The narcissistic abuse cycle: why I kept going back to the beginning
Idealize, devalue, discard, hoover. Four words that describe the loop I lived in — and why knowing the pattern did not, on its own, get me out.
The journal
Essays on covert narcissism, coercive control, leaving, and the unglamorous work of building a life back. New pieces roughly twice a month.
Idealize, devalue, discard, hoover. Four words that describe the loop I lived in — and why knowing the pattern did not, on its own, get me out.
Where to find free or low-cost legal help after abuse, what to ask a lawyer, and how to protect yourself when the court system itself becomes the weapon.
I stopped having opinions, stopped having news, stopped being interesting. It worked better than anything else I tried — until it didn't.
I waited for the shouting that the books described. What I got instead was three weeks of a closed door and a lawyer's name spoken softly at a dinner party.
There were no bruises and no scenes in public. The evidence was subtler: a smaller vocabulary, a smaller world, and a certainty that I was difficult to love.
She never bragged. She never raised her voice in public. That is exactly why it took me years to understand what I was living with.
None of them look like arrogance. That is what makes them dangerous — and what makes them so hard to explain to anyone who hasn't lived it.
The law asks for incidents. Coercive control is a climate. Everything about my case lived in the gap between those two words.
She cried harder than I did. That was the part nobody could see through — the collapse that turned my boundary into the abuse.
There were no marks to photograph. Just a woman who used to laugh easily, slowly learning to ask permission to feel.
Every filing was technically allowed. Together they were a leash she could pull from across the state.
After months of cruelty, a message arrived that sounded exactly like the woman I first fell for. That was the most dangerous part.
The signs were all there — the victimhood, the borrowed empathy, the rage behind closed doors. I just didn't have names for them yet.
Leaving didn't end the abuse. It changed the venue — to my workplace, my friendships, and the courts.
There's a clinical name for what years of weaponized litigation does to a person. Learning it changed how I understood my own symptoms.
The case closed. My body didn't get the memo. This is what the aftermath of a legal battle actually feels like.
She was brilliant, well-liked, and relentlessly capable. The mask was so polished that I mistook it for the person.
Love bombing doesn't feel like manipulation while it's happening. It feels like finally being seen.
By the third year I was fluent in a language of small adjustments I never agreed to learn.
The stories end at the door. Mine started there — with a campaign I had no vocabulary for.
Nobody tells you that recovery is mostly boring, and that the boring is the healing.