why
we’re
here,
if
we
have
a
purpose,
and
if
our
lives
will
really
matter
in
the
grand
scheme
of
things.
Google
“existential
crisis”
and
you’ll
find
over
4.5
million
results. Search
for
“I
don’t
matter”
and
that
number
shoots
up
to
more
than
100
mil.
On
days
when
you
feel
insignificant
it
might
seem
irrelevant
that
others
do
too.
And
it
is, if
you
only
know,
intellectually, that you’re
not
alone
instead
of
truly
feeling
it.
I
know
from
personal
experience
the
soul-crushing
sense
of
separation
you
feel
when
you
stuff
your
insecurities
down
and
pretend
you’re
fine
when
you’re
not.
So,
open
up.
Tell
someone
what
you’re
feeling.
Write
in
a
blog
post.
And
wait
to
hear
“me
too.”
When
you
feel
the
comfort
of
belonging,
remember that you
provided
that
to
someone
else.
And,
that,
my
friend, is
you
mattering.
2.
Just
because
you
think
you
don’t
matter,
that
doesn’t
mean
it’s
true.
Thoughts
aren’t
facts.
They’re
fleeting, constantly
changing,
and
influenced
by
our
mood,
beliefs,
and
early
programming.
On
days
when
I’m
at
my
lowest,
it’s
often
because
I’m
responding
to
an
accumulation
of
physical
and
emotional
challenges,
sometimes
without
conscious
awareness.
I’m
exhausted
from
insufficient
sleep,
weakened
from
dehydration
or
poor
food
choices,
and/or
emotionally
triggered
by
events
that
hit
me
right
in
my
core
childhood
wounds.
For
example,
maybe
someone
fails
to
respond
to
my
email—for
over
a
week—and
this
reinforces
the
belief
I
formed
when
mistreated
as
a
kid:
that
there’s
something
wrong
with
me,
and
I’m
not
good
enough
and
unlovable.
Add
all
those
things
up,
and
I’m
primed
to
glom
on
to
every
negative
thought
that
floats
through
my
brain
as
if
it
were
true.
But
they’re
not.
They’re
judgments,
assumptions,
conclusions,
and
interpretations,
all
held
in
place
by
the
glue
of
my
current
mood
and
limited
perception.
The
same
is
true
for
you.
You
might
think
you
don’t
matter
today,
and
perhaps
you
did
yesterday,
and
the
many
days
before
that
too.
But that
thought
doesn’t
accurately
reflect
your
reality;
it
merely
represents
your
perspective
in
those
moments. A
perspective
shaped
by
many
things,
some
deep
below
the
surface.
3.
When
other
people
treat
you
like
you
don’t
matter,
it’s
about
them,
not
you.
Speaking
of
core
childhood
wounds,
many
times
when
we
think
we
don’t
matter
it’s
partly
because
other
people
have
treated
us
like
we
don’t—and
possibly
from
the
day
we
were
born.
If
you
were
abused,
neglected,
abandoned,
or
oppressed,
as
a
kid
or
in
an
adult
relationship,
it’s
easy
to
conclude
you
somehow
deserved
it.
But
you
didn’t,
and
you
don’t.
No
one
does.
They
didn’t
treat
you
poorly
because
you
are
you.
They
did
it
because
they
are
them.
They
didn’t
treat
you
like
you
didn’t
matter
because
you
have
no
value.
They
did
it
because
they
were
too
caught
up
in
their
own
pain
and
patterns to
recognize
and
honor
your
intrinsic
worth.
Unfortunately,
the
beliefs
formed
through
abuse
are
insidious
because
they
impact
not
only
our
self-worth
but
our
sense
of
identity.
And
it
can
be
difficult
to
untangle
the
many
intertwined
threads
of
who
we
believe
we
are,
and
why.
But
even
if
you’ve
just
started
on
the
long
road
to
healing,
sometimes
it’s
enough
just
to
recognize you
formed
a negative belief
based
on
how
you
were
treated—and
you
can,
in
time,
let
it
go.
4.
You
don’t
have
to
do
big
things
to
matter.
It’s
easy
to
feel
like
your
life
doesn’t
matter
if
you
aren’t
doing
something
big—if
you’re
not
saving
the
world, or running
an
empire,
or
traveling
the globe with
the hashtagged pics
to
prove
it.
But
meaning
doesn’t
have
to
come
only
from
accomplishments—and
sometimes
the
most
traditionally
successful
people
are
actually
the
most
unfulfilled.
If
you’re
too
busy
to
enjoy
the
money
you’ve
earned,
does
it
really
have
any
value?
If
you
have
more
followers
than
true
friends,
can
you
ever
really
feel
loved?
Big
things
feed
the
ego,
there’s
no
doubt
about
it,
and
yes,
they
make
an
impact. But
when
you
reflect
on
the
people
who’ve
mattered
most
to
you
personally,
is
it
a
CEO
you
visualize?
Or
a
celebrity?
Or
a
medalist?
I’m
guessing
it
might
be
a
teacher,
or
a
grandparent,
or
even
someone
who
entered
your
life
only
briefly
yet
had
a
profound
influence
on
the
path
you
took
simply
because
they
listened
and
truly
cared.
Not
everyone
can
be
someone
everyone
knows,
but
everyone
can
be
someone
who
someone
else
loves.
5.
You’ve
made
a
difference
to
far
more
people
than
you
likely
realize.
Since
we’re
in
the
thick
of
the
holiday
season,
it
seems
appropriate
to
cite
one
of
my
favorite movies, the
classic It’s
a
Wonderful
Life. Cliché, I
know, but
fitting,
nonetheless.
When
George
Bailey
was
standing on
a
bridge
in
a
whirlwind
of
snow,
with
a
bottle
of
booze
and
a
brain
full
of
regrets,
he
had
no
idea
just
how
many
people
he’d
impacted
over
the
years
through
tiny
acts
of
love
and
kindness.
He
saw
his
life
as
a
montage
of
failures
and
missed
opportunities,
when,
to
others,
he
was
the
light
that
led
them
home
on
a
dark,
scary
night.
And
he
may
never
have
known
it
if
life
hadn’t
provided
a
compelling
reason
for
people
to
rally
around
with
support.
Let’s
face
it,
life
is
often
hard
for
most
of
us.
We’re
all
healing
our
own
wounds,
dealing
with
our
own
day-to-day
struggles,
caught
up
in
a
web
of
our
own
dramas.
And
we
all
have a negativity
bias,
which
means
most
of
us
spend
more
time
scanning
our
environment
for
potential
threats
than
recognizing
and
appreciating our blessings.
You are
someone’s
blessing,
and
probably
have
been
many
times
over.
You’ve
said
the
right
thing
at
just
the
right
time,
without
even
realizing
they
needed
to
hear
it.
You’ve
offered
a
smile
when
someone
else
felt
lonely,
without
realizing
you
eased
their
pain.
You’ve been
someone’s
friend,
their
resource,
their
champion,
their
safe
space,
their
inspiration,
and
their
hope.
To
you,
it
was
just
a
text,
but
it
helped
them
hold
it
together.
To
you,
it
was
just
a
hug,
but
it
kept
them
from
falling
apart.
As
someone
once
said (but
I’m
not
sure
who),
“Never
think
you
don’t
have
an
impact.
Your
fingerprints
can’t
be
wiped
away
from
the
little
marks
of
kindness
that
you’ve
left
behind.”
6.
You
matter
to
people
you
haven’t
met
yet
(or
who
weren’t
even
born
yet).
It’s
easy
to
feel
like
you
don’t
matter
if
you
don’t
have
people
in
your
life
who
reflect
your
worth—friends,
family,
a
significant
other;
anyone
who
values
you
and
shows,
through
their
words
and
actions,
that
they want
and need you
in
their
life.
But
just
because
you
don’t
feel
important
to
anyone
right
now,
that
doesn’t
mean
you
never
will.
There
are
people
you’ve
yet
to
meet
whose
life
highlight
reel
will
get
better in
the
middle
or at
the
end
because
that’s
when
you
came
in. There
are
friends
you’ve
yet
to
make who will
feel
they
finally
have
family
because
you’ve
filled
a
hole
no
one
else
could
fill. And
maybe
one
day
a
pair
of
tiny
arms
will squeeze
you
tight and
remind
you
that you
matter
more
to
them
than
anyone
else
ever
could.
The
story
of
your
life
is
only
partially
written,
and
there
are
leading
roles
yet
to
be
cast.
If
your
current
scene
feels
lonely
or
empty,
remember
that
every
great
story
brings
a
protagonist
to
the
lowest
low
before
catapulting
them
to
the
highest
heights.
—
If
there’s
one
thing
I’ve
learned
over
the
years
of
running
this
site,
it’s
that
beliefs
precede
actions,
which
then
confirm
beliefs.
If
you
believe
you
don’t
matter,
you
likely
won’t
do
anything
that
could
matter,
and
then
you’re
all
the
more
likely
to
feel
unimportant
and
alone.
But
if
you
hold
onto
any
of
what
I
wrote
above,
you’ll
be
far
more
likely
to
do
something
with
your
life—or
even
just
with
your
day—that
could
make
a
difference
for
the
people
around
you.
Maybe
you’ll
offer
someone
an
ear
or
a
hand
or
a
piece
of
your
heart
or
create
something
that
helps
or
heals.
And
in
that
moment
when
you
see
your
impact,
you’ll
realize
what
it
truly
means
to
matter:
to
know
your
value
and
create
a
little
more
love
and
light
in
the
world
by
giving
it
away
as
often
as
you
can.
—
**After
spending
the
last
decade
devoted
to
this
site,
I
now
want
to
provide
value
in
a
new
way,
so
I’ve
poured
my
heart
and
soul
into
a
screenplay
that
I
believe
you
all
would
love.
It’s
a
story
about
a
man
with
terminal
cancer
who
tries
to
become
famous
in
his
final
months
to
prove
his
life
matters
before
he
dies.
If
you’d
like
to
help
support
this
dream,
and
you
like
the
image
on
the
top
of
this
post,
I
hope
you’ll
consider
grabbing
a
shirt,
mug,
or
water
bottle
here
to
help
me
raise
development
funds.
Thank
you
for
your
support
and
for
being
part
of
the
community!
See
a
typo,
an
inaccuracy,
or
something
offensive?
Please
contact
us
so
we
can
fix
it!
My Pain Was a Gift and a Catalyst for Growth
“Sometimes
pain
is
the
teacher
we
require,
a
hidden
gift
of
healing
and
hope.”
~Janet
Jackson
I
was
becoming
more
and
more
confused
as
to
what
my
feelings
were
toward
my
husband.
Longing
for
that
personal
adult
male
connection,
I
started
to
feel
trapped
in
my
marriage.
However,
I
still
had
a
very
strong
sense
of
our
family
unit
and
my
commitment
to
it.
I
wasn’t
going
to
do
anything
to
jeopardize
the
family,
even
if
it
meant
sacrificing
my
personal
happiness.
I
made
a
conscious
decision
that
my
life
was
enough.
It
wasn’t
perfect,
but
it
was
enough.
However,
within
a
few
months,
I
knew
in
my
heart
that
my
husband
and
I
were
further
apart
emotionally
than
even
I
could
accept
or
ignore
any
longer.
I
had
to
address
it,
but
I
had
to
do
it
carefully.
I
wanted
to
make
sure
my
husband
understood
that
I
still
loved
him;
we
just
needed
to
work
on
some
things.
I
believed
it
would
make
both
of
us
happier.
I
found
time
one
night
after
dinner.
We
had
just
finished
cleaning
up
the
kitchen
and
were
standing
by
the
counter.
The
mood
was
relaxed
and
we
had
some
privacy;
the
girls
were
busy
working
on
their
homework
upstairs.
It
seemed
as
good
a
time
as
any.
I
took
a
deep
breath
and
blurted
out,
“I
think
we
are
not
as
close
as
married
people
should
be.”
My
husband
looked
at
me
funny,
first
a
little
quizzically
as
if
he
didn’t
understand
what
he
had
just
heard.
Then
his
face
relaxed
and
a
look
of
release
washed
over
it.
His
response
shocked
me
to
my
core.
“I
agree,”
he
said
with
relief.
“I
haven’t
loved
you
for
a
long
time.
I
was
just
pretending.”
“What?
What
did
you
just
say?!?”
I
stammered,
feeling
as
if
I
couldn’t
catch
my
breath.
His
words
were
suffocating.
I
stood
there,
motionless,
as
a
torrent
of
emotions
raged
inside
of
me.
I
looked
into
the
eyes
of
the
person
I
thought
I
knew
completely,
that
I
had
trusted
without
question.
A
cold,
damp
feeling
of
dread
came
over
me.
He
was
the
person
I
thought
loved
me
unconditionally,
the
one
that
I
had
built
my
life
with.
What
did
he
just
say?
Now,
I
wasn’t
expecting
flowers
and
chocolates.
But
I
wasn’t
expecting
that.
I
was
expecting
his
response
to
be
more
along
the
lines
of
“I
agree.
I
feel
it
too.
What
can
we
do
about
it?”
I
was
astonished.
I
was
numb.
I
cried.
I
pleaded
for
some
explanation.
He
had
none.
He
said
he
would
have
gone
on
pretending
forever,
but
since
I
dared
to
bring
it
up,
he
was
able
to
finally
be
honest.
We
briefly
tried
marriage
counseling,
but
his
mind
was
made
up.
He
didn’t
love
me.
He
was
sorry.
He
felt
guilty
for
the
pain
he
was
causing
the
girls
and
me,
but
he
didn’t
love
me.
We
were
divorced
within
the
year.
Everyone
marveled
at
how
civil
we
were.
How
well
I
was
handling
everything.
I
went
into
survival
mode
during
the
divorce
proceedings.
I
had
to
protect
my
children
emotionally.
All
of
my
strength
went
into
doing
that.
I
had
to
stay
calm.
I
knew
they
were
watching
me.
I
tried
not
to
argue.
I
tried
to
act
normally.
Really,
I
tried.
I
also
had
to
financially
protect
myself
and
my
children.
There
were
so
many
things
to
think
about.
How
could
I
stay
in
the
house
with
the
kids?
They
were
in
high
school
by
then
and
I
didn’t
want
to
uproot
them.
How
could
I
pay
for
college?
We
were
just
getting
by
with
two
salaries
and
one
house.
How
could
I
make
this
work?
We
eventually
figured
the
financial
part
out.
In
comparison,
that
turned
out
to
be
the
easy
part.
He
moved
out,
we
got
divorced,
and
then
I
fell
apart.
This
experience
exposed
some
very
deep
wounds
within
me.
Wounds
I
had
that
for
many
years
had
been
scabbed
over.
Deep,
thick
scabs
that
protected
me
and
allowed
me
to
pretend
they
weren’t
there.
Now,
without
warning,
they
had
been
ripped
wide
open.
Wounds
are
funny
things.
We
all
have
them.
We
respond
from
them,
sometimes
consciously,
but
many
times
not.
They
affect
our
thoughts
and
behaviors
even
when
we’re
not
aware
of
it.
If
we
look
close
enough
we
can
even
see
others’
wounds
in
their
actions.
Some
wounds
can
lie
dormant
for
many
years
and
only
return
to
taunt
us
when
we
are
faced
with
the
very
thing
that
wounded
us.
And
the
funniest
thing
of
all
is
that
wounds
don’t
heal
on
their
own,
regardless
of
how
much
we
pretend
they
are
not
there.
We
have
to
heal
them
ourselves.
My
personal
wounds
had
to
do
with
self-love
and
my
relationships
with
others.
And
they
were
deep,
deeper
than
I
had
ever
realized.
When
they
resurfaced,
I
was
surprised
not
only
by
their
presence
but
by
their
intensity.
There
had
been
signs
through
the
years,
but
they
were
easy
enough
to
ignore.
My
wounds
might
surprise
you.
I
believe
most
people
consider
me
to
be
a
smart,
attractive,
capable
woman
with
many
accomplishments
in
my
life.
“Capable”
as
a
nice
way
to
say
assertive
or
a
take-charge
kind
of
woman.
But
there
is
also
another
side
to
me,
a
side
that
has
deep-rooted
feelings
of
not
being
“good
enough”
or
not
being
“worth
the
effort”.
My
thoughts
would
go
something
like
“I’m
pretty,
just
not
pretty
enough.
I’m
thin,
just
not
thin
enough.”
I’m
smart,
but
intelligence
wasn’t
something
celebrated
in
a
girl
growing
up
during
the
sixties
and
seventies.
We
were
told
to
make
sure
we
weren’t
smarter
than
our
future
husbands,
because
men
didn’t
find
smart
women
attractive,
and
God
forbid
of
all
things,
don’t
be
capable.
But
the
traits
not
celebrated
were
the
ones
I
clung
to.
I
believed
they
were
all
I
had
to
offer.
I
was
the
smart
and
capable
one.
My
intellect
and
the
sheer
force
of
my
will
allowed
me
to
succeed
in
most
endeavors.
I
became
goal-oriented
and
proved
my
worth
by
accomplishing
my
goals.
I
never
allowed
myself
to
fail,
because
success
was
expected,
it
was
the
only
thing
that
I
believed
validated
me.
That,
however,
didn’t
translate
into
healthy
personal
relationships.
I
didn’t
find
value
in
myself
as
a
whole
person,
so
in
turn,
I
never
believed
that
the
whole
of
me
could
be
embraced,
cherished,
and
loved.
I
was
the
only
the
“smart”
and
“capable”
one.
Why
couldn’t
I
love
myself?
Why
didn’t
I
feel
I
was
worth
the
effort?
Why
didn’t
I
see
the
whole
person
and
celebrate
my
strengths,
laugh
at
my
weaknesses,
and
cherish
the
little
girl
in
me
that
was
just
doing
the
best
she
could?
Eight
years
ago,
I
didn’t
know.
Today,
after
having
lived
through
deep
pain
and
more
personal
self-reflection
and
inner
work
than
I
care
to
admit,
I
believe
I
have
some
understanding
of
the
larger
journey.
Pain
was
my
catalyst.
Deep,
aching
pain
that
stopped
me
in
my
tracks
and
made
me
choose
between
exiting
this
lifetime
(yes,
I
considered
it)
and
seeking
deeper
answers
to
heal
the
ball
of
hurt
I
had
become.
I
chose
to
seek
deeper
answers
and
that
was
the
beginning
of
my
spiritual
journey.
Over
the
years
I
have
learned
to
open
my
heart
to
myself
and
look
at
my
experiences
with
a
wider
lens.
I
see
my
divorce
and
subsequent
pain
and
depression
as
a
gift
that
transformed
my
life
and
me
along
with
it.
I’ve
traveled
back
into
my
childhood
and
identified
the
core
trauma
that
I
experienced
that
shaped
the
personality
(the
smart,
capable,
one)
and
the
embedded
belief
(I
had
to
succeed
to
have
value)
from
the
essence
of
who
I
am.
That
took a
lot of
work
because
the
personality
traits
and
beliefs
we
create
are
so
intertwined
into
who
we
think
we
are
that
it
is
difficult
to
separate
them,
as
they
have
been
‘us’
for
our
whole
lives.
In
our
defense,
much
of
the
‘less
than’
beliefs
we
hold
are
a
result
of
the
negative,
punitive
language
that
is
deeply
embedded
in
our
religious
and
spiritual
constructs.
Many
of
us
have
come
from
a
traditional
religious
belief
system
of
‘original
sin
and
karma
that
we
need
forgiveness
for’
and
move
to
a
spiritual
belief
system
of
‘we
need
to
learn
our
lessons
and
repeating
our
lessons
until
we
finally
get
them.’
What
if
there
is
nothing
to
learn
and
no
penance
to
do?
What
if
everything
in
life
is
an
experience
for
us
to
feel
emotion
and
live
from
that
deep
space?
That
every
emotion
is
an
opportunity
for
us
to
expand
our
awareness
and
embrace
the
magnificence
of
who
we
are.
Deep
emotions
shake
us
out
of
our
complacent
lives
and
spur
us
into
action.
In
the
experience
is
the
emotion
and
in
the
emotion
is
the
gift.
Keep
digging
because
the
real
you
is
in
there.
See
a
typo,
an
inaccuracy,
or
something
offensive?
Please
contact
us
so
we
can
fix
it!
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DisclaimerThis site is not intended to provide and does not constitute medical, legal, or other professional advice. The content on Tiny Buddha is designed to support, not replace, medical or psychiatric treatment. Please seek professional care if you believe you may have a condition....
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DisclaimerThis site is not intended to provide and does not constitute medical, legal, or other professional advice. The content on Tiny Buddha is designed to support, not replace, medical or psychiatric treatment. Please seek professional care if you believe you may have a condition....
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DisclaimerThis site is not intended to provide and does not constitute medical, legal, or other professional advice. The content on Tiny Buddha is designed to support, not replace, medical or psychiatric treatment. Please seek professional care if you believe you may have a condition....