The Path to Recovery

Today, I cried. I wasn't planning on crying in my therapy session but isn't that how it always happens? It's never expected when you break down but suddenly you can't breathe, your anxiety is at max capacity and you feel like the last two years didn't even happen for a few minutes. This years resolution? To get mine and my daughter's last name changed. We will right this wrong. I plan to ask for one last thing from my abuser, I want him to sign his rights away to my daughter. We haven't seen him in over a year, my daughter wants nothing to do with him and we both want this fixed. There was a time where I thought him adopting her was going to be so wonderful and he would be an amazing father to her but now I realize the truth. The adoption was always a mistake and I shouldn't have let it happen. However, we can't judge ourselves for things we didn't know at the time right? We can't judge ourselves for not knowing there was a monster lying under the surface. I can say there were a million red flags and I should've known but does that help anything now? No, I suppose not. It is what it is and this is a wrong I will right. My daughter will have her birth last name back and so will I. My daughter and son will have the same last name again and I will go back to my maiden name. However, the thought of having to see my abuser again has my nerves shot. The tears stream as I remember the fear. Those last few days I was truly afraid for mine and my children's lives. Every chance he got I was berated, verbally assaulted, ridiculed, called names and told he wished I were dead. It was never ending. My children were spoiled rotten brats and I had made them that way. The horrible things that were spat at me those last few weeks I'll never forget. It comes in flashes as I try to calm down...

Sleeping with the doors locked and a chair under the door knob so he wouldn't come in in the middle of the night.

My daughter and I huddled together in bed terrified.

I ask my son to stay in the same room as us but he wanted to stay in his room. I made him promise to lock his door.

We avoided the house and would sit in a parking lot for hours just to avoid going home to him.

Purchasing a taser and pepper spray just in case.

Sleeping with that taser fully charged right next to my night stand.

Putting together a "go bag" with mine and my children's most important documents and a change of clothes for each of us in case we needed to run.

The heavy feeling in the house, demons around every corner.

Trying not to speak because everything caused a fight or a verbal/emotional lashing.

The feeling of being so jittery and anxious that I would jump at every sound.

Knowing exactly how his footsteps and breathing sounded so I knew when he was coming into a room.

Reaching for the knife under my pillow just so I can feel safe.

"Lindsey,...your safe. What's coming up for you right now?"-back to the present.

"Fear." I manage to choke out.

Note: Loving a narcissist and recovering from that is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Somedays I feel like I've made so much progress and others that fear is just as real as it was when I was living in the moment. It's a baby step process. Love yourself and stay patient with yourself is the best advice I've gotten through this process. Prayers and blessings my friends...