Author: The Wise Womb Woman

 

Narcissism Is suffocating, mentally testing and can feel at times like your stuck behind steal bars. The lies and games- the narcassist believes himself. They are all a coping mechanism for their own demons, the term is deflection.

There is only one person a Narcassist protects, this person is himself.

Often materialistic a showman, charmer, attractive and easily persuasive.  Constantly searching for a fix in various forms, they can steal everything from your physical money, time and health and even drain your aura.

Entwined in their vains are lies and secrets so severe they impact on their own mental health.

10 years in battle with a Narcassist hammering down my armour has taught me some of the hardest but most valuable lessons of my life. It is not possible for me to help everyone I care about. I cannot save a soul that is unwilling to be saved. Becoming his saftey net everytime he fucked up meant I was shackled and bound to a relationship I should of never entered.

For months and years I’ve searched, researched and soul screamed for help.  I’ve listened to people say “you deserve better, he dosnt respect you. Why not leave and be brave!”.

Despite the signs I cried and prayed. Even stuck around after sexual betrayal, drugs, drink driving, gambiling and domestic fights. Unforgettable words of torture and malicious acts of what I thought was love.

Jeopardized my sanity, questioned humanity. Contemplated suicide, the death letters are written and stashed in the medicine cupboard.  The many nights I spent alone when he’d stormed out after breaking down my amour, I’d collapse in the kitchen with a bottle of wine sobbing and yurning to rewind time.

Narcissist’s don’t just damage your emotions they fracture your friendships and destort your Faith in friends. Once they get in your head it’s hard to unscramble the fractured truth. “Even your friends agree with me, your going to end up lonely and regret leaving me” were regular phrases. The constant verbal attacks are known as ‘Gas Lighting’.

Recently I decided that being lonely was better than fear. I felt alone anyway so what did it matter if he was right and I was lonely.  It’s ok to be a single parent I feel single anyway because a Narsassist will only be interested in you when they are getting something in return to feed their ego. And if their needs are un met I would have things like “knowone will take you on with four kids” repeated to me.

I was already vulnerable, tierd and lost so I realised that I could only get better if I was away from such a toxic energy.  I am ashamed to admit it but it took my children to start to voice how nasty “daddy was to mummy” for me to realise It was no longer ok to live with a Narsassist.

I’d still question myself daily on how I could still feel love, how could I still feel love after he shattered my heart and I felt it crumble after so many disrespecting events. It was in counciling that the penny dropped. I realised I had become his rescuer instead of his wife. In playing this role and continuously trying to fix his habits I nearly lost my life.

I’d lost myself emotionally and fractured soul parts needed replacing but I new in time I could journey for them again. If you have never heard of Shermanic soul retrieval it is well worth looking into. Especially if you are reading this blog and relating to anything emotionally or have ever experienced deep trauma.  I will blog about my perception on shamens and shermanic experiences next time.

My self-esteem had disintegrated fast and for years I’d put his happiness first in the hope that my love for him could make us last. Sadly the brutal truth is a Narsassist will only ever love themselves and it was 6 months ago I decided, I loved myself more than he could ever love me.

I’ve hidden the torture well, put on a smile and faked my happiness for a while. This is all a result of believing what they are doing to you is not that bad. Because they will tell you that “your imagining it, your crazy, your bipolar and that you make them behave that way”.

This abuse takes along time to heal from. It is a journey that takes courage and time but with each day that passes you will feel a sense of lightness return into your life. As you look in the mirror you will realise that over time your eyes start to look less lost. Everyday spent away from gas lighting is a day with less anxiaty and stress. A small sense of inner calm will begin to return and all you need to repeat is……..

You can do this,

You are strong,

You are worthy of love

You are now free.

 

Written 6 months after leaving a Narcassist on the 30th July 2018. Exactly 10 years to the day that I met him.

The first time I had PND (Post Natel Depression) I lied. I lied to myself and I lied to the health professionals. I’d Just turned 17 and my 1st born son was 7 days old. Labour hadn’t been the most straight forward after a lot of intervention and a close escape from  C-section. Four days in hospital and an intense desire to feed my son from my breasts I found myself at home crying with a teenage pregnancy midwife watching me nervously trying to latch him on.

I’d never intended to breastfeed at the time I’d been quite repulsed by the concept. Surrounded by formula feeding parents breadtfeeding was something that had never crossed my mind . This changed the moment I held him. The maternal urge to give him mothers milk became a deep necessity but I had no clue what to do. As I sat on the red materiel sofa soaked in dripping colostrum I wept tears of insecurity. The tears turned into a sob needing reassurance as he struggled to latch on. Unbeknown to me at the time he had a very strong tongue tie . This made breastfeeding and latching on virtually impossible.

Rejection set in, I wasn’t good enough. Four days of being a mother and I had let him down already. He didn’t want me, my body wasn’t working properly and I had fallen at the first hurdle. Too hurt to try again when the midwife returned the next day I couldn’t bare to try again and feel humiliated, frustrated and lost. I passed him to his father and as he took the bottle I felt depression kick in. With every bottle feed I drifted further and further away from my son and lost any belief in myself and my capability to be a ‘good mum’.

Intrusive thoughts flooded in to my mind within days, replaying scenarios of harming myself and running away haunted me daily.  Mentally battling I opened the door to the health visiting team with a smile and ticked the questionnaire forms to make it look like I had everything under control.

Control was how I was going to cope, I’d control the house and bleach was to become my closest friend. Vacuuming, bleaching the floors and wiping the work surfaces at least 3x a day was what I did. If my house was clean then surly everyone would think I was clean, my thoughts were clean. I thought about telling the doctors how I felt, how much I hated myself and my body but if I told them, would they take my son away? Would they label me an unfit mum?

Then the reflux started, 7 ounce bottles everyday were projectile vomited anywhere and everywhere. In a taxi, in a car seat, over me, over the sofa, carpets or a passenger on a bus. Why is my baby so sick? What am I doing so wrong? The washing pile became relentless and for the amount of sick you would of thought I had triplets. 2 busses to the GP became a weekly event, they didn’t listen nor take me seriously. He was now 4 months old and I had just come to realisation that I was going to need a lot of faith as I was expecting a second child. I didnt want another child especially not to his father. We had only had intercourse once and I had even sourced the morning after pill. 17 and I was going to have two children under two!

I’d just enrolled back at college for the following September to complete my A levels and my dream of performing arts was slowly slipping away. I didn’t want this, I didn’t want to be pregnant but I gazed at my son Jacob’s eyes and saw love, joy, perfection and the only thing I was proud of. How could I ever have an abortion? I was already shit at breastfeeding and now I was contemplating murder. Surly it was fiat or meant to be if I was still pregnant after taking emergency contraception?

The pregnancy flew as I battled on trying to get support for my son’s reflux. Know one medically took me seriously or listened for a whole year! I saw the way they looked at me, eyes can speak a thousand words in ten seconds. I was young, naive and they assumed I was anxious or exaggerating – This was once a term used by a doctor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing prepares you for the arrival of your Newborn more than the Newborn itself. To be honest, amongst the leaking breasts, stinging stitches, black sticky tar like 1st nappies, tiny fiddly outfits and array of flowers from visitors I felt like I’d been hit by a truck!

Literelly, as if a truck had come along and smacked me so hard I’d forgotten who I was. I’d not just forgotten who I was but I couldn’t even remember what I liked to eat,  nor could I even fathom how to use my own kitchen appliances when I got home from hospital.

The only way I can describe it, is like a blanket of mind blurring magic dust had been sprinkled over me in labour.  People would ask me relentless questions about the birth and I’d go blank and burst into tears. Often not knowing why I was crying and then crying because I felt frustrated.  I’d get to the top of the stairs with great difficulty after forceps and forget why I had ventured upstairs and then obviously cry again.  I’d begun to put the milk in the cupboard and spend an entire afternoon looking for it. Attempting a shower with constant symptoms of mental health whilst I thought I heard my baby crying, covered in soap suds I’d be hopping onto the landing to check.

I named this post natal mind ‘baby brain’ or ‘mummy fog’ but it never got easier as the weeks went on.

I’d be sat in a cafe chatting away and poof I’d forget what I was saying just like that. I could arrange a play date with a mum at school and not intentionally forget to turn up.

Overnight, I had lost my memory but knowone told me about this part of motherhood. Was gaining stretch marks, sore breasts, swollen, stitched and a grazed vagina not enough? Motherhood had to transform me into an emotional shipwreck with irrational thought patterns and brain fog.

3 years on since my last child and I’m physically much more like my pre birth self, despite the not so purked breasts and tiger stripes that are now turning a less noticeable silver. However my memory, my thoughts, my sanity at which point do I regain my mental dignaity or control?

Why is this not discussed in pregnancy? Why is this subject only something that you realise happens to all mums when your at baby group and mid flow of conversation one of you goes blank. Only then does another mother say “oh it happens to me all the time, I can’t remember one thing to the next”.

Surley I am not alone, surley I am not the only mother walking around in this post birth foggy daze. As I sit watching my children play feeling emensley proud, I look around at other mum’s wondering, do they all feel like me?

 

Written by Francesca Shaw

 

Again sitting here trying to write through blurry eyes and wet eyelashes I try to find an ounce of strength to not check myself into the mental health unit- that’s how much he’s mentally tortured me today.

Having no stable or real mother in my life growing up has made me emotionally fragile every mothers day.  I have always felt like a vase that never got a flower to look after. Pining for that motherly figure and needing her in so many situations- like when I became a mother myself.

I know I’ve not been a perfect wife and often said very hurtful things but I have raised his children everyday with as much love and compassion as I could.  I’ve tried to educate my self at university, cook good food from scratch, parent them all to my best ability and dedicated my 20s to being a mother he could be proud of for his children. I have nearly lost my life birthing one of his son’s into this world and he destroyed our last baby moon by committig adultery.

If this wasn’t enough to heal from he has continued on a rampage of self destruction to hurt me and the children. It’s the 11th March 2018 the world is celebrating Mothers Day and I haven’t even got a card or a flower for my empty vase. He says “you don’t act like a fucking mother” in front of the children when he stormed in and collected them an hour ago.

He hurls hurtful words at me causing a cascade of emotions to erupt in all four of their tiny minds. Leaving me struggling, weak, broken and fighting angry tears as they need me to remain strong.

I thought yesterday he’d done enough damage, clearly throwing my wedding ring at me and shouting “Happy Fucking Birthday” in front of small children isn’t bad enough in his distorted eyes.

Yes, that’s right my 29th Birthday and Mothers Day all in one weekend! So of course he had to make a big audition for the ‘Greatest Showman’. Informing authorities of this emotional and mental domestic abuse only makes things worse. I am a ‘Drama Queen’ and an ‘Attention seeker’.

This man is my legal husband and I feel trapped by marriage, until a divorce is finalised I feel unable to break out of these handcuffs that he has put on me mentally.

Everytime he turns up he can tap into my subconsience like a bad dream and makes my mental health deteriorate. Calls me ” crazy, warped, knowone likes you, No wonder everyone leaves you”. He’s playing on my deepest insecurities and playing the tune to my most vulnerable life songs of abandonment and rejection from years trapped in the care system.

This need to control me and isolate me-which he’s done slowly over time is often reffered to as ‘Gas Lighting’. I’ve even lost friends along the way because I’ve being to scared to walk away from his games. Another term for these kind of games is called Narcissism.  It’s a skill and a very clever personality trait but I will blog about Narcassistic men on a different day. Today is Father’s Day!

Today the country is celebrating but it’s a day that I feel saddened that my family has fallen apart. Along side sadness a mist of anger lurks reminding me of how he treated me on Mothers Day back in March.

After some reflecting and meditation I realised that people’s actions are a direct reflection of themselves.

So despite his choice to not pay for his children properly or see his step children of 10 years once in 5 months.  Despite hardly any decent contact with his biological sons and cruel words, whilst in the Supermarket this week I let the children choose a card and two gifts for Father’s Day.  He may wish to hurt me but I will not return his bitterness with more bitterness. This world has enough hate, violence, war and anger without inflicting it on those you once loved.

He “dosnt want gifts from me, I make his skin crawl” but what I remind him is that these gifts are not from me, they are from his children

Today is bitter sweet.

The only people he hurts the most is the children and we as adults and parents must be the best role models we can. Most importantly we must remember this in the midst of relationship breakdowns. I cannot change him but I am me, I will remain kind, I will remain truthful, I will remain free.

Partly Written on Mothers Day the 11th March 2018 and completed on father’s day 17th June 2018 by Francesca Shaw 

Inspired by a marriage breakdown and the pain of emotional and narsassistic abuse.

 

 

Let’s talk about juggling emotions. As parents we go through hundreds of them and often its difficult to process how to manage them all. It’s only 8.40 am and in the 2 and a half hours iv’e had to get them all out the door to school I’m left alone in the kitchen, head in my hands, crying because I feel like a failure. I feel guilty, lost, alone, angry, tearful, tired and mentally stretched, exhausted and frustrated.

Iv’e had 4 hours sleep as my daughter was in pain during the night crying with joint pain. since she had Glandular Fever back in October she’s not gone 4 weeks without an illness or feeling unwell. Currently she’s in bed out for the count as her pre-teen body is weighed down with exhaustion and a fever. I’m helpless as these illnesses just keep re-occurring.

My toddler was grotty this morning and had 3 stubborn tantrums between 6.30 am and 7.30 am before his childminder collected him for me . I’m still unable to drive from double foot surgery in May and feel so guilty that we’d not spent much time together this morning. I’d not had chance to brush his teeth with comforting my daughter and so I packed his toothbrush off with the childminder so she could do it with him instead.

Once he had left I realised it was 7:35 am and my eldest son at 12 years old needed to leave a 7:50 am but he was anxious. Tears rolling down his face as he tried to swallow his toast. He’s worried, worried about which way to ride his bike to school and about the homework he completed last night. As he eats I sit at the table trying to reassure him that he will have a safe journey and that it’s gong to be OK. CBT is the therapy CAMHS have said he needs but its a 40 week waiting list and the support from external services in between this is minimal. I feel helpless again yet frustrated at the fact this Generalised Anxiety Disorder has stemmed from lack of stability, contact and love from fathers. Years of being let down for contact, lied to and forgotten about has given this pre teen son of mine insecurities and anger outbursts. Helpless to his pain yet guilty of gifting him his father.

It’s 8:12 am and he finally finds the courage to set off, now anxious he’s going to be late he gives me a final look back for reassurance as he rides down the street. I close the door behind him fighting tears then realise that my 7 year old needs to be at school in less than half an hour. He’s overwhelmed and starting to have a meltdown at the concept of his big sister not walking to school with him. He has traits of PDA (rare form of Autism) and last minute change isn’t good for him or his emotional well-being.

Calmly I explain I will find someone for him to walk to school with. He knows the way but he’s only 7. Its a safe route, no big crossings and a 5 minute walk with a lovely lolly pop lady on the way. Frantically I message and call three neighbours on the street. Non of them can help on this particular morning. He was going to have to walk alone, my feet were still too sore and swollen to walk any further than around the house. The feeling of vulnerability hit, the shame hit, the anger hit. Where was his father?

He put his shoes and coat on and I handed him his pack lunch box (yes I’d made 3 of these in the middle of all this). I gave him a big kiss and told him I was calling the school office for the staff to inform me when he had got to school. As he approached the end of the drive he shouted “Love you” and headed of to school.

Immediately I called school and explained the situation. They were ever so understanding but I could hear the disapproval in their tone. Confirmation that he had arrived I was relieved and then went about the task of finding a parent to bring him home at 3:15 pm. Thankfully someone could help, didn’t make me feel any less guilty but I could now let out the roar of pain in my heart and sob into my hands in the Kitchen. Barley able to see I furiously tx his father asking why he could never offer to help? He’d called a 7 am that morning and new his step-daughter was unwell again but he never asked how his son would get to school. Nor did he contemplate that I was unable to walk with my feet. Why is it that as mothers we mentally carry and consider everything with our children but often fathers do not feel the same responsibility is required from them. In my whole 13 years of being a mother it is me who has always left work to collect any of them from school when they are unwell or had an accident. It is I who sacrifices everything to be there at home when they are poorly have the dentist, opticians or hospital appointments  (my daughter has a lot of these), CAMHS visits, child psychologist meetings, parents evenings, sports days- the list is endless.

Why when it takes two humans to create a life is it often one parent that is left to care, love, nurture, protect and parent the child?

I’m roaring from my soul for support but my mind knows that ‘support’ and father do not come in the same sentence.

9:03 am and I’m coming to the end of my rant via tx messages. Emotionally warn out I can feel more and more of myself disappearing

Know one knows if i’m OK, assume i’m strong, ploughing on. Only this paper and pen know the true extent of whats really wrong.

Wipe my tears, gulp the guilt. My friends just arrived for Coffee at 9:15

am I must carry on I must not give in.

Written on Monday 4th June By Francesca Shaw