abuse recovery – Space & Purpose

Answers = Healing

March 21, 2019 685 Comments

Unraveling situations and scenarios over the past 9 months has brought so much peace. Rather than beating a dead horse, taking time to figure things out has helped solidify the ground beneath my feet.

At this point, I’m ready to use my writing to shed light, validate, and set free. If you need any of these things, buckle up and get comfy cause I’m setting aside this post for some very personal comparisons to research I’ve been doing.

I was told this past week that when we’re wearing rose-colored glasses, red flags just look like flags. Yikes.

Sociopathic and Psychopathic tendencies start with Antisocial Personality Disorder. Sociopathy tends to be characterized by a lack of conscience and ability to form many true emotional bonds, but psychopathy means zero conscience or personal bonds. I am not licensed to diagnose, but trusty ol’ Google checklists for APD and Sociopathy fit my experiences nearly 100%. So, that felt oddly relieving.

According to the DSM-5, traits of APD include:

Violation of physical or emotional rights of others
Lack of stability in job or home life
Irritability and aggressiveness
Lack of remorse
Consistent irresponsibility
Recklessness, impulsivity
Deceitfulness
Coinciding symptoms from childhood (before age 15)

I was flippantly told multiple stories from his childhood about rebellion, lying, and getting in trouble with authority. His driving was aggressive, earning him multiple tickets. It scared me numerous times. I’ll never forget a time in San Francisco when he purposefully drove his truck out of the way through a flooded corner, sending a massive wall of water straight up into the air that came crashing down on a crowd of people waiting to cross the street. Time slowed down as I heard yelling and watched what felt like a movie scene. I was in shock for several blocks while he bounced up and down in the driver’s seat like a big kid in a puddle. It was reckless, cruel, and showed a total disregard for decency. He didn’t just splash those people; he completely drenched them and had to have ruined their days. I felt sick to my stomach and wish I’d reacted differently now, but at that point my discernment had faded and I deferred to him.

I was watching Richard Grannon’s youtube video on Covert Narcissists and found it to be one of the most well-rounded explanations I’ve seen. The more examples he gave, the more memories came back. Here are some notes I took and their associated memories:

This is all a spectrum of a disorder. Some might be a complex mix of both sides depending on the day and their mood or emotional state.

Unlike an overt (or extroverted) narcissist, the covert seems to be more self-doubting or can be depressed or low-energy. Doesn’t handle stress well. Has tendencies toward depression.

In public, he was extremely high-energy and intense. In private, (more as time went on), there was a heaviness or something often weighing him down that I felt the need to support. Stress, family drama, work, something was always burdening him. Eventually, I became one of those things weighing him down and needed to be more aware of it (according to his friend Kimmy Jane Powers). Time together was marked by trying to keep things “positive” and “having some damn fun for once.”

They tend to project their own insecurities or defects on to you.

One day, I would hear a speech on budget and how “we’re broke” because I’m so expensive or spend so much. Hours later when I’d suggest we cook at home to save money, he would insist we eat dinner at the most expensive sushi restaurant in Sacramento. I was constantly confused by inconsistency.

Many times I’d come home to $300+ of Whole Foods groceries in the fridge. Not just basics, but specialty items he “wanted to try.” I still remember the shrug of his shoulders when I peered around the freezer door and asked him about the organic vodka (does organic even matter at that point? Genuinely curious), especially in light of his critical comments on alcohol. He said once or twice that he wanted our house to be “an alcohol free home.” He would set new rules, but change them when he pleased, often joking about my “wine problem.”

Ostentatiously vulnerable. Extreme sob stories, sympathy-garnering. Theatrical displays of emotion.

A classic N doesn’t want sympathy because they view themselves as above it. But a covert does want you to feel sympathy. He would shed actual tears when we would sit together watching movies or just cuddling on the couch, and I would think “geez how damaged are you that this moment means this much?” Something in my gut turned. (I’m obviously an empathetic person, but even I secretly rolled my eyes in those moments!) My mom still references the night she and my dad told us they were giving us money for the wedding. My ex’s crocodile tears and contorted face felt disproportionate to the moment and the amount they were giving. I definitely was emotional and thankful, but they still talk about the grand scale of his reaction and how uncomfortable it made everyone.

Classic & covert N’s have grandiose fantasies but the covert has more awareness of what demonstrating those fantasies could mean. “If I tell everyone I want to take over the world, they’ll judge me.” A covert can’t handle criticism.

One moment, someone he knew was a genius. The next, they were idiots. He is extremely active on social media, especially Twitter, and he would fly into picking fights and arguments that he would gleefully show me, especially around Christian topics. I’d feel uncomfortable with the insults he’d quickly throw at people crossing him, and embarrassed at the lack of Christlike character it showed. In fact, many times he had opportunities to share grace and love with those who had differing beliefs, and instead he cornered and shamed them, calling them out. He would flip things quickly on anyone who dared question him.

They’re extremely self-entitled. They believe they have rights to more than the average person because they’re special. Actually arrogant. A classic N will never apologize, but a covert might eventually apologize… if it serves their purpose in that moment, which is self-preservation.

See Episode 8 of the “Something Was Wrong” Podcast: “There is Much to Confess.”

Strong desire to be a rescuer and “good as gold,” morally superior person. Will tend toward publically charitable acts, often a pillar in their church or community.

My ex could quote Scripture backward and forward, hold theological discussions with church leadership, and was quick to deconstruct the flaws in any given church’s infrastructure. He very frequently mentioned his brother’s position of church eldership. I remember early on in our relationship, he handed $20 to a homeless person we walked by and later told me he kept 20 dollar bills in his pocket at all times for those exact opportunities. Later on behind closed doors (especially sitting in the car while waiting for people to cross the street), and eventually in public places like coffee shops and grocery stores, he would refer to people as fat, ugly, or worthless. Sayings like “move along grandma… you’ll be dead soon anyway” were common. One moment his extended family was super close in a way I “could never understand.” In the next, it wasn’t worth visiting them because they were going to kick the bucket soon. We were at Blue Bottle in Oakland when he called someone fat out loud well within earshot of that person, and I began scanning the doors for my exit strategy. He claimed he could say things like that because he used to be fat too.

Extremely self-centered.

You don’t say! There was a particularly dramatic night where he was driving up for the weekend, and my roommate and I were in my car on our way back home to meet him with movie night snacks. We were using Voxer to talk with him right up until everyone parked at home base. I was so excited for an entire weekend with a couple of my favorite people! I grabbed the bags from the car, crossed the parking lot to greet him while my roommate continued on into the house, and when I saw his posture I paused. Something felt different. Studying him and being sensitive, I set the grocery bags on the ground to hug him and was met with stony silence. My countenance fell and everything shifted. Analyzing every response, I got very quiet and in my head. What was wrong, and how could I fix it?

Once we were alone in my room I asked what was going on. He said, “to be honest I’m strongly considering heading back home.” (It had taken him 3 hours in traffic to get to my house.) I was stunned. “I don’t feel wanted here. When we were Voxing in the car and you were with your roommate, I could hear the happiness in your voice. You didn’t show nearly the same excitement once you saw me. It’s fine, I’ll just spend the weekend at home. I have plenty of work I can get done.” I was devastated and scrambling to recover whatever I’d done wrong. The idea of him turning right back around seemed ludicrous. I had no frame of reference for what he meant because I was ecstatic to see him. It was just a misunderstanding! When I tried to explain that I tempered my excitement after noticing he seemed down and I didn’t want to be insensitive, he shook his head like I was being silly and trying to cover something he could see right through. “It’s ok, you don’t need to make excuses. You’re easier to read than you think. It’s very simple: you’re more excited to be with your roommate and that’s fine. I don’t want to get in the way of anything.” I begged him to stay. Pleaded for him to give it some time. The weirdness would wear off and we’d have a blast. He agreed to wait it out a little bit but things were precarious. It completely deflated our evening and had me walking on eggshells all night. We never watched a movie with my roommate because that time was spent talking in my room.

Lying

Need I share more lies, though? I’m sorry, podcast listeners:

It was in that same Blue Bottle on a Thursday afternoon that I saw one of the letters Bryan and Kimmy sent me on his laptop screen. I froze and watched as he swiftly closed it with a few keystrokes, his face expressionless. We went about our work date, my heart racing and mind running wild. Surely if he’d written those letters he wouldn’t be sloppy enough to leave it open on a laptop he’d be letting me use…? It wasn’t until hours later, at dinner (I still remember the really cool Asian restaurant we discovered in Oakland), that he tilted his head like a parent would toward a child and said, “When are you going to talk to me about what you saw earlier today?” The weirdest conversation proceeded. He had an explanation as to why “Bryan” had sent him an electronic copy for safe-keeping in case the hard copies got lost in the mail, but his point was my failure in how I handled the situation. Rather than bottle everything up and “ruin our lovely afternoon together,” I should’ve communicated better in order for him to simply explain so we could move on. I was in tears over how poorly I’d handled my distrust.

Now I have on record that as he calmly gazed into my eyes and held my hand across the candlelit table, resolving to love me well while navigating these learning opportunities for me, my churning stomach and racing heart were right. He was lying.

Minimizing your emotions and feelings in favor of theirs.

If I was upset, he’d wind up saying, “maybe I did ___ to you [yet to be proven], but YOU did ____, ____, and ____ to ME!”

This scenario doubles as an example of gaslighting:

He was folding clothes by my bed one evening and said, “Well I’d never share a secret with you.” I paused what I was doing and looked up, surprised, wondering where he was going with this. For some reason, he threw on a fake New Jersey accent and waved his hand flippantly as he said, “Yeah! You’re loose-lipped!” as if it was obvious and went about his business.

For some reason this – of all things – pierced my heart. Emotions came but I shoved them down and started thinking through examples he might be referring to. One of the things I value most is treasuring the personal information of my friends. If they trust me with something, I hold it close. I want my friends to feel safe. Somehow he’d known this comment would get under my skin. Later while I was getting ready for bed in the bathroom, the tears started coming and I couldn’t stop them. I closed the door and sat down, turning the fan and faucet on so he wouldn’t hear me crying and praying. If I was a gossip, help me see and change it. Well, apparently he could hear me (oops) and he asked who I was talking to in the bathroom. When I regained control and came out, he looked at me like I was crazy. I was straightforward and told him exactly what I wrote at the beginning of this paragraph so that he could understand why his words hurt me so badly. “So to hear those words from my fiance, the person whose opinion I hold in the highest regard, cut really deep. I asked myself, what must I be doing wrong if my own fiance doesn’t trust me with his secrets?” I was mortified over the tears that forced their way down my face all over again, and now the shame and embarrassment made me feel like a little kid.

He actually laughed, shaking his head! “Aww honey, you just… that’s not what I said!” Ohhhh me. Taking things personally yet again.

I had the wherewithal at that moment to hold my ground. Clarity kept me focused and I knew what he’d said. Suddenly his explanation changed from claiming he hadn’t said it, to having said it but I’d completely misread the whole thing. What then proceeded from his mouth is apparently something called Word Salad. A cornered narcissist will spin you up in so many words that you’ll forget the origin of the conversation, forget your own point, and somehow end up at fault for something you still don’t understand. All I remember is apologizing just to end the mess, him chuckling at my overreacting while continuing to fold clothes, and our night moving on. Me a little smaller than before.

Withholding affection / Giving the silent treatment

A month or so before the wedding, he started this game around withholding affection. He’d give me a hug or kiss, then playfully push me away like he was “discarding” me and look back like he expected me to come back for more. Although I sort of saw the humor in it (because I was open & trusted where I stood with him), looking back, it made me feel hurt, insecure and confused around how to play along. When I’d do it back to him (to subconsciously see how he liked it), he’d pout and give me the silent treatment for a while.

It felt unfair.

It’s taken me nearly a year to break apart and analyze every mystery, every gut-punch, every moment of confusion. Just recently I remembered his family asking me about my medical career while having dinner in Colorado. I cleared up their confusion while distinctly noticing awkward tension and his lack of comment. He’d lied to his family about my job, inflating my position and giving me a title I’ve never had.

The more I piece together, the more freedom and healing comes. It has nothing to do with exposing him as a person, but everything to do with re-constructing my own sense of reality, up from down, right from wrong. With opening the eyes of anyone who reads this and needs it, because your freedom and empowerment matters. YOU matter. Your preferences, feelings, quirks, looks, secrets, weaknesses, strengths… they all matter.

Abuse Recovery, christianity, Dating

Why I’m Not Silent

January 27, 2019 924 Comments

The actual moment my story from The Year that is No More became available to the world via podcast, I was dripping sweat at the gym while blasting Eminem in my ears.

Just before that, though, I had been on my piano playing a Chopin Etude I’d been assigned my very first year in college, as a wide-eyed homeschooler walking into classrooms for the first time since elementary school. (Opus. 10 no. 3 for any nerds curious.) It was a scary piece for me. Despite being encouraged in music my entire life and told I was a natural, I believed internal lies that said I was “faking it.” I had zero idea how I’d measure up in any way to the groups of strangers my age who didn’t talk like they spent summers reading books or watching black and white movies. (My piano teacher would laugh at that now because of a comment I made about it while facing each other from across two grand pianos.)

After the gym, I went to bed with the Etude on repeat.

When I play it, I can’t help but get lost in the stark contrasts of who I was during those hundreds of hours spent learning and refining it, and who I am now… Mentally wandering through big, landmark memories of discovery, adventure, victories, and fears.

I remember being thoroughly convinced of my incapability, frustrated to the point of tears when my music teachers wouldn’t believe my arguments. What an injustice. I remember my piano instructor taking me so far beyond what I thought a piece could possibly require from a pianist’s hands and brain. Just when I thought I’d pulled everything I could from a single passage, she’d tell me I was cutting a note short and to let it breathe. Not on the next repeat, though. Only when that phrase appears on page 3.

You have all these moving parts – literally every digit is moving – but don’t ever allow fingers 2 and 5 to physically lift from the keys while playing because those notes are “tied.” (You will get caught.) Simply switch between keys without allowing air to pass through their surface and your fingertips. It’s easy! Air is huge. It’ll never fit.

Both hands have independent melodies that you must differentiate between, so listeners can hear each one “sing.” (I remember that word so well.) “Make it sing!” Carry that note with finger 2, not 3! Tap it differently and it will sound better. (Sounded exactly the same, but I will remember to flail differently right here if it pleases you.)

Please God, if you have any mercy don’t let her catch the pianissimo she overlooked.

I remember finally mastering it. My brain hurt and I wondered if I’d found its capacity when I was informed that it was now time to change the physical look of my hands while they were doing the impossible. They looked too… “harsh.” I would also have to memorize the entire piece well enough to not freeze and draw a blank in front of crowds. Enough to “let go and be free. Enjoy it.”

Certainly. Already banking on it.

It wasn’t until my vocal instructor countered my argument of the day with a phrase that rang in my ears for years to follow: “You need to get over yourself.”

In addition to believing lies about myself, I believe my fear of failure was rooted in pride. I was told once by someone who was praying for me that she saw me living behind a fence. It was very beautiful, covered in blossoming vines and beautiful flowers, but it was a wall.

Pride is a false protector. It’s insidious and the cost is incredibly high. I’ve seen it reap destruction and keep people captive from chasing their potential. It costs relationships. It says, “You’re safe here. Nothing will hurt you. They won’t see the truth of who you really are or aren’t.” I’ve gone through seasons of counseling twice now. The first round back in 2015 started with breaking down my fences, telling myself the truth, and exploring what’s on the other side.

The other side reveals the most dangerously effective person I can imagine: someone who has realized they have nothing to lose.

Jesus said that whoever loses their life for His sake will find it. He also called people out and shocked a culture by giving women a voice. I gave up rights to my “story” when I gave it to Him. (I realize not everyone reading this shares my beliefs. However, this is my playground and I’m honored to have your eyes as guests for a few moments.) I believe the story from The Year that is No More is not my own. Why? I know all too well that I couldn’t have rescued myself. I know where my heart was. Eight days out, I was ready to move forward at full speed, thinking a wedding was the answer to serious problems. When my community (called a “bubble” by someone) felt something was wrong and told me to be praying with them, I didn’t know what else to do but get on my knees alone that Friday night and read the Names of God out loud. It was the most confusing night of my life, but I felt a strange peace and clearly heard in my heart “Sunday will be pivotal.” I was so emotionally invested in moving forward that I assumed that meant everyone would understand and all would be well. We would have this wedding. I went about my bachelorette party the next day ready to have fun, with no idea that Sunday held the exposure of massive lies. (Many of which I’m still figuring out a year later.) It was a miraculous instance of God opening the eyes of one of His own who’d been deceived into choosing a dangerous situation.

So when people tell me I am brave to share my story, I’m realizing I don’t feel “brave” at all because it doesn’t feel like “mine.” It’s His story of jealousy, of the lengths He’ll go to leave the 99 for one. It happens to have twists that make for great listening, which only gets it to more ears that might need to hear it. (I thank God for my li’l bubble community all the time, by the way.)

I have nothing to lose by sharing His story but maybe some pride, which I have to kill. Nothing to fear, because fear can’t coexist with perfect Love. Love is what rescued me. What would life look like if we didn’t think so highly of ourselves that the possibility of failure (more like a guarantee at some point) wasn’t so unthinkable? What if exposure isn’t such a bad thing?

Not just for us, but for those that hear our testimonies, I think it looks like freedom.

Abuse Recovery, christianity, Uncategorized

Take Me Back

October 11, 2018 652 Comments

The other day, a line from one of Steffany Gretzinger’s songs was floating around in my head all day. (Anyone else get phrases or words rather than songs stuck in their heads?) It was “take me back to the beginning.” I wasn’t sure why. It’s a beautiful song, but it isn’t on my short list of repeated favorites.

Forward to that night lying in bed: I was contemplating the existence of mankind (I know; I’m not kidding) and I straight up wondered, “Why?” Was there truly nothing but you, God, and you decided all of THIS was a good idea? In your creativity, couldn’t you have put together anything else rather than humans who would constantly fail you and be unable to manage anything well on their own? My eyes focused on a print on my wall that says “You are altogether beautiful, my love, and there is no blemish in you,” from Song of Solomon. At that moment this thought/impression entered my mind: “If you could see as I do. You [everyone] in the beginning.”

I was struck by the simplicity of that simple thought and how profoundly it changed my perspective. God didn’t design humans, then sit back and say “We done good” because before Him stood a gaggle of filthy wretches. (Genesis 1:31, paraphrased.) We were something to behold.

I’ve wondered if it’s an affront to His design when Christians continually refer to themselves and the church as “wretched” or even “sinners saved by grace.” (Here we go! Dipping my toes in some frigid waters!) Scripture says we were crucified with Christ and are new creations. The “old man” is dead. Yes, we’re imperfect and still sinning because we live in a conflicted world, but we are no longer slaves to it. “And having been set free from sin, and having become slaves of God…” -Rom 6:22. We don’t belong to sin or the world. We belong to Him. When it was clear we were spiraling out of control, in His consistency God abided by His own rules and sent someone without sin to shed blood for us, so we wouldn’t have to keep sacrificing flawless animals the Old Testament way to approach Him. (Imagine that going down in 2018. What a messy time to be alive.)

The blood Jesus shed covers our sin and He no longer sees it. Jesus said to approach Him as children do. In a healthy relationship, how does a typical child run to their dad? With a list of reasons why he shouldn’t pick them up, or boldly jumping into his arms with excitement?

I have a point to make with my past that I will shamelessly vent here now: perhaps we shouldn’t devalue the gravity of the Cross by continuing to wallow and call ourselves sinners, though I’m no seminary student. It reminds me an awful lot of rubbing a dog’s nose in his own urine when he goes in the house. Anyone who has tried it knows it teaches him to cower and hide the next time he messes up and this defined my idea of how God saw me for far too long. I’ve seen friends I grew up with walk away from church and I firmly believe this had a lot to do with it. Their pain is still painted in subtle strokes across their social media posts. It breaks my heart.

Seeing the abuse I endured last year so clearly now stirs a passion in me to stop it from happening to others. My “sin” was very subtly (but constantly) pointed out as time went on… not to “keep me at the feet of Jesus,” but to keep me confused and feeling small compared to the kind person “calling it out.” (What would I have ever done without their helpful insight into my weaknesses?) Narcissism 101, my friends. If for some reason you always walk away from time with someone feeling like you have a lot of self-work to do instead of feeling bolstered and encouraged, take heed… and maybe put your running shoes on.

Whew. Deep breaths.

When I saw that print in the store, someone with me tried to shoot it down the second I reached out to touch and look at it. They pointed out how it was technically inaccurate because it was taken out of context. For the first time, I ignored this person and put it in the cart without even knowing why, because I never buy prints. I was simply drawn to it. Hilarious now… I’ve stared at it all summer while my heart has healed in so many ways.

Jesus did all this so we could be restored to our Father. So He can enjoy us again as shimmering reflections of Him as we were in the beginning: beautiful and unashamed. It is that simple.

There is no physical standard for beauty outlined by God. Our spirits are what reflect Him. Our creative and faceted personalities. Our hearts.

When we receive the gift of what Jesus did for us, He isn’t looking at our shortcomings, so why should we? How will we live? What will we attempt when we no longer see our lack, but His potential? If we see what He does: Him in us?

“If you could see what I see. You in the beginning.”

Let me recklessly forget about my weakness as my awareness of Your strength grows. Take me back to the beginning every single day.