It’s not easy having to regurgitate the story that evolved almost five months ago.
When my fiancé ripped me away from the two kids I step-parented, emptied our house of his things, and was “done” with us. Just. Like. That. All while with his family out of state, in the process of buying a house, and a wedding six months away.
I didn’t have a reflex to shout from the rooftops, reach out to everyone in my entire circle and those in my wider social network – to spew out my sob story that would only make me feel like I was in desperate search of pity. Instead, I retreated. Truthfully, I have been riding the waves of pain that gut-wrenching heartbreak present. I’ve been in and out of “sound mind,” traveling the rippling emotions of sorrow, humiliation and rage. I’ve felt broken, with broken wings. It’s not easy to explain.
Meanwhile, he went public on Facebook to his 2,000+ followers to announce our breakup less than seven days later. “I wish her all the happiness,” was included in that post, along with a request to private message him for “details.” He took control of the narrative to make it seem like a run-of-the-mill dissolution between two loving adults. Building his image as sympathetic, flaunting a moral superiority to avoid prosecution. He had un-linked all our accounts, destroying the trail of us that he regularly put on display. As if we never existed. Since then, he demanded that every friend and family member that I had through his introduction over the last four years together – un-friend me, in every form of reality. Most of them did. Some, thankfully haven’t, giving me some semblance that there are other sentient humans with their own moral compasses.
This blog came out of my teensy morsel of optimism and courage to tell my story. MY story, in my words. Maybe others will relate, or understand, or be forewarned of their own relationships. I am working on making the abstract more specific – and actually go there, humiliation and all. That’s not easy for me either. My instinct is always to protect my image, and work hard on ensuring that I seem like a sturdy, intelligent and capable woman with my shit together. Clearly, that hasn’t felt so true lately. Lately I have had the urge to actually scream from all the rooftops. Yet that would be the antithesis of the image of the powerful woman I strive to be. It would also support his story that he suffered with a villainous bitch and he’s the poor victim that was wronged by a woman. Again. He bought his innocence off my guilt. How do I effectively share my perspective without being judged? Can I hold credibility for speaking what was true for me, in the face of the bullshit version of his that he was early to release? Tough dilemma.
We’re dealing with a by-the-book narcissist here. A master manipulator. He has spent his life sharpening his skills to control, con and feign emotion. While I know this now, after being tossed aside without an ounce of compassion – I am still wrought with profound sadness because he got me. I was his. All in. Before we met, I had immersed myself in meditation practice and regular counseling. I had a solid recognition of my weaknesses that I was determined to meet with grace. I would not run from them as I had in the past. In this relationship, I believed that my compromising was mature, the way adults make love work. I didn’t understand then that I wasn’t compromising, I was being controlled. My loss of control exposed my rawest vulnerability, a nerve he could poke whenever he wanted. With eroding self-esteem, a desperation to stay loved, make it work and put us first steered me through our relationship.
“Your beliefs become your thoughts,
Your thoughts become your words,
Your words become your actions,
Your actions become your habits,
Your habits become your values,
Your values become your destiny.”
As I face myself in the clearest mirror, untangle the knots of my samascara (wounds, scars) and create a new flow to my life, I must also recharge my beliefs. The beliefs I have about who I am.