Barefoot, Brave, and Bold

12/07/2025

Many women who have lived through abuse and escaped, post on social media a lot. We grab on to the memes that explain narcissism, toxicity and choosing ourselves (finally, after years of unrequited devotion to him).

In NO WAY am I judging it. I deeply understand it. At least for me, early on it was not just a cry, but wailing for understanding. It’s like saying to everyone that never knew:

“I’ve been living all these years, trying to make sense of an insane reality, every day a struggle none of you knew about… all by myself, trying to look like a normal family while I was dying from neglect and punishment for being alive. Keeping secrets while I crawled in the basement of a marriage, needing my spouse to understand me… and never getting that… because he said or implied I wasn’t worthy.”

Sound dramatic? Yeah it is. It’s a soul being crushed… and it is utterly, RIGHTFULLY dramatic. We crave understanding from someone, anyone…. Because we don’t even know how we survived…. At the beginning of the separation, we’re not even sure if we DID survive. A question mark hangs over our heads.

Maybe someone will reach out. But usually, they don’t… but we post for our own fortification. And our own processing. And to validate what we experienced while a world of friends/ family didn’t know, didn’t want to get involved, or didn’t know what to say.

Over time, I stopped posting anything about it. Sometimes it just exhausted me more than it strengthened me, so I diverted my attentions.

Recently , I’ve been posting about abuse again… with different motives this time. Now it is so I can say:

“Dear one, who has endured the unthinkable behind closed doors…. I see you. I do understand. I see the hollowness in your eyes and the fear that grips you. I was you. I was in that same dark, unrelenting place. Your soul has been crushed and you are weary beyond what a mama feels after days of labor before finally giving birth. You can’t see it yet, but you have just been birthed into a better life of wholeness. Let’s do this together.”

12/06/2025

There is a line in a song that draws me in, wrecks me, and yet leaves me feeling at peace. It does all that in just 8 words. It’s not really a “religious” / faith song… it kinda sounds like one, but not many churches would play it or sing it due to some if its content. (I have heard re-written Easter and Christmas versions, though, that are captivating).

It’s Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”…. And the standout line for me, amidst the entire song of layered meaning is:

It’s a cold… and it’s a broken hallelujah.

Hallelujah means praise. Instinctively, the first time I heard the song, and those words, I knew that I lived my life in cold and broken hallelujahs. I’d already surmised that feeling deeply and ascribing meaning to everything (empath language) set me up for knowing pain as intimately…or more so… than joy. Could praise be present in the darkness?

I concluded that it must be present then… or not at all. During the surviving, during the infertility disappointments, during the loneliness in and out of the marriage, my child’s physical healing from burns, and my own emotional healing. Even during the deaths of my parents and my sister’s war. And so many other tragedies.

Triumph in brokenness. Hope amongst injustice and in the destruction. I had to realize that feeling melancholy, even for years on end, was more hopeful than feeling numb. And then, when I felt numb, I had to believe it was just a resting place, not my life sentence.

Cold. Broken. Leonard could have chosen more descriptive words… or could he? Truthfully, they describe the cost. To be cold and broken… frozen and shattered… and still….hallelujah. (Guess I better leave the lyrics to Leonard). My cold and broken days…and there were many… didn’t have the final say. Hallelujah has the final say.

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12/05/2025

I was at church worship service Sunday and had that little pang for a few seconds. The song was lively and the woman leading it has a voice, that rocks the house (church)…. And for just a few moments, I quit appreciating the voice with which she moves me to tears… and I wanted it. I have ALWAYS wished I had a beautiful singing voice… and I can’t sing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” without sounding like a dying cat. That can make me momentarily jealous, I admit… in my humanity.

While I adore music and it was in the top 5 of “forces” that brought me the gift of healing, I can only access it raw and powerful, from others. And that is the remarkable beauty of it. As truly talented as this woman is, she wouldn’t be considered the “best” singer ever to live… but she doesn’t need to be (and comparison is the thief of joy anyway)… because she offers what she has, enough to stir my heart deeply every time she stands in front of a mic.

I wasn’t made as a singer. But I was made as “something.” And so were you. My talents lie elsewhere. Your talents also fill the lives of your friends and family with emotion that will tie them to you for the entirety of their lives… what you are able to offer to the world matters profoundly.

So today I will celebrate my own giftedness and also immerse myself fully into appreciation (not jealousy) of the gifts offered by others.  That seems darn near as close as one can get to “having it all.” That lights a spark in me…Fills me…. Swooshes away any desire to be something I’m not. Brings contentment. And peace. And I promise not to sing near you.

12/04/2025

THE GIFT OF LOOKING BACK/ hindsight

Just to be candid, I only can tell you what happened in hindsight. When I was healing, there was no clear path or marked road. I hope i have not given you the impression that I knew what I was doing along the way!! If i have, erase that idea right now! I was utterly lost, confused, and devastated. My life felt over and wasted. My hope wasn’t even mustard seed sized, especially about a year in. And yet… I DID find healing. I guess that a bit of me hopes i can give you food for thought as you heal, but I also know your journey won’t look just like mine.

I was making decisions as i went. I was fighting urges to no longer suffer in this life…. To not BE here. I was battling conflicting feelings of relief to be out of the abuse and dread at facing a life that seemed to have no meaning, now that I was single with grown children, marinating in depression.

But along the way, I DID make decisions… not neatly and not easily. And many were good. I decided:
* To stay alive (had to do this multiple times)
* To rest… a lot (from my hyper-vigilant mind)
* To do something i didn’t want to do “nearly”daily. Before you become impressed, some days that was… take a shower… or eat a balanced meal… or step outside into the sun.
* Eventually, to do something truly healing every day… we still aren’t talking anything very taxing… walk 3 blocks, write/ journal.
* To believe God would “restore the years the locust had eaten.”
* To let others help me, to drop off all pretense that I could do it without help.

Somewhere, those choices turned into tiny rays of light and limping hope. Healing isn’t a 20-step plan that we follow carefully. It’s zig-zagging and falling down and rising… and crying and laying yourself bare. It’s ugly and it’s beautiful and exasperating… and occasionally, awe- inspiring. And you will never be the same. I spend (treasure) about an hour a day now, just thinking about how insanely grateful I am to be living this life, not the one I lived before. I just sit, glowingly content that I no longer live in captivity, but in freedom. Some might consider that a waste. I consider it essential.

I believe in healing. I once hoped it was a possibility. Now, I KNOW it exists. But you must choose it, even if you have no earthly idea HOW to do it. The rest will unfold.

12/03/2025

Dr. Gabor Mate, a pioneer psychologist says that “siblings don’t grow up in the same home/ environment.” In my family of origin, I absolutely agree with that. My sister was less than 2.5 yr younger than I, with a brother in between (I guess… no birth control available yet 🤷🏼‍♂️). She and I didn’t even live in the same universe.

I don’t know much about what was different but i know that we don’t look alike, think about ANYthing similarly, or remember our childhood the same…. Except for ONE thing. One highly important and disturbing thing. And we remember the fact alike, but don’t agree on what could have changed it.

My paternal grandmother loved me. Period. Her first granddaughter. She didn’t care one bit about my siblings. Didn’t like them at all. Ignored them. Gave me elaborate gifts and didn’t do the same for them. Took me places and left them behind. I sorta (barely) noticed, but not really. I was a child.

I later learned…My parents addressed it but it didn’t change. After that, they kept our family a distance from her as she lived in another state. I seldom saw her after I was 8 years old.

Years after she died, and actually immediately after my dad died, my sister unleashed all of her pent-up sorrow (in the form of anger) on me, for that insult of living with extreme favoritism. It came out like… well, you know… purging, to say it slightly not so offensively. She began a revenge campaign on me. She reported me to state agencies making utterly false claims, trying to get me penalized. I was completely cleared. She made scenes. She screamed and yelled and swore… and took me to court for nonsensical accusations. I was always cleared but she made life hellish. It cost me a lot of money for attorneys. She harassed me for months after dad died and again, after my mom died.

We’ve now been fully estranged for over 10 years, which I consider a blessing under the circumstances. But I don’t hate my sister. I understand, as well as I can, the damage done to her by our grandma. She screamed at me, (after dad died) that she “hated Grandma Jones.” Of course. Why wouldn’t she, after being slighted, gravely? What I have issue with, is that she thinks I should have “fixed it.” 😔 I was a child. I was 8 and younger. I played with paper dolls and watched Captain Kangaroo. I wore kiddie footed p.j.’s. I thought I could fly if I “flapped” my arms and jumped off the porch. Not kidding.

A pj clad, “flying,” little girl couldn’t fix a complex adult horrific choice. My awareness of the events barely registered, let alone a sophisticated way to change my grandma’s heart toward her other grandkids. I know that I had no power to correct it. But I know she (sibling) hurts. What she doesn’t know, because she wouldn’t listen, is that I also have no warmth for our Grandma.

None. It was a terrible way to behave. She did grave damage. It has harmed generations of people. For that, she lost my affection too.

12/02/2025

I read an article by Sarah Moussa….. and I just can’t let one line go. I WISH I’d written something so profound, but alas… it is hers… she’s super talented. So full credit to her for the quote, along with a few thoughts of my own. In describing an abusive relationship, she said:

“Where one person’s ego feeds on the other person’s soul.”

Wow. IYKYK.

I knew almost all along… it was my very soul he wanted… but not in a holy way… not at all. He married me (as quickly as he could get me to commit) for the PURPOSE of feeding on my soul… the essence of me… what made me… ME. To own, possess, and ultimately (try to) destroy me.

Soon after reading the quote, I looked out the window and this was the view. I wish I could capture either in the photo or with words, how deep gray they were. Not normal gray clouds. Ominous. Maybe gunmetal gray. That’s it. Gray… like a weapon. And as much as they haunted me, I was also drawn to them.

The quote hit me again, hard! Why did we let them feast on our soul, while we died a little each day? They were the cloud… deep, dark, haunting… and yet, simultaneously… fascinating, cryptic, intriguing…. Pulling us in. Keeping us hostage. None of it was our fault. They chose to be the cloud, the gunmetal cloud.

I chose to get free. My soul is mine… and God’s.

12/02/2025

New traditions after loss and divorce are actually stones of rebuilding. They don’t have to be radically different, maybe just a “twist” of the old tradition. It’s how we re-write our story. I can’t speak for everyone and we don’t all heal the same. Some of you may gather comfort in continuing old family traditions sans your former spouse. Me? I wanted to purge “him” out of my life and get a whole new start. I wanted my surroundings to “look different” and I wanted no remnants of the life I left full of chaos and rage.

After a lifetime of having a big green Christmas tree, here is my “new life” (post divorce) tree…. Table-top sized and made of rope… white rope. It’s kinda wonky but I like it. My two little grands have come along in recent years and I incorporate them into the decorating. To be honest, they may have most liked the step-stool they got to use to climb up toward the top…. But they were good little adorners of the tree. I hope when they have their own children, they might reflect back with love, “I used to help my grandma decorate her funny little tree…. And I loved to climb the step-stool.”

12/01/2025

EVERY DAY HEALING AND PROFOUND HEALING

Though it is my experience to have experienced both, every day healing and profound healing… I don’t think I’m alone. I’ve heard many divorced women, abuse survivors and grievers of many losses talk about both. So let’s start with some operational understanding of the terms.

Every day healing is what I sometimes refer to as the “plodding along.” It’s the small steps I took over and over to find growth. Some days I had satisfaction about it. Just as often, I couldn’t sense any forward movement. However, I made a decision that I was going to be committed to daily practices aimed at healing. I’ve spoken about many of those on this page. Going out with a friend… when I really want to curl into a ball, listening to healing music, writing/ journaling, taking a walk. Here’s the thing. No one day of “daily healing actually healed me BUT the cumulative effect, day after day and month after month brought me what I sought most… peace (which is in essence, healing).

Profound healing is different in that is involved “moments in time when everything shifted.” I’d call them spiritual/ super-natural. They weren’t predictable. They weren’t consistent. They were small but mighty… and some were big and intense. Examples:
* from my writing here on Friday, Nov 28- when my granddaughter wiped my tears… it was a tiny gesture but deeply moving and healing.
* my near-death experience on the mountain.. I wrote about it a few months ago.
* the day I learned about my new home… this was the most profound of all because my depression lifted that day and has NEVER returned, in over 4 years. And i do give the Holy One credit for that.

It is my contention that the daily healing was essential for connecting with the profound healing moments. The daily work was my intention to heal being stated. The profound healing moments were divine gifts, not of my own making. They turned corners for me. They inspired more hope. The day my house became available, it was literally like a “veil of healing,” falling on me.

Why do I tell you this? Two reasons… I encourage you to do the daily work… on the days it feels helpful AND the days it doesn’t. And when the profound moments come…. Oh, when they do, welcome and accept them. We can get so used to pain, that we don’t remember how to accept the shifts toward wholeness. Please avoid that mistake. Welcome the profound. Please don’t fight them off or “explain them away” because you’re so saturated in your pain… believe that your healing is on the way. Accept and celebrate. 🩷

11/30/2025

It’s somewhat fascinating to consider what gets each of us to the point of “done.” Is it the first affair? Or the 10th? (In full disclosre, infidelity wasn’t a part of my own marriage). Is it when his abuse crosses over to physical? Or when he takes out his wrath on one of the children? Big bold events can definitely prompt a wake-up call. More “overt” (recognizable) abuse might cause awareness fairly quickly. Any kind of abuse is horrific and you don’t deserve it.

I was with a covert abuser… I suspect the most common type. With them, they keep their public image shiny and their abuse is sly, in the dark, almost undetectable at times. It’s couched in “jokes” and in emotional manipulation. It’s hard to pin-point at times, obvious (to us, not others) at times… but then an episode of love-bombing follows. Hope restored…. And that is their intent. Then they strike again.

These tactics are why we stay so long… they erode you slowly, methodically. I’m not a dumb person. But I didn’t SEE that I was being covertly abused until I finally left and did a “look-back” on the behaviors. Your reasons for leaving, finally, may have been different than mine. These were mine:
* I felt like I was dying… for real… and that it was somehow his goal
* I had no good memories anymore… everything had slowly ramped up until nothing good from our past balanced out the daily pain in the present.
* Other people saw it for what it was…my doctor, my therapist, my son. And then my best friend saw him “in action” as his mask slipped… he realized he was losing control so he acted more rashly… and she saw it… at my son’s rehearsal dinner and wedding.

There is never a “right time” to leave. A holiday is coming. A child’s birthday. We take on new debt. We are in the middle of a project. There’s a new marriage class offered at church. Our anniversary… ugh… I didn’t even acknowledge our 30th… things were so ugly then. All these events are imaginary “holds” that keep us from going.

I finally “decided” in early August 2017. I resolved that I would leave after my son’s late September wedding…. And before my mid-October birthday (as a gift to myself). There was a 4-week window. I was scared. And I got up to the day before my birthday before I jumped. It was indeed, the best birthday gift of my life (though it took time to see that).

Our breaking points are unique… we each know, at some level, that it’s time. For some, it takes weeks, for others it takes years. For many of us, our later regret is that we didn’t go sooner. It is mine, but I only linger there for a minute or two. And then I breathe and smile and say 3 words… words of gold.

I. Am. Free.

11/29/2025

Had to share this. It is so very good. People, we don’t deserve mistreatment! We have to embrace that! We deserve to heal and live life again!!

When Love Declares War: Surviving Marriage to a Chronic Narcissist

Some marriages feel like home.
Others feel like a slow ex*****on.

If you are married to a chronic narcissist, you already know the second one. You walk on eggshells that have eggshells on them. You apologize for things you didn’t do. You rehearse sentences in your head before you dare speak them out loud. You smile in public and collapse in private. You keep asking yourself, “Am I crazy?” while the answer stares back at you every single day: No. You’re just married to someone who needs you to be.

This is not about the occasional selfish spouse or the stressful seasons every couple faces. This is about a patterned, relentless dynamic where one person’s ego feeds on another person’s soul. And the only way out is through—through truth, through boundaries, through courage most people will never have to summon.

Here is the unvarnished playbook from the trenches.

1. Stop pretending it’s normal
Gaslighting starts working the moment you doubt your own eyes. Name it: this is emotional manipulation, not “just marriage problems.” A narcissist does not have bad days; they have a fixed operating system that requires your diminishment for their elevation. Admit it out loud (at least to yourself). The moment you name the beast, it loses half its power.

2. Quit auditioning for a role that was never open
You cannot love someone into mental health they refuse to pursue. You cannot out-nice narcissism. Every time you think, “If I just explain it better… if I serve more… if I shrink smaller,” you are pouring your life into a black hole wearing your husband’s face. Your sacrifice does not heal them; it only postpones your own resurrection.

3. Build a moat, not a wall
Boundaries are not punishment; they are oxygen. Learn to say, calmly and without apology:
“I will leave the room if you raise your voice.”
“I will not discuss this if you call me names.”
“I am no longer available for conversations that rewrite history.”
Then do it. Every single time. Consistency is the only language they respect, because it starves their supply.

4. Stop over-explaining to deaf ears
Narcissists do not lack information; they lack empathy. Giving them a twenty-minute speech about how their words hurt you is like reading poetry to a tornado. State your truth once, clearly, then disengage. Your dignity is not up for debate.

5. Break the isolation spell
They want you alone, because witnesses ruin the script. Reconnect with safe friends, a therapist, a pastor, a support group—anyone who can look you in the eye and say, “That’s abuse, not love.” Secrecy is the narcissist’s most powerful weapon. Light kills it.

6. Keep receipts
Not for revenge—for reality. Write down dates, words, incidents. When they scream, “I never said that!” you will have proof you’re not losing your mind. A simple notebook or encrypted note on your phone can be the difference between freedom and insanity.

7. Refuse to manage their emotions for them
Their rage, their sulking, their victim routine—these are not your responsibility. You did not break their mood regulator, and you cannot fix it. Let them sit in the discomfort they create. Your nervous system is not their dumping ground.

8. Get professional backup
Living under chronic manipulation is trauma. Therapy is not a luxury; it is triage. A good counselor will help you separate your voice from the echo chamber they built inside your head.

9. Accept the limits of your power
You can control exactly four things:
- what you will tolerate
- where you will go
- what you will say
- how you will heal
Everything else is above your pay grade. Pray if you’re a person of faith, but do not confuse prayer with self-erasure.

10. Face the exit question with clear eyes
Some narcissists wake up—one day, somehow, and do the brutal work of change. Most do not. At some point you must ask yourself, in the quiet of your own soul: “If nothing ever changes, how long am I willing to stay?” Write the answer down. That date is not betrayal; it is sanity with an expiration label.

11. Reclaim the truth about who you are
Their mirror is cracked. It was never showing you.
You are not too sensitive.
You are not the problem.
You are not unworthy of peace.
Your desire to be treated with respect is not “high maintenance”; it is the bare minimum of human dignity.

Final, non-negotiable truth:
You were not placed on this earth to be someone’s emotional punching bag.
Your life is not a consolation prize for their unhealed wounds.
You are allowed to leave the war zone, even if the soldier you married never lays down his weapons.

You do not need permission.
You do not need them to agree.
You only need to choose yourself—finally, fiercely, unapologetically.

Because the bravest thing a person can do in a narcissistic marriage is stop disappearing.
And the most terrifying thing a narcissist can witness is the day you become fully, unmistakably visible again.

healing

11/29/2025

Often, I hear the advice: “if you feel down and are struggling, find someone else hurting and help them.” I think that might be great advice… if you aren’t a natural helper. But for those of us that are natural (and highly committed) helpers, and have done just that all your life, I think perhaps the opposite is called for. Resist helping someone else.

Instead, help yourself.

Be generous and soft with yourself. Pull back from helping responsibilities and ask yourself, “what do I need right now?” Get in touch with what would comfort you. I know that’s hard if you have children to care for. In my healing years, my sons were grown. I took time off from being a perpetual helper. Some might call it selfish… but you know, I just wasn’t willing to “wear” another negative term to describe myself after years of ugly words from my ex. So, I didn’t put the “selfish” label on myself.

To clarify, I didn’t act rude toward people needing help. A friend with Covid texted and asked if I’d go get her a slushee and leave it on her porch… of course, I did. What I didn’t do… was actively seek out people in need… except myself. I didn’t involve myself in helping projects, like I do by nature. I didn’t offer… because honestly, there wasn’t much to offer… I was depleted, used up, and in need, myself. Those aren’t “negative labels.” Those are facts. This was my re-filling time…. And it wasn’t short. Not a few weeks. Not a few months. It was 4 years.

And now, filled again, I love helping however I can. I’m getting a support group together in my town for women who have experienced domestic abuse. I’m truly ready for that. I have been back in my helping/ caring role for a few years now. I know my limits better now.

I don’t regret that time off, focused solely on healing and self-care. It was essential. It was healing. It saved my life.

11/28/2025

My granddaughter was under 2, though I don’t remember the exact age. I was still in my active healing stage, and sometimes would get triggered, resulting in either anger or pain.

On this particular day, it was pain seeping through and I began to cry, not a lot, but with several tears spilling out of my eyes. I was holding her.

She saw my tears, and just gently reached up and wiped them away with her fingers.

This is the girl I’d said (mostly to myself but naively) that I didn’t want to “over burden” or “expect too much from” in bringing me healing. I didn’t want this tiny bundle, when she was born, to bear any responsibility for my growth or emergence from the darkness from which i needed to heal. It just seemed too much to want or ask.

And I didn’t ask or expect… and she wasn’t old enough to consciously think, “I need to care for my grandma.” She just loved me. She just knew what to do. And… I truly did heal in a giant leap that day.

My baby girl wiped away my tears… and so much grief… that day.

****
Point of clarification. My “grief” was not missing him…. It was missing ME, after he worked so hard to destroy me.