When I defeated my covert narcissist husband in court and won my international relocation case, I thought I was home free. After a couple of decades of abuse, learning that I had been abused (Google: covert narcissism), going through months and months of learning about how the abuse worked to slowly erase my identity and keep me in the dark, attending a support group and counselling, I felt like I was ready to go back out into the world and make it mine and my son’s. But I felt stuck.
I finally understood that I wasn’t the person that my abuser had groomed me to be, but I didn’t know who the hell I was now.
I hadn’t worn makeup in years and wanted to experiment, but what did I want to look like? What colour suits my toenails or my eyelids?
I wanted to get new clothes as mine had become threadbare or fallen apart from not having money to buy anything. But who was this person I was dressing, and what kind of look did she want?
I needed to get work, but the career I’d taken on was not really my choice, it was to fit into the lifestyle that he had formed for us. What could I do? I have an MA and publications, for god’s sake, but the thought of going into a classroom filled me with dread and I knew that, even if someone hired me, I would not last. It was not my calling. It was the thing I did when I moved to a tiny country in the Pacific in a supposedly temporary adventure. Such a small place did not have jobs in my chosen field, as I’d always wanted to do, except for the odd admin role. Desks and I had never been the best of friends. So ESL teaching is what I did.
When my son came, I was able to leave teaching for a while and begin freelance writing after someone saw my little blog and encouraged me to pitch something. I mainly did travel pieces about the country I was stuck in and once I’d left, bad memories coupled with no longer being on the ground there meant I’d need to find a new niche. But I seemed to have no drive to write about anything and certainly not to pitch, follow up, write, chase up payment, and do it over and over. The truth is, PTSD had scrambled my brain and it was exhausting to even write a coherent paragraph. What WAS I going to do?
I was constantly filled with anxiety over why I wasn’t working and how I was going to find a job even when people kept telling me to be gentle with myself as I’d only recently got through the ordeal and it would take time. But it didn’t feel like I had time. I needed to provide financially for my son and I.
My Mum, who teaches art journalling, invited me to join her class. When I was young and still at school, and had not yet met my husband, I loved art and making things so the idea of getting some paint and glue on my hands was inviting. What I discovered was something I didn’t quite expect. By letting go and dropping mediums on materials, I found that I was in the things I was producing.
I mean “I” was “in” there!
Everything about me came out onto the page in a way I could visualise it. Anyone who does any kind of art, including writing, dancing, or making music, will tell you that you lose all sense of time and place when you are “in the zone”, just like an athlete (Bring art-letics to the Olympics!). But what I realised when I let go and let the art “make itself” was that I wasn’t really losing anything. I was connecting with something.
I was connecting with myself.
The more I did this, the more I was able to find my centre and ground myself. I felt like, for the first time, I was coming back down into my body and into my true self. That is what was missing. I didn’t need to figure out what I was going to do, or what clothes suited me, I needed to find out who I was and then pull that person back around me like a comforting blanket so I could continue out into the world as my true self.
And when you are wearing that blanket, the true self blanket, you have all the confidence you need to face the world.
It’s not a linear process and I do have times of forgetting myself, like most people do, but I take a moment to remember who I am now and I can work from there.
Because of this, I know who I am and why I’m here. I want to help others, who have been in my shoes, to find this for themselves. I know I can do it from a place of love with art journalling, camaraderie, and support. I’ve always held a fascination for identity, as a child when borrowing books about other countries from the school library, as a young adult when studying sociology, and even as a post-graduate when I wrote my dissertation on language learning and social identity. With travel, everywhere I’ve been in the world has shown me that people are crying out to find their true selves, gain confidence, and enjoy this one precious life fully. When I look back on my life, everything has led me to this point. I’m here to help others navigate this process.
