A YEAR OF "FIRSTS"
A good friend recently reminded me that this year would be one where I would experience many "Firsts" since leaving my narcissistic abuser. It would be difficult. A natural occurrence for anyone whose long-term relationship had ended, I somehow overlooked that dynamic.
But my friend was right. Thinking back, there's already been a few "Firsts". The most painful so far: our first birthday spent apart. I didn't realize it, but I'd already been thinking this way, one First looming in mind for some time: The fast-approaching warmer months. I've been deeply dreading these, and what they would bring.
There is too much pain tied to Spring and Summer and the city, for me. Memories and feelings that I'm not yet ready to face. Longing, sadness, hurt, betrayal. It is too early for me to handle these well.
Like the times of wanting to spend birthdays with him, I also looked forward to our time together once the freezing temps of our city broke. We enjoyed being outdoors and near the water on beautiful spring and summer days. When my narcissist abuser wasn't in a rage and coming after me, when we were actually able to go through with something we'd planned, it made me feel happy, beautiful, close to him.
While there was the pleasure and warmth of being out on a beautiful day with someone I deeply loved, there was also relief that it had actually happened. I now know that these moments felt so good and were so meaningful because they happened so sporadically. The rarity of his calm while spending time with me were moments of coveted treasure.
Moments now long gone.
It's growing nicer outside, and I've become more anxious. Where I used to dress up and hop in the car, decide on what to do while en route to wherever, I'm now rarely leaving my house. I know I'm dealing with heavy trauma after the abuse. There's panic, in making choices in stores, being in aisles that are too close, too many people around, the noise. Nervousness, that he'll pull up alongside me at any moment, the way he used to. There's the weight of not feeling good enough, comparing myself to every woman that came into view. Once his trophy for my looks and shape, I'm now a worn-out mass.
Something as simple as deciding to go out feels so difficult. A belabored and calculating process, based mostly on which option will cause the least pain, the least fear. Decisions still based on him. It's too much to deal with, internally, externally. The effects of his abuse.
Maybe it's avoidance. It most likely is. But I've had this plan in mind for awhile, about my first year of recovery. With the way I've felt the few times I've tried being out, this seems to be what will work best for me. I've tentatively decided to stay in the rest of this year. Physical disrepair and chronic illness the last three to four years; Mentally and emotionally, scattered, erratic. I need time to mend.
Am I making a mistake? Will I be guilty of wasting time, wasting life, by staying in, despite having just escaped years of abuse? Will I be missing out on opportunities? Am I letting him win by taking shelter, my first year without him?
I consider all of these,but I honestly don't know the answers.
But my friend was right. Thinking back, there's already been a few "Firsts". The most painful so far: our first birthday spent apart. I didn't realize it, but I'd already been thinking this way, one First looming in mind for some time: The fast-approaching warmer months. I've been deeply dreading these, and what they would bring.
There is too much pain tied to Spring and Summer and the city, for me. Memories and feelings that I'm not yet ready to face. Longing, sadness, hurt, betrayal. It is too early for me to handle these well.
Like the times of wanting to spend birthdays with him, I also looked forward to our time together once the freezing temps of our city broke. We enjoyed being outdoors and near the water on beautiful spring and summer days. When my narcissist abuser wasn't in a rage and coming after me, when we were actually able to go through with something we'd planned, it made me feel happy, beautiful, close to him.
While there was the pleasure and warmth of being out on a beautiful day with someone I deeply loved, there was also relief that it had actually happened. I now know that these moments felt so good and were so meaningful because they happened so sporadically. The rarity of his calm while spending time with me were moments of coveted treasure.
Moments now long gone.
It's growing nicer outside, and I've become more anxious. Where I used to dress up and hop in the car, decide on what to do while en route to wherever, I'm now rarely leaving my house. I know I'm dealing with heavy trauma after the abuse. There's panic, in making choices in stores, being in aisles that are too close, too many people around, the noise. Nervousness, that he'll pull up alongside me at any moment, the way he used to. There's the weight of not feeling good enough, comparing myself to every woman that came into view. Once his trophy for my looks and shape, I'm now a worn-out mass.
Something as simple as deciding to go out feels so difficult. A belabored and calculating process, based mostly on which option will cause the least pain, the least fear. Decisions still based on him. It's too much to deal with, internally, externally. The effects of his abuse.
Maybe it's avoidance. It most likely is. But I've had this plan in mind for awhile, about my first year of recovery. With the way I've felt the few times I've tried being out, this seems to be what will work best for me. I've tentatively decided to stay in the rest of this year. Physical disrepair and chronic illness the last three to four years; Mentally and emotionally, scattered, erratic. I need time to mend.
Am I making a mistake? Will I be guilty of wasting time, wasting life, by staying in, despite having just escaped years of abuse? Will I be missing out on opportunities? Am I letting him win by taking shelter, my first year without him?
I consider all of these,but I honestly don't know the answers.
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