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<\/figure>\n\n\n\nThis isn\u2019t a lifestyle blog. It\u2019s a survival journal.<\/strong>
I’m Charly \u2014 single mom, psychology major, twice-divorced, trauma-processing, ADHD-powered chaos coordinator.
Here, I write the real shit:
\ud83d\udc94 Relationship messes
\ud83e\udde0 Mental health madness
\ud83e\uddfa Life\u2019s dirty laundry
If you’re just as dysfunctional but refuse to go down quietly \u2014 you’re in the right place.<\/summary>\nFresh Off The Chaos Express: Newest Dirty Laundry<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n“I Lost Myself Loving a Narcissist – But That’s How I Found Me”<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n
If I had a dollar for every night I cried myself to sleep, I\u2019d have a damn house. Maybe even a fully loaded SUV with heated seats to cry in while parked in the Walmart lot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But real talk\u2014the last relationship I was in? I cried more in that one than I have in my entire life combined<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\nSometimes I blamed it on hormones. Or that cursed word we all side-eye at a certain age: menopause<\/strong>. Which, let\u2019s be honest, was obviously named because men<\/strong> are the reason half of us go off the deep end. And just like their emotions, those hot-and-cold flashes? Unpredictable and hard to survive.<\/p>\n\n\n\nScience says men don\u2019t form emotional attachments the way we do. And if they do<\/em> show feelings? One of two things is probably true:<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n- They’re a massive momma\u2019s boy.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
- They’re into dudes.
(No hate. Just saying.)<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n\n\n\nBut seriously\u2014how can someone say the most soul-shattering things and then act like they just told you the weather forecast?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was the hardest part of my last relationship. The emotional beatdown was so constant that for three straight months<\/em>, I cried daily. No exaggeration. Morning, night, mid-coffee breakdowns\u2014it didn\u2019t stop. It got so bad I started sleeping in the other room. And guess what? That only made things worse.<\/p>\n\n\n\nBecause suddenly, I was \u201cbeing sneaky.\u201d
I was \u201cprobably talking to someone else.\u201d
And like every other toxic-ass relationship, it was always me<\/em> who had to prove I was innocent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\u201cHere\u2019s my phone,\u201d I\u2019d say. \u201cCheck it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Same passcode for three years. Gave it to him more than once. Hell, he had access to our home security cameras<\/em>. Still made up stories in his head and never looked for himself. Because truth wasn\u2019t what he wanted\u2014control was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nI\u2019ve got two working assumptions for what was really going on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n- He was the one sneaking around.<\/strong>
A couple slip-ups exposed him. Like swinging by a female \u201cfriend\u2019s\u201d house without telling me. There’s more to that<\/em> story, but that’ll be its own post someday. You can imagine the spiral my brain went through. What else did he lie about? What else was I too blind to see?<\/li>\n\n\n\n- He was a narcissist.<\/strong>
Ding ding ding.<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n\n\n\nAnd if you\u2019ve been following me for a minute, you know I\u2019m a psych major. I live for behavioral patterns, body language, emotional cues\u2014all that juicy diagnostic gold. And baby… I started collecting data. I watched the way he reacted, moved, slept, spoke, dodged, deflected.
One by one, I checked boxes off the DSM-V.
He matched 6 of the 9<\/strong> diagnostic criteria. Only 5 are required for diagnosis.<\/p>\n\n\n\nAnd just so you know\u2014narcissists don\u2019t admit shit<\/em>. Even when you show them the facts. Even when you’re calm and logical. I got him to admit to maybe having bipolar disorder or a personality disorder, but narcissism? Nope. Still in full denial.<\/p>\n\n\n\nAnd me being real? Me pointing out the behaviors and holding up the mirror?
That just made me the enemy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Because narcissists don\u2019t hate liars. They hate the ones who tell the truth<\/strong>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nYet I stayed.
For a year and a half longer than I should have.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Why?
Because I knew he had trauma. I told myself he just didn\u2019t know how to process it. That if I loved him hard enough, soft enough, real enough… maybe he\u2019d finally feel safe enough to heal.
His method of dealing with pain was to bury it. Pretend it didn\u2019t happen. Move on like nothing was wrong. Meanwhile, I kept pouring myself into fixing him\u2014while I was falling apart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And this is the hardest truth of all:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I gave him everything.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\nI gave him more love, more loyalty, and more grace than I ever gave in my marriages. In any relationship, really. For some damn reason, I truly believed he was my forever. I saw myself growing old with him. I pictured porch swings and inside jokes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But instead of love, I got confusion.
Instead of safety, I got paranoia.
Instead of answers, I got silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And I cried.
Not because of the insults, the accusations, or the cold shoulder.
I cried because I couldn\u2019t figure out why<\/strong>.<\/p>\n\n\n\nWhy did I deserve this?<\/em>
What did I do wrong?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\nI followed every blueprint we\u2019re told to follow: be loyal, be supportive, be honest, be \u201cride or die.\u201d I was all of it. But it still wasn\u2019t enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nAnd then I realized…
It wasn\u2019t me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It never was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And while I may never get closure from him, I did<\/em> find something even better\u2014
I found me.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\nThis relationship? This twisted, painful, soul-sucking mess?
It taught me everything I never knew I needed to learn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It made me stronger.
It made me wiser.
It humbled me.
It cracked me open, stripped me down\u2014and in the rubble, I found her<\/strong>.
The version of me who had been buried under people-pleasing and pain for nearly 40 years.<\/p>\n\n\n\nSo maybe that was the purpose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nReal Takeaway: <\/h3>\n\n\n\n
If you\u2019ve been through something like this, or you\u2019re still in it, just know\u2014you\u2019re not crazy, you\u2019re not too much, and you\u2019re definitely not alone. You don\u2019t have to stay broken just because someone else refused to heal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n<\/p>\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n
“I Lost Myself Loving a Narcissist – But That’s How I Found Me”<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n
If I had a dollar for every night I cried myself to sleep, I\u2019d have a damn house. Maybe even a fully loaded SUV with heated seats to cry in while parked in the Walmart lot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But real talk\u2014the last relationship I was in? I cried more in that one than I have in my entire life combined<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sometimes I blamed it on hormones. Or that cursed word we all side-eye at a certain age: menopause<\/strong>. Which, let\u2019s be honest, was obviously named because men<\/strong> are the reason half of us go off the deep end. And just like their emotions, those hot-and-cold flashes? Unpredictable and hard to survive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Science says men don\u2019t form emotional attachments the way we do. And if they do<\/em> show feelings? One of two things is probably true:<\/p>\n\n\n\n But seriously\u2014how can someone say the most soul-shattering things and then act like they just told you the weather forecast?<\/p>\n\n\n\n That was the hardest part of my last relationship. The emotional beatdown was so constant that for three straight months<\/em>, I cried daily. No exaggeration. Morning, night, mid-coffee breakdowns\u2014it didn\u2019t stop. It got so bad I started sleeping in the other room. And guess what? That only made things worse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because suddenly, I was \u201cbeing sneaky.\u201d \u201cHere\u2019s my phone,\u201d I\u2019d say. \u201cCheck it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Same passcode for three years. Gave it to him more than once. Hell, he had access to our home security cameras<\/em>. Still made up stories in his head and never looked for himself. Because truth wasn\u2019t what he wanted\u2014control was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019ve got two working assumptions for what was really going on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And if you\u2019ve been following me for a minute, you know I\u2019m a psych major. I live for behavioral patterns, body language, emotional cues\u2014all that juicy diagnostic gold. And baby… I started collecting data. I watched the way he reacted, moved, slept, spoke, dodged, deflected. And just so you know\u2014narcissists don\u2019t admit shit<\/em>. Even when you show them the facts. Even when you’re calm and logical. I got him to admit to maybe having bipolar disorder or a personality disorder, but narcissism? Nope. Still in full denial.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And me being real? Me pointing out the behaviors and holding up the mirror? Because narcissists don\u2019t hate liars. They hate the ones who tell the truth<\/strong>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Yet I stayed. Why? And this is the hardest truth of all:<\/p>\n\n\n\n I gave him everything.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I gave him more love, more loyalty, and more grace than I ever gave in my marriages. In any relationship, really. For some damn reason, I truly believed he was my forever. I saw myself growing old with him. I pictured porch swings and inside jokes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But instead of love, I got confusion. And I cried. Why did I deserve this?<\/em> I followed every blueprint we\u2019re told to follow: be loyal, be supportive, be honest, be \u201cride or die.\u201d I was all of it. But it still wasn\u2019t enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And then I realized… It never was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And while I may never get closure from him, I did<\/em> find something even better\u2014 This relationship? This twisted, painful, soul-sucking mess? It made me stronger. So maybe that was the purpose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n If you\u2019ve been through something like this, or you\u2019re still in it, just know\u2014you\u2019re not crazy, you\u2019re not too much, and you\u2019re definitely not alone. You don\u2019t have to stay broken just because someone else refused to heal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n
(No hate. Just saying.)<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n\n\n\n
I was \u201cprobably talking to someone else.\u201d
And like every other toxic-ass relationship, it was always me<\/em> who had to prove I was innocent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n\n
A couple slip-ups exposed him. Like swinging by a female \u201cfriend\u2019s\u201d house without telling me. There’s more to that<\/em> story, but that’ll be its own post someday. You can imagine the spiral my brain went through. What else did he lie about? What else was I too blind to see?<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Ding ding ding.<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n\n\n\n
One by one, I checked boxes off the DSM-V.
He matched 6 of the 9<\/strong> diagnostic criteria. Only 5 are required for diagnosis.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That just made me the enemy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n
For a year and a half longer than I should have.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Because I knew he had trauma. I told myself he just didn\u2019t know how to process it. That if I loved him hard enough, soft enough, real enough… maybe he\u2019d finally feel safe enough to heal.
His method of dealing with pain was to bury it. Pretend it didn\u2019t happen. Move on like nothing was wrong. Meanwhile, I kept pouring myself into fixing him\u2014while I was falling apart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Instead of safety, I got paranoia.
Instead of answers, I got silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not because of the insults, the accusations, or the cold shoulder.
I cried because I couldn\u2019t figure out why<\/strong>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What did I do wrong?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n
It wasn\u2019t me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I found me.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n
It taught me everything I never knew I needed to learn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It made me wiser.
It humbled me.
It cracked me open, stripped me down\u2014and in the rubble, I found her<\/strong>.
The version of me who had been buried under people-pleasing and pain for nearly 40 years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nReal Takeaway: <\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n