Trauma, Truth & Taking Back Your Power

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been listening to a number of podcasts and reading blogs centred around trauma, vulnerability and - more specifically - narcissistic relationships.

What struck me most wasn’t just the psychological impact.

It was the physical one.

The way trauma can become trapped in the body. The way your nervous system stays on high alert long after the danger has passed. The tight chest. The shallow breathing. The disrupted sleep. The constant hum of anxiety you can’t quite explain. That feeling in your gut that somethings not quite right.

And the importance of recognising those signs - so you can find the right tools to move forward constructively.

As I listened, I recognised so much of myself.

The Podcast That Shifted Something

One podcast in particular stopped me in my tracks.

A woman - a survivor of a horrifically narcissistic relationship - spoke openly about her experience. Not dramatically. Not for sympathy. Just honestly.

As she spoke, I realised something startling.

I could identify - in some uncannily familiar, almost eerie way - with almost every single example she gave.

The manipulation. The slow erosion. The calculated timing. The aftermath. The impact on her body. Her finances. Her sense of self.

Even the “small” incidents.

The moments that, in isolation - before true realisation - feel insignificant. A sharp tone. An overreaction. A punishment that doesn’t seem to fit the situation.

And you think:

Maybe they had the right to be that cross. Maybe I did get it wrong. Maybe next time I should do better. Maybe I am the problem.

That is how it begins.

Not with obvious chaos - but with subtle self-doubt.

Then come the brief shifts. The moments where the intensity lifts. Not necessarily grand adoration - but simply the absence of attack.

And you realise something important.

You’re not even craving their affection anymore.

You’re craving peace.

You’re craving relief from the character assassination. Relief from being dissected. Relief from having your intentions twisted. Relief from walking on eggshells.

You’re not crawling back for love - you’re crawling back for the hope that, just for a moment, the emotional trauma will stop.

That the interrogation will pause. That the rewriting of reality will cease. That your name won’t be dragged through another invisible courtroom where you are always guilty.

And when that small window of calm appears, it feels like oxygen.

Not because it is healthy. But because the chaos was suffocating.

And then there is another layer - one that is perhaps the most destabilising of all.

Their ability to influence the very people closest to you.

How do they do that?

How do they plant seeds of doubt in minds that have known you for years? How do they weave a story so convincing that, in some cases, people step back… or step away?

Subtle comments. Selective truths. Strategic omissions. Playing the victim. Positioning themselves as “concerned.”

And suddenly you’re not just defending yourself in private - you’re defending your character in absence.

It can feel like a second betrayal when someone you trusted begins to look at you differently. When they hesitate. When they go quiet. When they seem to believe the version of you that was never real.

You question yourself all over again.

Was I that person? Did I come across that way? How could they think that of me?

Maybe they were Flying Monkeys. Maybe they were entirely innocent in all of this and totally manipulated..

But time gives clarity.

Because when you truly step back, you start to see something else too. Another type of person amongst that.

The people who were that easily swayed, easily recruited into the narrative - they were either not deeply anchored in you to begin with…

Or they were familiar with that behaviour.

And this can be uncomfortable to admit.

Sometimes those who align quickly with a narcissist’s story recognise something that feels known to them.

Familiar patterns. Familiar manipulation. Familiar victimhood.

People are often drawn to what feels familiar - even if it isn’t healthy.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It does.

But in hindsight, you begin to see that the people who remain - the ones who quietly observe, ask questions, and trust their lived experience of you - are your people.

And the people who join your journey beyond are there for good reason.

The ones who left? Perhaps they were not meant for the life you are building now.

Because when you rebuild from something like this, your circle changes.

And not everyone is designed to grow with you.

The irony is that the very attempt to isolate you often refines your world.

It removes the loosely attached. It exposes the easily influenced. It reveals who stands firm.

It feels like loss at the time.

But eventually, it feels like alignment.

And then another realisation landed.

I have never really told my story as a whole.

Snippets, yes. Context, yes. Usually to comfort someone else.

But never the whole damn story.

I don’t know whether I didn’t want to revisit it.

Or whether the “stuck” trait in me - the one that still sometimes feels like a burden (a word he used often, or at least made me feel without saying) - didn’t want to make others uncomfortable. Didn’t want people to feel they had to react. Or feel sorry for me.

I would hate anyone to feel that way because of me.

But listening to her, I realised something powerful.

Her words helped me.

Her honesty comforted me.

And it was my choice to listen.

Which means it is always someone else’s choice to read.

So maybe I will write it. Maybe only part. Maybe in blogs like this.

If it helps even one person the way hers helped me - then it is worth it.

Watch this space....

When Trauma Lives in the Body

Trauma doesn’t just live in your memories.

It lives in your nervous system.

When you exist for long enough in an environment where you feel unsafe - emotionally, psychologically, financially - your body adapts to survive.

You can become stuck in fight or flight:

• Constantly on edge

• Hyper-alert

• Easily triggered

• Defensive

• Unable to relax

  Your body learns that danger is always close.

  
  

Or you shift into freeze:

• Numb

• Detached

• Struggling to make decisions

• Exhausted but wired

• Paralysed when action is needed

Freeze happens when neither fighting nor running feels safe.

Then there is fawn - the “friend mode.”

• Over-accommodating

• People-pleasing

• Apologising constantly

• Avoiding conflict at all costs

• Shrinking your needs

“If I keep them happy, I’ll stay safe.”

And layered on top of that often comes an all-or-nothing approach to life. Hyper-independent one moment. Burnt out the next. Thriving in chaos because calm feels unfamiliar.

One I, unfortunately, know and can do all too well!

These are not personality flaws.

They are survival strategies.

The Exit Wasn’t the End

I am a survivor of a domestically abusive relationship with a narcissist.

When he finally left my home, it wasn’t planned. There was no notice. No attempt to help cover final bills or the mortgage.

Just gone.

You would think that was the hardest part.

It wasn’t. That part was the blissfully ignorant relief.

About a year later - just as I was beginning to rebuild - everything intensified.

Covid hit 2 weeks after he left - Yes, I thank God every day I wasn't in a lockdown with him and yet spent every day aware of the many that were stuck with theirs) . My business closed overnight. My income disappeared.

I clung to my home of 16 years by the skin of my teeth. A home I had bought long before I even met him. A home I had built with my ex husband for our son, and one the Narcissist had barely ever contributed to financially.

My son became my driving force.

There was no option to fail. I would make it work - somehow.

And then the solicitor’s letter arrived.

He was coming after half of it anyway.

Having never been his house. Never having financially put into it. After leaving without support. After contributing next to nothing in the minimal time he'd lived in it. After draining me already financially, emotionally, mentally and physically.

Now financially once more.

That is often the final sting.

Narcissistic abuse is not just emotional. It is comprehensive. They will take your energy. Your confidence. Your stability. And sometimes - when they believe you are weakest - they will come back for one last attempt at control.

And they convince themselves (and if they can, those around them, that they're entitled to it!!! - The cheek!)

The timing is rarely accidental.

And yet - even then - I did not fold.

The Scar of Doubt

Even now, there are moments I question my own reality.

I kept evidence from that time - messages, documents - because there is a strange comfort in being able to say:

“No. You didn’t imagine it.”

Gaslighting leaves a scar of doubt that can linger long after everything else has settled.

But here is what I know now.

Acknowledging what happened is not giving in.

For a long time, I thought if I spoke about it fully, he had won. That admitting how broken I became meant defeat.

But there is a profound difference between being defined by something and recognising that it shaped you.

One is passive. The other is powerful.

Real strength is saying:

This happened. It nearly broke me. And I rebuilt anyway.

If This Is You

If you recognise yourself in the fight or flight…In the freeze…In the fawn…In the all-or-nothing swings…

If you are holding your life together by the skin of your teeth…

If you are feeling isolated and alone, a shadow of your former self and too weak to see how to move forwards..

Please know this:

You are not alone. You are not a burden. You are not weak. You are not dramatic.

Your body has adapted to protect you.

And if someone is trying to take from you emotionally, mentally or financially - you are not imagining it.

Do not suffer in silence.

There are people who understand. There are people who will listen. There are people who will give you the strength and help to rebuild you to move on.

And maybe this blog is my way of being one of them.

Because it is always your choice to read. And it is always your choice to reach out.

You are not alone.

There is life beyond survival mode. There is calm beyond chaos. And there is a strength within you that no one - no matter how determined - can ever take away.

The Takeaway

There is something else I’ve come to understand - and I say this with a knowing smile.

It is often the very best of people who attract the very worst of humanity.

I remind my husband-to-be of this almost daily as we navigate our own real life demons.

The kind. The empathetic. The generous. The ones who see the good in others. The ones who love deeply and believe in growth.

Apparently, those qualities are magnetic.

And yes - it can feel wildly unfair. That having a big heart can make you a target for someone determined to hollow it out.

But here’s the reframe.

Narcissists do not attach themselves to weak people.

They attach themselves to strong, capable, emotionally intelligent individuals - because those are the people who have something to draw from.

They don’t drain empty cups. They search for full ones.

And when you really think about that, it reveals something important.

For someone to need to siphon confidence, energy, stability and identity from another human being… it speaks volumes about how hideously weak they are underneath the mask.

Strength builds. Weakness feeds.

It takes real insecurity to need to diminish someone else in order to feel powerful. It takes fragility to try to erode another person’s foundation just to steady your own.

So if you have ever found yourself in one of these dynamics, let’s be very clear:

You were not chosen because you were small. You were chosen because you were strong.

Because you were capable. Because you were generous. Because you had depth.

The irony is almost laughable.

They targeted power - and in trying to break it, proved how little they had themselves.

Now you still have the kindness. Still have the empathy. Still have the depth.

You’ve just added boundaries.

Which, if we’re honest, makes you not only compassionate - but discerning.

And that combination?

That’s formidable.