The more I reflect on the idea of confronting a narcissist with the truth, the more I realize that confrontation isn’t always the answer. Their fragile egos make direct honesty not only risky but often futile. So why am I doing this? Why am I pouring my heart into these words and exposing the deepest corners of my life?
Yes, part of this is about me—about healing, unraveling the chaos I’m caught in, and finding clarity in my experiences. But it’s not just that. It’s so much more.
Over the years, I’ve spent countless hours reflecting on the dynamics of abuse, both in my personal life and through the work I’ve done. I’ve held workshops, coached thousands of women, and built communities where women could share their experiences and support one another. Through these groups, I’ve heard hundreds of stories of abuse—each unique, yet often echoing familiar patterns. This work has given me a profound understanding of abuse from all angles: as a victim, a former abuser, and an observer.
Writing about these experiences has many roots for me. Part of it is healing—untangling the threads of my own story and making sense of its complexities. But it’s also about sharing what I’ve learned. Having been on both sides, I know how abuse unfolds and the toll it takes. I’ve lived it, seen it, and worked tirelessly to help others navigate it.
This is my way of paying it forward—sharing what I’ve learned not just for myself, but for others who are still searching for their way out of the darkness. Abuse thrives in silence. By writing, speaking, and creating space for others to share, I hope to be part of breaking that silence.
What’s even more troubling is how many therapists and helpers, despite their best intentions, lack a real understanding of abuse. Subtle forms often go unrecognized, and the dynamics remain misunderstood. This can leave victims feeling even more isolated and invalidated. That’s another reason I’m writing this blog—to bring these hidden nuances to light, to expose the abuse that so often goes unseen and unaddressed, even by professionals.
Sharing my story isn’t just an act of self-preservation—it’s an act of legacy. One day, when my children are old enough, I want them to have something to turn to. I want them to understand who their parents were, where they came from, and why things unfolded the way they did. But more importantly, I want them to see the way forward—to know they don’t have to repeat these cycles.
And it’s not just for my children. It’s for anyone who finds themselves in these waters, struggling to understand their partner, their parent, or even themselves. It’s for those who still have the chance to make different choices, to avoid entangling their lives with people who refuse to grow, and to recognize red flags before they become deeply rooted.
So no, my agenda isn’t hidden at all. It’s about turning pain into purpose—creating a roadmap for those navigating the same storm or seeking to avoid it altogether. If sharing my story helps even one person find insight, hope, or healing, then it’s worth every word.
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