Narcissists and HSPs
PEOPLE, you are not rehabilitation centers for poorly raised or emotionally damaged individuals. It is not your job to fix them, change them, parent them or raise them. Your relationship goals should be to find a partner, not a project.
I spent 3 years in a very toxic friendship/relationship. About 4 months in I established there was an underlying level of darkness, control and hostility that I physically could not deny. Instead of running away like I was on fire (like every cell in my being was suggesting me to) I decided that because I was aware the toxicity was there, for some reason that meant it would affect me less. That may have been one of the biggest lies I ever convinced myself of.
By nature, I am a caretaker. I am highly intuitive and have the strong desire to help, aid, “fix”, and guide other people. In Coaching, we are trained that you are never “fixing” someone, only leading them towards their true and full potential as an individual. This was something that made perfect sense to me and was quite easy to execute with my day to day coaching clients. However, this wasn’t something that I could bring myself to participate in as whole heartedly when it came to my personal, intimate relationships. Welcome to the “danger zone” of being an intuitive and at times (highly sensitive individual). Those that are highly sensitive, intuitive, and empathetic are undoubtedly easy targets for narcissists. The fun fact of the matter is YOU don’t have to be an easy target. Is this an easy feat? Absolutely not. It takes consistency, accountability, HARD WORK, self-care, self-love, constant continuing education, mental health support and SO much more. These were all things that I found myself participating in, yet I still was sucked right into this narcissistic vortex of a relationship.
They say you’re not ready to get out of something toxic, until you’re truly ready. I used to laugh at that statement. I used to tell myself that it only applied to ‘other people’ and I was exempt from that rule. I was in full control and I could leave any time I chose. HA!!!! That’s likely the second biggest lie I ever convinced myself of. The absolute last thing I was…was ‘in control’. I was continually spiraling out of control. I was riding an emotional rollercoaster, followed by one shit parade after the next. Telling myself that I was less likely to ‘get hurt’ simply because I knew what I was getting myself into. It was like going up to a literal rollercoaster ride at an amusement park and the attendant giving you two distinct choices before boarding the ride.
Choice 1: The seat has been inspected, and the safety belt is fully operable. Please enjoy your ride.
Choice 2: The seat has been inspected and it has some damage. The safety belt is not fully operable, but feel free to ride at your own risk.
I was so quick to choose Option 2. I boarded a relationship rollercoaster, knowing that the safety belt was inoperable. Yet simply because I had been informed of its inconveniences I figured I could hold on for dear life and still come out of the ride unscathed. What the fuck? I mean actually, go back and read that. If some little part of your brain didn’t go… ‘Hmmm…that sounds like a horrible, bat-shit crazy, stupid, naïve, idiotic, FUCKED up idea.’ Then you probably need this information more than you ever knew.
First thing first, let me make something very clear to you that I had to learn in some of the hardest ways possible. There is a HUGE difference between “love” and “infatuation”.
Love: Should be all-seeing and accepting. Love is seeing the flaws and imperfections in another and accepting them. Love is accepting bad habits and mannerisms, and working around them. Helping BOTH you and your partner to grow as individuals; therefore helping your relationship with one another grow simultaneously. Love is recognizing all the fears and insecurities and knowing your role to comfort. Love is working through the challenges and painful times; and not constantly looking for ‘greener grass on the other side’ but making the effort to care for the grass inside your own fence.
Infatuation: Includes a lot of the above, but it is fragile and will shatter whenever life is not perfect.
Love is strong and it continually strengthens because it’s REAL.
Now I do not want you to get those words twisted around in that head of yours. Just because it says that with love you should accept the (bad habits) and work around them DOES NOT mean those habits get to include; manipulation, excessive alcohol or drug use (legal or illegal), mental or physical abuse, gas lighting, or apologies without the intent to change for the better…just to name a few. Bad habits are things like chewing with your mouth open, leaving the toilet seat up, not locking the front door, being a non-responder to messages or calls because “you saw the message - and you'll get to it later, then later turns into 3 business days”. What bad habits are NOT, they are not mind games or continued self-sabotaging behaviors.
Real quick let’s dig a little deeper into infatuation. Relationships primarily driven by infatuation will feel a lot like love. They’ll get you wrapped up in the ‘honeymoon’ phase then simultaneously throw you off a cliff, only to catch you centimeters from the bottom and place you right back in that blissful honeymoon glow. It’s a cycle. A vicious one at that. It affects all aspects of your mind, body and soul. It physiologically alters the chemical make-up of your body and brain. It’s similar to bi-polar disorder where you experience these really deep and dark lows followed by intense and manic highs. Trust me, even if you’re fully aware that this is what you are a part of, don’t you dare believe that for one second “you’ve got this under control” because I guarantee you, you don’t. This cycle can be physically addictive. Just like any drug that boosts your dopamine, endorphins or serotonin levels, this ‘roller coaster’ infatuation based ‘love’ mimics the same chemical effects in the body. We all crave happiness and positivity, this is a natural part of being human. We are also always seeking 3 key things in life. Love, Safety and Belonging. If something is providing us with at least 1 of those 3 things we will often jump through hoops for that situation just to keep the one piece it is providing. We are creatures of habit and our brain can play tricks on us. Our brain can make it very easy to rationalize having 1 out of 3 pieces to a puzzle is better than having 0 out of 3. Even if that one piece is slowly poisoning us, our brain can make us believe that it would be easier to ‘detox’ from the 1 negative piece than just dropping the dead weight all together.
The relationship I was taking part in was a prime example of exactly that. There was an element of safety with this person. Their home was secure, I knew they would never ‘physically’ hurt me, they provided me with financial stability if I was in a low spot, and they were a decent listening ear from time to time when I needed it. Plus we were quite sexually compatible. At first, that is. (We’ll touch more on that later). This skewed version of “safety” is what kept me coming back for more. Sure, there was some love involved as well, it was just inconsistent and circumstantial depending on the way he felt that day, or the way he felt my actions were impacting him. Nothing about his love was ‘unconditional’ and even though I knew that early on, I had already fallen for the bait and he had me hooked.
I was “on again, off again” with this guy for almost exactly 3 years. Never fully wanting to (pull the relationship trigger) on my end because I knew something wasn’t right and there would always be an element of dis-trust, control and fear if I stayed too long. It was like having a pro and con list and even though there were always significantly more cons, the small handful of pros kept me wanting more.
Those pros were what fueled me from day to day. They kept me rationalizing his VERY IRRATIONAL behavior. I would wake up each day with the hope that on that particular day it would be a “good” day. A day with no conflict. A day where he would cherish me without circumstance. A day where I could truly please him and keep out any kind of negative interaction. I had to walk on egg shells. However, those egg shells often felt a lot more like walking on broken glass without anyone but myself to patch the wounds that followed. It could be any little thing that would trigger him. Anything. It wasn’t consistent and it changed from day to day. Things I thought I had learned the day before to avoid may not have affected him at all the following day. It was confusing. Complicated. I spent so many hours just trying to “figure him out”. I wanted to be “good enough”. I thought to myself on a daily basis if I was just “good enough” that he’d love me more. He’d simultaneously treat me better. What I wasn’t wrapping my head around was that no matter what, that WASN’T a possibility. It didn’t matter how I behaved or what behavior of his I endured, it wouldn’t get better. I can’t count the times he’d pack up my items and put them in the driveway or by the door. He’d tell me to get out of his house, even though moments earlier he’d told me how much he wanted it to feel like “our home”. It was confusing, defeating, and heart wrenching. He would tell me to put things in the closets and take up a space in the drawers and at first I obliged. I’d “make myself at home” only to have that “home” ripped out from underneath me days later. Sometimes even hours later. It got to the point where I was living out a suitcase. It drove him crazy. It made him angry to no end. For me, it gave me this tiny sense of control. Like if I was living out of a suitcase I could leave any time I wanted. If we got into yet another argument it would only take moments to pack my things and leave when he told me to, rather than spending hours being yelled at while I hopelessly sobbed and tried to gather up my items. I didn’t realize how badly I needed that piece of control, or why.
I’ve had chronic health issues my entire life and being in that relationship was only making me sicker, I just couldn’t see it. I was too close to the situation to really reflect on how badly it was affecting my mind, body and soul. He was crushing my spirit. Piece by piece. He was breaking me down to this meek being who would just oblige to his requests. Yet even in my lowest points I always fought back. I knew his actions weren’t acceptable and on some level I refused to let him completely break me. I refused to let go of the woman I had spent so many years trying to cultivate and nourish. That too drove him crazy. I swore if I could hear his thoughts they’d be something like; “When is she just going to give up? When will she figure out that she can’t win? She can’t beat me. Doesn’t she see that by now?” With each month, my body grew weaker and weaker. My thyroid condition had begun to spiral back out of control. My hair was falling out in handfuls (not just in the shower). My skin was brittle and dry. Under my eyes were these dark circles I thought I’d never rid myself of. My eyes weren’t even my eyes anymore. I often wasn’t sure who I was looking at in the mirror. This is what REALLY started to concern me. It was almost as if he knew I was having a “good day”. A day where I’d wake up, shower, get ready, look in the mirror and catch a glimpse of the girl I used to know. I’d come out of the bathroom smiling and it was almost as if in that moment he knew he’d have to flip a switch in me on that very day or he’d lose me for good.
I started to disassociate. I started to pretend I was living a life I wasn’t. The sicker I became, the harder it was to fight back. He knew that. He was like a predator slowly weakening his prey. Making me metaphorically run miles and miles on an injured leg, just waiting for me to drop in the woods somewhere so he could take me back to his den. There were many times after I’d “collapsed in the woods” that I’d just let him drag me back without a fight because I needed love. I needed comfort. I needed any kind of support someone was willing to provide me. I was bonded to him. I was experiencing a form of “Stockholm Syndrome”, and I was experiencing it BAD.
There were times he’d kick me out and times where I’d force myself to leave because I couldn’t take it anymore; but no matter how many times I left…as soon as I got out that door…
He’d text. He’d call. He’d Snap-Chat. He’d Instagram Message.
He would start BLOWING up my phone non-stop with these insanely hurtful messages. Calling me every name in the book. Trying to break my spirit even further. He tell me he was going to block me from his life. He’d tell me he never wanted to see me again. He’d tell me NOT to respond. If I even thought about responding he’d make my life more miserable.
He was the only one allowed to have a voice.
I had none.
I wasn’t privileged enough for a voice in those moments; and let me tell you, that was FUCKING hard. That broke my spirit time and time again. A few hours would go by, or even an entire evening and then suddenly his switch would flip the other way and he’d begin to try and take back all he’d said. He’d tell me how wrong he’d been and how much he loved me and how much better I deserved and that if I’d give him the chance he could be that guy. He could be better, do better, and treat me the way I “deserved” to be treated. He just wanted to show me. He’d beg for me to call. Beg for me to text. Beg for me to “just come over” so we could talk it out and start fresh. I wanted to believe him more than anything on this Earth. I wanted it to be true so bad that I sacrificed my well-being time and time again for him. This man ended things with me COUNTLESS times. I mean that as literally as you can imagine. I lost track how many times he’d tell me to “lose his number” then he’d block me on everything possible. Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Messenger, HIS ENTIRE PHONE, you name…he’d block me on all of it. He’d say every hurtful thing in the book, then threaten me “if I responded that he’d block me” so I should just think about what I’d said or done if I still wanted communication with him. “If I still wanted my ‘best-friend’ in my life.” How messed up is that? How manipulative, frustrating and heartbreaking? He knew it drove me absolutely INSANE. That’s why he thrived on it. He fed off of it.
There were times I would challenge it, I would write my lengthy paragraph response that I felt entitled to and pretend like I wouldn’t care what the consequences of that message may be. On some subconscious level I knew he needed a girl who was submissive and lacking a full “metaphorical back-bone” or voice and I was NOT about to be that girl. I would not give up my voice. I had to rise up. Then my ‘consequences’ would set in. I’d responded like he’d demanded that I not…so I’d get blocked. I’d get shunned from all social events and be left to stay home by myself. Sure I had friends of my own. Sure I could have taken myself out for a night on the town and run into dozens of people I knew and cared for, but he had instilled this level of fear in me that would stop me dead in my tracks. I knew if I went out, someone would see me. Someone would report back to him. I would have to “pay for it later” and that just didn’t seem worth it. This was such a small town and community of people I lived within, that there wasn’t any where for me to go that felt “safe”. He’d even have friends monitor my house. He’d know when my car was in my driveway and when it wasn’t. I could not have any amount of time that was unaccounted for. If I didn’t have proof of my exact location for longer than a 15 minute time span he would accuse me of sleeping with someone else. However, insecurity breeds insecurity. So I’d wait around for my ‘punishment’ to end. Could be a few days, there were times it was 1-2 weeks before he’d unblock me on things and start blowing up my phone again to hang out. He’d frame the conversation in almost the exact same way every time. That he was sorry. That he overreacted. That he thinks I’m such a great person with a big heart and that I deserved better, however if I chose to stay with him that I would be ‘rewarded’, that he would earn my love because my type of love was worth earning.
The times I simply could not stifle myself or my feelings and had to talk back to him were these brief moments of control and power that I could temporarily sustain myself on. They were the only reminders that I had a voice. That I could tell someone no.
Other times I forfeited my voice, my insight, my right to stand up for myself. There were moments where I’d reached such a point of exhaustion that it was easier to just remain quiet. To let all his hurtful, degrading messages ring through my phone. I’d sit there scrolling through them and reading them over and over again. A small piece of me was trying to understand where he was coming from. I’d try to relate to his stress at work or search for some kind of external stressor that must be causing all this hatred to be geared my way. I was still defending him. Constantly. The more I’d internally defend him the deeper of a hole I’d dug for myself, the stronger the toxic bond had become.
In the times we were “off-again”; every time my phone would buzz, my heart would begin to race with anxiety. He knows I'm not asleep I'd think to myself. Somehow he's tracking me. I'm sure of it. Seeing as in the past he had tracked me. He’d given me an old phone of his as a “gift” and helped me to get it all set up and ready to go for a trip I would be taking with a few friends. Keep in mind we were NOT together at this time. It was yet another time he’d called things off; and this particular time I stuck to my guns a little longer than normal. I wanted to be “single” on this trip. I needed some time to myself and with my friends to re-establish who I was as a person. Being the technologically savvy woman I usually am, I should’ve just set it up myself. I should’ve wiped it entirely and started from square zero; however, he convinced me that since I’d never had an iPhone and always stuck with Android, I should listen to him because this “new” set up process was a lot more effective. Well this “new” process included leaving his find my iPhone app fully intact with all of his account information still linked to it. It was the sneakiest and in plain sight tracking device he could’ve ever placed on me. He wished me a good trip and said he’d look forward to seeing me when I was back. Maybe we could hang out when I returned and we could “see where things went..” I told him thank you for the phone and that I was so happy to have another camera to document my adventures. When I reached one of the many destinations on my trip, he decided to tap into the phone and pinpoint my location. He realized I was very close to where my one of ex’s families lived and that sent him completely through the roof. He started blowing up my phone with the nastiest messages he’d ever sent up to that point. Telling me he knew exactly where I was, who I was with and that I should be ashamed of myself.
Let me break this down.
I was SINGLE.
It shouldn’t have mattered where I was, who I was with, or what I was doing.
Period.
It's funny how he taught me to protect myself. He taught me how to protect myself in many ways that I was so unfamiliar with prior to meeting him. Little did I know, I was going to be using those same protective measures as I walked away from him and all the pain that we caused one-another. He taught me how to protect myself legally, physically, and even in some roundabout way, he taught me how to protect myself emotionally. He just never dreamed that the tables would turn and I would be using all of those new skills to protect myself from him and the hurt he had deep inside himself from the time that I met him. I knew we weren't going to work out from go, I knew on some level it was not meant to be lasting and it was not meant to be love in the intimate, “spend your life together” kind of way. I knew I was here to heal him, or at least I thought I was here to heal him. It turns out, it wasn't my job to heal him, it was never my job to heal him at all; it was in fact, my job for him to teach me how to heal myself. He always painted me as the abuser, as the master manipulator, the cheater, the liar, the "typical female who can't keep her legs closed"... yes that is a direct quote. Never once taking his own actions or words into account. Never fully inspecting the reason why I was seeking out comfort among friends or even other men when he'd decide "we shouldn't be together" for the 100th time. We were living the cliché millennial relationship, not fully committed unless it served us both in a selfish fashion. Every time he would berate, degrade or chastise me, then temporarily block me from every technological aspect of his life; I'd feel this brief moment of relief, this fraction of permission to seek the care I'd been missing with him. Only to get sucked back into his vortex of I'm sorry, and I'll do better. Only to fall back into the pattern I'd allowed to unfold.
It wasn't until a few months after we’d separated, that I truly understood I deserved better. I was still spending far too much time with him. He was addictive. He was satisfying my codependency. One morning, I’d come out of a really powerful counseling session and decided I should go to his home to collect my remaining items. The “smoke had cleared” enough for me to feel comfortable stepping back into that condo. As I was about to load the last of my things into my Jeep, there was one last item of his for me to move back to it’s original “home”. I lifted up an old style, metal, oil heater and stepped into the coat closet. As soon as I stepped in, I fell through the crawl space hatch, was knocked unconscious and fractured 2 ribs. I was trapped. When I came to, my dog was frantically barking and crawling towards me trying to help. As I began to get a grip on my surroundings, I realized just how dangerous of a situation I was in. The hatch had broken in half and I was wedged between the heater, the hatch and the ladder leading to the basement. That heater was HEAVY. One of my legs was shoved through a ladder rung and I was just stuck, dangling in mid-air. I knew if I shifted my body too abruptly that the heater would break through the remainder of the hatch and send me plummeting into the basement with my leg still stuck in the ladder rung. I knew if this happened, it would immediately snap my leg in half. Of course, as I was assessing the rest of my surroundings I realized I had no cell phone. I’d placed it on the kitchen table right before I picked up that damn heater. With the adrenaline shooting through my veins, I began to slowly un-wedge myself from the heater and hatch. I was able to lift the heater off of me, just long enough to pull my body back up onto the hardwood Livingroom floor. I tried to roll over on my side and couldn’t. I realized I’d pretty severely injured my ribcage and that I needed medical attention. My right eye was already beginning to swell shut from the impact as I fell and there was blood coming from the back of my head were I’d suffered another impact during the fall. I called my friend who was supposed to be meeting me about a half hour later and told her I was going to need her to take me to the doctor. Being the incredibly self-sacrificing friend that she was, she told me she was dropping everything and coming right over. I’d called my now “ex” to let him know what had happened and he told me he’d leave the job site and start driving to the hospital right away.
This is when it all fully started sinking in that he never cared for me the way I thought he did. When we got to the hospital they checked me over and quickly dosed me with Fentanyl. This put me in an even loopier state than the concussion alone, but it was slowly beginning to ease the intense pain. I kept asking my friend if she’d heard from my ex. I wanted to know when he was going to be there. I wanted to confide in him and seek the comfort I’d sought from him for the last 3 years straight. She told me he was on his way, but that she wasn’t sure she believed him. It had been hours and he still was nowhere to be found.
Once the doctors had sent me through multiple X-Rays and CT Scans to be sure I hadn’t sustained any internal bleeding or other significant injuries, they gave me a second small dose of Fentanyl followed by 2 Hydrocodone tablets. They had me eat some crackers and drink some water and told me once I was finished with my crackers I was free to leave. Guess what? Still no ex. I was so upset and so was my friend. I knew I had to go back to his house because all of my things were still there, plus my car and most importantly my dog. On our way back to his condo my friend told me she wanted me to stay with her. She wanted us to grab my necessities and the dog and just stay in her home for the night. She knew my ex didn’t have good intentions and she didn’t want to leave me in a compromised state with him. I fought her on it. I told her he would be kind and that she didn’t need to worry. I told her I’d call her in the morning and she could help me get the rest of my things. I had no idea at the time how right she was. I had no idea how horrible and emotionally traumatizing that night was about to get.
As soon as she left I began to be called a liar. I was told that this hadn’t happened to me and that I was ‘acting out’, ‘elaborating’, and ‘trying to make him feel bad, just so he’d leave work.’ He demanded that I show him my hospital paperwork for proof and that he wanted to see my X-Ray imaging in order to verify my fractured ribs. Having just been discharged from the hospital on heavy medication and with a severe concussion, I had no idea how to conduct myself. I desperately wanted to do anything to make him believe the truth so I could attain the love I needed so badly in that moment. His co-worker was there at the time watching this all play out. I was sobbing uncontrollably and showing him all the paperwork the hospital sent me home with. In my drugged state, I didn’t realize just how drunk he was. He was in his own little world, trying to impress his co-worker and prove to him just how “crazy” I really was, which was what led him to “break it off with me” in the first place. (Fun fact, I was the one who had broken it off with him a few months prior.)
I was forced to care for myself that entire evening. I knew I needed sleep, so I took myself to the bedroom and tried to lay down. Even with the medication, I was in so much pain and laying down only made it more intense. Every hour, on the hour; he would come in to yell at me. He would tell me the same things over and over again as he shouted. “That I was just overreacting, being a bitch, and trying to embarrass him in front of his friend.” He’d tell me I needed to toughen up and that it couldn’t really be that bad. He came in every hour from 10 p.m. to 5 a.m. the next morning when he was finally ready to call it a night, stop drinking and go to bed himself. I had to be up at 6:45 a.m. to be at work at the massage clinic that day, and knew it was going to be next to impossible to drag myself from that bed. Yes, I could’ve taken the day off but I wanted nothing more than to get away from that man, and being at work seemed like the safest option. When I got there and my co-workers realized just how injured I was, they didn’t allow me to do my job for the day and demanded that if I was going to stay there, that I rest. I was so grateful to just be somewhere safe. To be somewhere with people who were loving me, listening to me and physically caring for my body.
After work I called some friends to help me get my dog and a few other things from his home. I knew I couldn’t lift anything and I knew he wouldn’t let anyone else inside his home, so I’d have to heal a bit first before I could get the rest of my stuff that I’d packed up the day prior. By the time I got to his house that night, he was right back to the ‘caring, concerned’ man that I once knew; but this time it didn’t faze me. I didn’t care. He’d done his final amount of damage and I wasn’t going to listen to a word he said. I told him once I was healed up a bit that I’d come back for the rest of it. He agreed.
About a month after the incident I arranged a time to come pick up my things. It was spring in Montana and colder than ever. We were beating the low temperatures of Antarctica for over 3 days straight. I’d met with a friend who had a truck who could help me quickly grab stuff and get it back to my house without spending too much time in the cold. I should’ve known he wouldn’t make it easy, because he’d made nothing in my life easy up to that point. As soon as we pulled in his driveway, we triggered his cameras and he texted me.
He told me that if I stepped foot in his home, he’d have me arrested for trespassing. I still had a key, a code to the door, and had lived there off and on for the last 3 years of my life. I was FUMING! I called him right away and asked him why he felt the need to make this so challenging. He said he wanted to be present for the pick and I should’ve thought that through. Even though he’d told me the day prior he didn’t want to see me and wanted me there while he was gone at work to avoid any further conflict.
I didn’t know what else to do, so for the first time in my life I called the police. I wanted to know what my rights were. I wanted to know if I could enter the property without his permission because I’d lived there for so long. The officer told me that I shouldn’t enter his home if he was behaving in this manner. That it could come back to bite me later, if we didn’t do a ‘civil stand-by’ with a police officer present. I told him I knew that wouldn’t be something my ex would go for. He wanted nothing to do with police. I told him that it would only make it worse for me if he knew I’d gotten the authorities involved. I was begging the officer for any other option. He told me that my ex could bring my things to my home and they could wait outside just in case any conflict happened to arise. I said okay, as long as my ex didn’t have to know they were there. Of course that isn’t the way it works for the officer’s personal safety. They have to notify the other party of their presence. I was devastated. The police called my ex and informed him of the new plan. I stood there trembling. Crying. I knew as soon as they hung up the phone my ex would message me even nastier things then I’d experienced in the past. I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take the hateful words and the physical pain they evoked within my core. I stood there with my friends and their baby and balled. My ex agreed to the meeting and the police were on standby until 10 p.m. that evening.
Yet again, he still couldn’t make this easy and at 9:47 p.m. he texted me that he’d changed his mind. He’d loaded all my things into the bed of his truck and he instructed me to come get them from his home instead. Frustrated, exhausted and mortified; I called the police officer and informed him of the change. It was -24 degrees outside and 2 police officers met me at his condo. None of the large items I’d asked to be disassembled were, and I had to remove my gloves to take apart metal equipment in the negative temps.
One of my chronic health issues is known as Raynaud’s Syndrome. For those who aren’t familiar, this is a disorder of the blood vessels that causes them to narrow when you are cold or feeling stressed. This makes it so blood can't get to the surface of the skin, then the affected areas turn white and/or blue. It can cause nerve damage and create permanent issues if you are exposed to the cold for too long.
As I was disassembling the equipment, my hands slowly began to stop working. They were literally freezing in front of my eyes. Although the officers weren’t supposed to help, they felt badly enough for my circumstances that they began shoving things into the back of my Jeep for me, so we could get out of there as soon as possible. Once the last box was loaded, I slammed my trunk shut and turned to thank the police men. The primary officer who I’d been speaking with all day then asked if he could touch me. I looked at him rather puzzled but obliged. He gently grasped my shoulders and told me this: ”This behavior isn’t normal. It isn’t okay, and you’re NOT crazy. You are right to feel every way that you do, and people like this don’t just “go-away”. He will try to contact you again. As soon as you leave here you need to prepare yourself for more verbal abuse than you’ve ever experienced from him before. He’s finally lost control over you and now he’s spiraling. He will do anything he can to regain any level of that control he’s held over you for so long. He will grasp at any straw you give him, so give him none. Walk away, and don’t look back. Don’t reply. Don’t respond. You will be okay. You are okay.” I tried to stifle back the tears that were pouring down my face and freezing to my cheeks. I thanked both the officers and stepped into my Jeep. By that time the pain in my hands was so bad I didn’t know what to do. I knew a substantial amount of nerve damage had been done, and my body was certainly letting me know it. I pulled out of that driveway for the last time and began to scream bloody murder, at the top of my lungs. I screamed the entire 15 minutes back to my apartment. I was hyperventilating. I was becoming lightheaded and didn’t know if I was going to make it home without passing out. I pulled into my own driveway and my screams subsided. I opened my garage, walked into my house, barely made it to the kitchen and collapsed. Physically collapsed. No part of me tried to break the fall. I landed on my face on the floor and just laid there, sobbing. I was in every kind of pain I could imagine. Physical, mental, emotional, spiritual. All of it. He’d finally broke me. He’d finally shattered me to a point of no return. What I didn’t know in that moment was that by finally breaking me down to my lowest point that was the foundation upon which I could rebuild into anything my heart desired. So I pulled myself off that floor, crawled to my bedroom and vowed to myself when I woke up I would NEVER let someone have that much control over any part of me again. I didn’t need someone else to make me whole and that I could attain Love, Safety and Belonging within myself. No matter what.
That same week, I called one of my best friends who happens to be an incredibly talented photographer. I told her that I needed to do a photo-shoot with her that showcased my physical wounds from the incident. I informed her that my ex’s words had gotten to me on some deeper level and I wanted tangible proof that I was actually “this hurt”. I told her I wanted to take my power back completely. To find myself. To see the damage I’d sustained for myself, with my own eyes from behind her creative lens. She was more than happy and willing to help me achieve this task. A few days later, I drove to her studio and embarked on a photo-shoot that single handedly changed my life. Not only did she capture the bruises that traipsed my body, but she captured the damage my soul had sustained. Towards the end of the session, this dear friend asked me a simple question; “After enduring all of this treacherous heart-break, pain and manipulation how is this going to positively impact your coaching career and clients?” She then asked, “After all of this, what is the advice you’d provide someone either in your same shoes or just having made it to the other side?” I told her I needed to think about it, but when I got home I’d come up with something. When I walked into my bedroom the thoughts that hit me were profound. I sat down, I opened my notebook and these words poured from my core in such a fashion that tears just streamed down my face. My chest felt like it was being ripped open and turned inside-out because these were all the things I had wanted to say for YEARS, but was too afraid to. So, what would I tell this ‘mock client’ you ask?
Rise up.
Go. Live. Be authentic. Set your intentions from a place of love, caring and understanding. Stay open minded and get out there. Say, live, breathe, and do whatever it is that speaks your truth. My goal as a coach is to show people it is safe to be unapologetically themselves and that once they start routinely living life in that fashion, amazing things start rapidly unfolding. To show them that they are beautiful, powerful and courageous. That their life has meaning and their ability to impact others in a positive manner is limitless. To better their communication. First and foremost their internal communication with themselves. To develop a healthier mind and body connection. Once we’ve begun mastering that, my goal is to guide them towards better communication with those around them. Their relationships, their significant other, family, their co-workers etc. When you start showing up to life as yourself, truly who you are at your core; not the “you” that your family or society feels, needs or believes you should be but rather you show up unfiltered and unedited, the real journey of life begins unfolding.
Is it easy? Fuck no. It is worth it to be unapologetically you and live a fulfilling life of authenticity? Fuck yes! Will you fail? Many times. But as a Coach, I will be right there to help guide and educate you, so that you will have the courage to stand up at least one more time than you fall.
This entire piece was the toughest thing I’ve ever written. It took me 7 months to build up the courage to get it all on paper and share with all of you beautiful people. I’ve been immensely afraid of the judgement that would come from this post. However, I too need the occasional reminder to practice what I preach and to live uncensored. I reached deep into the depths of my soul to bring this piece of writing to you in hopes I can help even 1 person going through something similar. In hopes I can shine light into someone’s dark and sometimes seemingly hopeless tunnel of life, reach out a hand and pull them back to safety, back to their true selves. My soul was sent here to be a Coach. My soul is here with the purpose to inspire others and help them live their best lives; and that my friends, family and fellow strangers is EXACTLY what I’m dedicating this trip on this planet to.
With love,
Tristin Halie Fleetwood
I swear to *God, Source, a Higher Power (whatever you believe) I held this exact same perspective as my higher self. Looking down on myself from another dimension, in that shower, sitting on the floor in that exact position, and washing the blood from the hospital IV gone wrong off of my body. Alone. In pain. Terrified. Realizing I could not go on this way and wondering if I should even go on at all. Realizing that in all the time I spent with him, realistically in his eyes I was replaceable and likely for him it would be easier if I no longer existed. I could not love him in the way he needed me to, nor could he reciprocate the intense amount of love I so deeply craved and on some level knew I deserved. I was intently contemplating if “me” exiting this human experience, in that moment would lift the burden I'd placed on everyone close to me. He'd made me feel as though I was too much. As though no one would accept the complex interwoven threads of my past. As though it was him...or nothing. He told me the accident never happened. That I was simply blowing things out of proportion "like I always did", that I was an "attention seeking whore" and that my “only goal was to make him feel poorly for working so often, since that’s all I did over the 3 years we spent together”. His words had begun to cut so deep that on some obscure and entirely fucked up level a piece of me was starting to believe him. I was starting to give those nasty vindictive sentences power and meaning in my daily life.
(This article was composed in 2019.)