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A Successful Marriage With a Narcissist Without Losing You
A successful marriage with a narcissist is often misunderstood, oversimplified, or portrayed as impossible. Many people stay in such marriages for a variety of reasons, including commitment, ideals, shared history, children, faith, or personal choice. The actual struggle is not just staying married but also maintaining your individuality, emotional health, and dignity while navigating a complex relational dynamic.
By Bloom Boldly8 days ago in Humans
Why Some Wounds Never Fully Heal
My mother died on a Tuesday in March, three weeks after her diagnosis. Cancer moved through her body with terrifying speed, leaving no time for goodbyes, no space for preparation, no chance to say all the things I'd always assumed I'd have time to say. She was here, and then she wasn't. Everyone told me the same thing: "Time heals all wounds." They meant well. But they were wrong. Fifteen years later, I still reach for the phone to call her when something good happens. Fifteen years later, I still feel the absence like a phantom limb—a presence that's missing but somehow still aches. Fifteen years later, I'm still waiting for the day when thinking about her doesn't hurt. I've finally accepted that day isn't coming. And somehow, that acceptance has brought more peace than all the years of waiting for the pain to end. The Myth of Complete Healing We're sold a particular narrative about grief, about trauma, about loss: if you do the work, if you process it correctly, if you're strong enough, you'll heal completely. The wound will close. The pain will end. You'll be whole again. But some wounds are too deep for that kind of closure. Some losses are too profound to ever fully recover from. And pretending otherwise doesn't help—it just makes us feel like failures when we're still hurting years later. I spent the first five years after my mother's death trying to heal "correctly." I went to therapy. I joined support groups. I read books about grief. I talked about my feelings. I did everything I was supposed to do. And yet, the wound remained open. I'd have months where I felt okay, where I'd think, "Finally, I'm healing." Then something small—a song, a scent, Mother's Day—would rip everything open again, and I'd be back at square one, sobbing in parking lots and grocery stores, feeling like I'd failed at grief. "Why can't I get past this?" I asked my therapist during one particularly difficult session. "It's been five years. Shouldn't I be better by now?" She leaned forward, her eyes kind. "What if this isn't about getting past it? What if it's about learning to carry it?" The Wounds That Change Us Some experiences fundamentally alter who we are. They create a before and after in our lives so profound that we can never return to the person we were. Before my mother died, I believed the world was basically safe. I believed people I loved would be around for a long time. I believed I had control over my life in ways that made me feel secure. After she died, all those beliefs shattered. I learned that safety is an illusion. That people you need can vanish without warning. That control is a story we tell ourselves to feel less terrified of existence. These weren't lessons I could unlearn. This wasn't damage I could repair. My mother's death didn't just hurt me—it changed me at a cellular level. The wound wasn't something on me; it became part of me. I spent years trying to get back to who I was before. I'd look at old photos and barely recognize the carefree woman smiling back at me. Where had she gone? Could I ever find her again? The answer, I eventually realized, was no. And that wasn't a failure. It was just the truth.
By Ameer Moavia9 days ago in Humans
The Weight of Being "Too Much": How I Learned My Sensitivity Was Never the Problem
I was seven years old the first time someone told me I was too sensitive. I'd come home from school crying because my best friend said she didn't want to play with me anymore. My father looked up from his newspaper, irritation flickering across his face. "You're being too sensitive," he said, turning the page. "Kids say things. You need to toughen up." So I tried. I swallowed my hurt. I forced a smile. I pretended it didn't matter. That moment became a blueprint for the next three decades of my life. By the time I was thirty-seven, married with two kids and a successful career, I'd perfected the art of not feeling too much. I'd learned to laugh off insults, minimize my pain, and apologize for my emotions before anyone else could criticize them. But the cost of all that toughening up? I'd become a stranger to myself. The Education of Emotional Suppression The messages came from everywhere, each one teaching me that my natural way of being was somehow wrong. When I cried during a sad movie: "It's just a movie. Why are you so emotional?" When a friend's thoughtless comment hurt my feelings: "You're overreacting. I was just joking." When I needed time to process conflict: "You're being too dramatic. Just get over it." When I was moved to tears by beauty—a sunset, a piece of music, an act of kindness: "You cry at everything. What's wrong with you?" Each time, the same lesson: Your feelings are excessive. Your responses are inappropriate. You are too much. I learned to preface every emotional expression with an apology. "I know I'm being ridiculous, but..." "I'm probably overreacting, but..." "Sorry, I'm just too sensitive..." I became an expert at minimizing my own experience, at gaslight myself before anyone else could do it for me. The Slow Erosion of Self What happens when you spend decades being told your emotions are wrong? You start to believe it. I stopped trusting my own reactions. When something hurt me, my first thought wasn't "that was hurtful," but "I'm being too sensitive." When I felt uncomfortable in a situation, I'd override my instincts and force myself to stay, convinced my discomfort was a character flaw rather than valuable information. I became everyone's emotional support system while denying myself the same care. Friends would call me for hours when they were upset, and I'd listen with endless patience and compassion. But when I was hurting? I'd minimize it, laugh it off, handle it alone. In my marriage, I'd absorb my husband's bad moods without comment, adjust my behavior to keep the peace, and swallow my hurt when he was dismissive or short with me. "You're too sensitive" became his go-to response whenever I expressed that something bothered me. Eventually, I stopped expressing it at all. I taught my children to share their feelings, while simultaneously teaching them through my example that their mother's feelings didn't matter. I'd hide in the bathroom to cry, ashamed that I couldn't be stronger.
By Ameer Moavia9 days ago in Humans
Who Is Maduro’s Wife? Power, Politics, Sanctions, and the U.S. Capture Claims Explained
When breaking news from Venezuela began rippling across the world, one unexpected phrase shot to the top of search trends: “Maduro’s wife.” Not “Venezuela president,” not “U.S. strike,” but a deeply personal question tied to power, secrecy, and uncertainty.
By Bevy Osuos9 days ago in Humans
Dating Red Flags in Women that Feel Normal At First
Modern dating—especially for Gen Z in the US—moves fast. Apps, social media, and shared online spaces foster emotional connection prior to testing real-world compatibility. In this setting, several dating red flags in women may not look poisonous at first glance. They frequently feel natural, exciting, or even flattering in the early phases. Over time, however, these actions can silently erode trust, emotional safety, and the potential for a long-term relationship.
By Relationship Guide9 days ago in Humans
Ian Balding Dies Aged 87 — What Led to the Moment That Shook British Racing
The name Ian Balding has echoed through British racing for decades, but in the past few hours it has surged to the top of search trends for a very different reason. News of his death at the age of 87 has sent a wave of emotion through the racing world, reigniting memories of legendary victories, quiet brilliance, and a man whose influence stretched far beyond the track.
By Bevy Osuos9 days ago in Humans
How to Forgive Emotional Cheating and Rebuild Self-Trust
Emotional cheating can feel just as devastating as physical infidelity. It fractures emotional safety, weakens self-trust, and leaves us questioning our worth, intuition, and judgment. Bloom Boldly believes that healing is more than just racing through forgiveness; it is about conscious mending, emotional clarity, and restoring inner stability. In this book, we will look at how to forgive emotional adultery in a grounded, self-respecting way while also repairing the trust we have lost in ourselves.
By Bloom Boldly10 days ago in Humans
When the News Moves On, the Silence Stays
The first thing you notice is the quiet. Not the peaceful kind, the kind that hums with absence. The kind that settles over a street where, just months ago, the air was thick with shouts and sirens and the relentless whir of helicopters circling overhead. Now, there’s only the occasional car rolling over cracked pavement, the distant bark of a dog, the rustle of plastic bags caught in the skeletal branches of a dead tree.
By Megan Stroup11 days ago in Humans
