Remembering Myself Beyond the Abuse

A letter from the other side of the fracture

I do not write these words as a victim — though my life has known that role.

I write them as someone who has walked through the fire of narcissistic abuse and come out singed, scarred, and still searching — but alive.

Abuse of this kind is not always visible. It is not only in bruises or raised voices. It lives in the silence that swallows you. In the shifting ground where truth no longer feels solid. In the way you begin to doubt your own breath.

It is the erosion of self until you no longer recognize your reflection.

What makes it so insidious is that it convinces you the pain is your fault. That if you could just try harder, love better, be less of who you are… the storm would calm.

I lived in that storm for most of my life, and it carved deep wounds inside me.

The Fracture — How It Bends a Life

Narcissistic abuse fractures you from the inside out.It distorts how you see yourself, how you trust others, even how you feel your own body.

I learned to freeze. To fawn. To make myself small so I wouldn’t provoke the anger or contempt I feared.

My nervous system lived on high alert, scanning for danger even in moments that should have been safe.Love became entangled with fear. Safety felt conditional.

Slowly, I began to disappear into the roles and expectations pressed upon me.

For as long as I can remember, I lived in that storm — and for a long time, I believed it was just the weather of life.

But even in the hollowed places, a quiet ember remained. A part of me that refused to vanish. A deeper knowing that whispered:

You were meant for more than surviving the storm.

The Turning — First Cracks of Light

Even in the darkest night, light has a way of slipping in through the cracks.

For me, it began as quiet realizations:

• A whisper inside that said, this is not love.

• A flicker of memory: once, I felt safe.

• A glimpse of myself in the mirror… and the ache of missing me.

The turning point was not a single moment, but a mosaic of awakenings — small and scattered, yet each one laid another brick on the path out.

They gave me just enough courage to begin asking:

What if it’s not me that’s broken? What if this pain is showing me what I must unlearn?

The ember inside me glowed a little brighter with every question. With every truth I stopped swallowing.

The Rebuilding — Practices of Remembrance

Healing is not neat. It is not a straight line. It is years of stumbling forward, falling back, and choosing — again and again — to live.

For me, rebuilding has looked like:

Sitting in therapy and speaking truths I once thought unspeakable. Learning to breathe again, deep into a body that had been holding its breath for decades. Returning to creativity and writing, where words became a lifeline and a mirror. Meditating and asking my guides to help me trust my inner voice again. Finding safety in nature — the ocean, the forest, the stillness — when human relationships felt too fragile.

But most of all, it has been the sacred act of remembering:

I am not what was done to me. I am not the silence. I am not the gaslighting. I am not the control.

I am something deeper — something that survived.

The Gift — The Alchemy of Survival

I will not tell you that what I endured was worth it. Abuse is never justified.

But I can tell you this:

In surviving, something sacred was revealed.

I learned that sovereignty is not something given — it is remembered. I learned that love is not control, not erasure, not manipulation —

Love is freedom. Love is compassion. Love is truth.

Even when life stripped me bare, my essence remained.

This is the gift I now carry:

To witness others with compassion. To see their hidden fractures. To honor the courage it takes to survive.

My pain has become a doorway into empathy. My healing — a path to wholeness.

The ember I once carried in silence is now a flame that lights the way forward — for me, and for those who need to see that such a light can survive.

Living Forward — From Fire to Flame

My story is not about blame. It is about the in-between: the deep pain, the confusion, the longing to heal, and the slow, steady return to my own light.

If you’re reading this and something in you stirs, if you recognize yourself in these words — know this:

You are not broken. You are not crazy. You are not too much. You are not making it up.

There is a part of you — an ember — that remembers who you are.

And one day, that ember will rise into flame.