Blog Update: An Announcement: My Voice

 

     Whew....where to begin? I realize that I have not posted a full blog post since the beginning of September. As I have said on my social media pages, it has been nice to take a mental break from telling my story and processing all of the feelings that go along with it. This past October, I found myself slowly beginning to feel alive again with the arrival of Fall and the Halloween festivities. I wanted to fully embrace every moment. Those of you who have experienced trauma or heartbreak know what I'm talking about. You know the moments when they begin to come back. The moments like "Oh, that's what it feels like to belly laugh again," or "Oh, that's what it feels like to have a fun event without worrying about the silent treatment afterwards (or in my ex's case "getting quiet sometimes"). I feel so fortunate to have enjoyed all of spooky season to the fullest.....the events with friends, being part of a haunted forest, and just taking in the Fall colors around me. I do realize how corny a lot of this sounds......but I haven't felt this sense of "aliveness" since my childhood and teenage years.  

     These last two months I have also had the opportunity to tell my story on many different podcasts (see the "Podcast Guest Appearance" page on this blog for a list of what has been aired so far). Being a podcast guest has been a surreal experience. There was a time in my life where I hated the sound of my own voice except when I was singing, dancing, or acting. I know this sounds contradictory but it's true. I used to hate things like public speaking and I was terrified of leading therapy groups when I first started my career. But hearing my own voice on our modern day "radio" awakened something in me. I love to write. I always have. But...hearing my own voice speak my truth hits different.

     When I was speaking to a wonderful woman named Alex before recording my episode on her podcast, What The F*ck Was I Thinking, she said something that resonated with me. She said part of her reason for starting her podcast was she felt she did not have anyone to speak to about her situation...a situation very similar to mine. As wonderful as my friends and family are, I felt/feel the same way at times. Alex was right about the podcast community. In just these few months, I have made connections with so many wonderful, empathetic, caring people across the world. I love hearing people's stories and I found comfort telling my own story to these wonderful hosts I have had the privilege of meeting so far. 

     That being said, I will continue telling my story (the good, bad, and the ugly) from the beginning as I said in this blog. But, I have decided to also make it available in audio format. Yes, I have decided to start my own podcast...not just for my story, but to give others a voice who have ever been discarded from a narcissistic, immature, or toxic relationship. I want others to share their stories of growth and transformation after trauma. I don't have a launch date at the moment. But I hope you stay tuned for "Life After Discard with Lauren." 

     

"Eat, Pray, Love"....Again.....Seriously??

 

I first discovered Elizabeth Gilbert’s classic book, Eat, Pray, Love when the film first came out in 2010. I was going through a similar spiritual/relationship crisis at that time too. I found so many wonderful concepts in this best-selling memoir. Love with a sense of detachment, use self-love and healing every day, be open to more spiritual experiences in your lifetime. I learned all these concepts and at one point I even began putting them into practice.

I guess it’s safe to say at that time I had no idea what a true heartbreak was. At that time of my life when I first read Eat, Pray, Love, I had emotionally checked out of my long-term relationship in a lot of ways and wanted to make the journey back to myself. So….what the hell happened this time? Why is this heartbreak so much more difficult? Why was this journey going to be more intense than the one my naïve 20-something year old self had taken before? Hence the end part of this blog title…Seriously?!

The aftermath of the initial shock and sorrow of the breakup/discard in this story is not unique or special. The days, weeks, and even months after Peter blindsided me were somewhat of a blur. If anyone has been through any kind of heartbreak, you know how it goes. I took some personal days off of work because I could not get out of bed from the shock. I didn’t think the human body could produce so many tears. I was experiencing the loss of appetite, going through motions like a robot or zombie when interacting with friends, family, and coworkers during the times I was able to function. I was trying to do some evening meditations so I wouldn’t dream about him. I even downloaded a “no contact” app from an online relationship and dating coach to help me stay strong to keep from reaching out to him. I had written an entire letter to Peter that I have not sent (and will never send since it’s now deleted). You know the one. The “closure letter” or the “it’s all my fault letter”…I had written so many questions, apologies, all the lovely qualities of a letter that reeks desperation of “pick me, love me, don’t do this to us, etc.”. I had the ruminating thoughts “Well if he could just know how I feel and how much I hurt, blah blah blah.” I didn’t send the letter, but the ruminating thoughts would not stop.

Thankfully, I am so fortunate to have a big support system in my life. I have the most wonderful friends and family surrounding me. I can say one hundred percent I would not have gotten through these last few months without them. Thanks to one of my best friends, I was able to get involved in a musical not even a week after he discarded me. I knew I would eventually have to process all these difficult feelings associated with a heartbreak, which is what I have been doing the last few months. But at the time, being in the show was one of the only things that motivated me to get out of bed every day.

I threw myself into this show with everything I had. I had forgotten all the things that I was capable of. Singing, dancing, learning several ensemble tracts….and laughing and having fun. You read that right. Laughing and having fun. That’s something every person should be able to do naturally, isn’t it? The last few months with Peter I have to say that I was not doing those things (I’ll go into more details about this in a later blog post leading up to the discard). When the show closed, I was forced to do some introspection about myself and this relationship whether I wanted to or not. Sooo…..I did what most people do these days. I went down the virtual rabbit hole of self-help on YouTube and Instagram. Being a therapist, I also went down the rabbit hole of my old textbooks from my graduate and undergraduate days. I decided to see my doctor more frequently and see my own therapist. It was in these “rabbit holes” that I discovered this term. Peter Pan Syndrome and Wendy Syndrome. Granted, I had probably been introduced to these terms and concepts ages ago in my studies. I never would have guessed I would be delving into these terms on a much deeper level.

Peter Pan Syndrome. Let’s touch on that. The basic definition, essentially, was men who never grow up. Granted, this is very much an oversimplified statement seeing that Dr. Dan Kiley wrote an entire book about this in the 1980s. You can find several articles online that outline the characteristics and symptoms. But for my story about my “Peter”….here are some standouts:

1. Difficulty with responsibilities and commitment 

2. Narcissistic traits

3. Issues with work and career interests 

4. Being self-centered but reliant on others.

5. Avoidance of criticism due to overly fragile ego

6. Difficulty controlling impulsive behaviors.

7. Avoidance of responsibility and accountability, especially during conflict resolution attempts 

8. Female relationships: According to Dr. Dan Kiley, people with this syndrome have difficulty with maternal relationships and treat romantic partners as "mother figures" or looks for their partner to replace the motherly figure over time. 

         Towards the end, I am sure I became the villain in Peter’s story. He likely told everyone (especially the flying monkeys who helped blindside me) that I was crazy, unstable, unable to reflect on my behaviors, etc. (Again, I will go into more details about my own feelings, behaviors, and toxic traits I picked up in a separate post leading up to the discard). However, I have come to terms with being the villain in his story. After all, the villain character is much more appealing than the character I had to analyze and overcome. The “Wendy.” 

Yeah….now it’s time to touch on a Disney character I NEVER wanted to become. Wendy. Me…and how I ended up here. As difficult as it is to admit, it isn’t enough to simply be angry at Peter. It’s now time to examine how I ended up in this dynamic. The traits of Wendy Syndrome….here are the “standouts” of these traits I began examining in myself for this story:

1. They feel essential for others and like to think they are indispensable.

2. They think of love as sacrifice and resignation.

3. They encourage attachment and codependency in others (anxious attachment).

4. They assume a motherly figure with their partner.

5. They try to control others and/or avoid upsetting them. 

6. Feeling the need to care for and protect others at the expense of their own mental health and wellbeing. 

And there it is…in a nutshell. Peter Pan and Wendy Syndrome. So…back to the initial question, how the hell did I get here? And an even more pressing question…how the hell do I get OUT of here?

      Just like in every story, musical, etc….it’s best to start at the beginning. From a healing perspective, we also have to start from the beginning. What were some subtle red flags I did not pick up on when Peter first came into my life over six years ago now? What was going on in my world and within myself that I chose not to see these subtle flags? We have to ask ourselves that very question, “How did we get here?” if we are to even begin picking up the pieces to begin the healing process. So……back to this ugly metaphor…off to Neverland we go.

 

Part 1: Escape Back to Neverland: The Discard

                                                              Art by juli_artlab on Instagram

     For the sake of privacy, some names and details have been changed in this story. It is, after all, the dignified thing to do, isn’t it? With heartbreak and even moments of rage, wouldn’t we all love to put everything and everyone “on blast” in true social media age fashion. But as I am sure you are aware, dear reader, we don’t live in that kind of world where rage is acceptable. It is particularly unacceptable for professional women. Shame. There’s that word again. It would be completely shameful for a professional therapist to have feelings of rage, wouldn’t it? Therefore, to make things as simple and consistent as possible with this ugly metaphor, we will refer to the man who broke me into a shell of a person simply as Peter.

     It was spring of 2023, beginning of April. I was working in my little office in a small town in southern Virginia. My beloved Peter was on a train journey on his way back to me after traveling for about a week for his work. I was anticipating the end of my day at work. I was to pick him up from the train station right after. I couldn’t wait to see him. Peter, on the other hand, was dreading our reunion. You see, Peter in actuality was on his way back to Virginia to discard me. As I looked through our text messages some time after “the day,” before I deleted them all, I came to realize I should have handed him the breakup on a silver platter. His messages were cold and distant. They consisted of sayings such as “I am not gonna lie, I am in a funky place in my head right now.” Granted, I knew we were having some communication issues and I had fully anticipated a hard conversation. I will discuss more details of this later in my story. I was anticipating the possibility of taking some space from one another. I was also able to acknowledge that we may need a third party to help us communicate. Side note: Therapists often have their own therapists. Was couples therapy an option? What do we need to work on individually as well as a couple? I was ready. Love conquers all, right? Peter was my best friend, soul mate, the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, all of the above. He made so many sacrifices for me to move to the United States to live with me. I was going to prove to him every day that I appreciate his noble sacrifice (yes, there is a hint of sarcasm when I say the word “noble”, you will see why later in this story). Peter was a drifter, a traveler for his work, a “free spirit” if you will. But he chose me. He decided to commit to me. I should be so grateful for this, shouldn’t I? He “picked” me. Yeah….I want to vomit reading that myself now too. Peter and I had been through so much before this. We could work through anything, couldn’t we?

     On my way to the train station to pick him up, I received a puzzling text from him stating that he had gotten into town early. I found this to be bizarre. After all, how often is the Amtrak train early? He had asked if we could meet at a local brewery to talk. I agreed to meet him there. I felt in my gut that there was something wrong. I barely remember the drive to the brewery. It was a decent day outside. I spent many times with friends and family at this local brewery. It is a beautiful space…outdoor patio seating, dog friendly, corn hole. Why did this drive feel different? I would not say I had a “sinking” feeling per say (don’t worry, that comes later), but a strange feeling that things would never be the same. I was right.

     I walked into the brewery and found Peter sitting alone with a beer. I walked in like a giddy little school girl, all smiles, couldn’t wait to hug him. I knew a difficult conversation was going to follow but I could not wait to hear how his week long work trip went. I was so excited that he was getting work again. His happiness, you see, was everything to me. Peter and I hugged. I had never felt a hug like this before. Have you ever experienced a hug from someone who really does not want to hug you? It’s more of a pat on the back with the feeling of “Let’s get this over with.” That’s what this hug was. We both sat down.

     I could tell Peter was nervous. He was fidgety. He was able to look me in the eye and state “I wanted to meet you here today because I’ve decided to move on with my life.” I stared back at him. Where were my words? You know that feeling when you experience traumatic or shocking news where everything slows down and it feels like you’re living outside your body? That was the feeling. After the server came by and took my beer order, I think I was able to spit out something like “I feel humiliated. I don’t know what to say.” To this, he responded with, “You’re going to have a lot of feelings.” Cold. Matter-of-fact. Unfeeling. Who was this person sitting across from me? It was as though I was speaking to a complete stranger. I did not know this Peter. He was cold, unfeeling. A lot of this conversation was a blur but the bits and pieces I do remember: Me asking “So, that’s it? One rough patch and you’re done? I don’t get any room for growth?” Of course, as a people pleaser at the time, I had taken on the majority of the responsibility of the downfall of our relationship. To that question he replied “I don’t think any of that can change.” I then asked about his belongings, since he was staying with me. He stated to me “I’ve already been to your house. Josh and Sandy (you will hear more about these characters later in the story) brought me over to get my things. I took an early train in.”

     It then occurred to me. Peter had blindsided me. This had been planned out for at least a week. This move had been planned out during the week he was gone, during the week he was still texting me every day as if nothing was wrong, telling me he loved me, etc. I obviously became slightly angry at this news. I think I remember saying something along the lines of “So, you just decided to sneak in, without a conversation prior. I thought we were going to meet to talk to work on things.” This statement from me sent Peter into a narcissistic, defensive injury stating “It’s my shit, man.” Man? This is what I have been reduced to? Calling me, “man?” This is what years of calling me “babe” and “love” was reduced to. I knew in that moment that there was no coming back from his decision. It was done. The idea of what I thought “we” were was done.

     As we sat across from each other, each of us drinking our beer, the conversation shifted to a “normal” break up talk. We discussed the practical things. I still until this day do not know how I was able to drink the beer I had ordered. I was feeling nauseous but also felt as though it was not real. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone watching this happen. Finally, I knew we had to wrap this up. I knew I needed to get to my car as fast as possible to cry, drive, vomit, something. I finally was able to speak through tears and was able to state “Thank you for seeing me.” At those words, Peter began to tear up himself. I was so confused as to why. This was his decision. He also said some words that I now realize were very telling “I appreciate everything you’ve ever done for me.” (I now see this as Peter finally admitting that this relationship was transactional. How much of myself could I give? What could I do for him?) The other phrase was “I’ve never had anyone care about me like you except my Mom.” (Yeah…. I’ll elaborate more on the Norman Bates-like mother-son relationship concept later) Finally, I had to get out of there. Before I left, Peter did appear concerned asking “Are you going to get home okay?” (I now realize this was just a statement he wanted to make in order to make me feel unstable, as though I was going to run my car off the road or something). I simply said “I will be fine. Bye.” I walked out of that pub and never looked back. Even though I wanted to beg and plead, somewhere deep down I was able to remember “Oh wait, I am a therapist. I know how this goes. I have to do this.” I knew I had to go and begin my healing journey. I had to go straight into “No Contact.” The term “No Contact” is exactly what it says. No contact. It’s a term used when leaving a narcissistic relationship. But this time I knew it had to be “for real.” I could not reach out to him again. Here we go. Buckle up. I knew this was going to be a healing journey of a lifetime.

Introduction

 

     Shame. Yes, you read the correct word. Shame. That terrible, anti-mental health, anti-feminist, invalidating word is the opening word of this story. I never thought I would begin any of my stories, written or oral, with that word. Yet, here we are. I’m sure some would find it almost comical in a way. I know I do. I am a licensed therapist. I help people every day with their emotions and their wide array of problems. I facilitate sessions on a weekly basis to help others on their healing journey. These sessions range from individual, family, and couples.

Couples. Relationships. Love. Dating. “Situationships”. That, unfortunately, is what this story from a licensed expert is about. If I am to be honest and allow my ego to take over for a moment, I never wanted to write a memoir about a relationship and heartbreak. I pictured myself writing the next “Eat, Pray, Love” if I ever was to write anything at all. (You will see me reference this classic memoir a lot in this story.) I wanted to write about an exciting journey of self-discovery that involves a lot of travel. Granted, a relationship and a failing marriage is what prompted “Eat, Pray, Love,” but let’s face it, my story is not going to be filled with travelling to other countries or doing intensive meditation at an ashram in India. But, there’s always room for surprises, isn’t there?

Now, let’s get back to it, shall we? I guess I will start with referencing some things that shaped some of my core beliefs, which are mainly formed in our childhood years. If you were born in the late 80s and grew up in the 90s like myself, you likely were influenced by the “renaissance era” of Disney Films. You likely were also familiar with the older classics as well since you likely had copies of several VHS tapes (talk about a lot unnecessary plastic, right?) as well as the Disney channel playing these classics. I was raised on all of them, especially the princess films. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, The Little Mermaid, you know them all.

In 1991 (this would put me at around six years old), my parents took me to see the classic Disney film, Beauty and the Beast. Like the rest of the world, I loved it. I loved the story, the music, the cinematography. However, there was one character that stood out to me. A character that would help me form a core belief about men and romantic relationships. That character was Gaston. If you are not familiar with the story, Gaston was the villain in this film. Granted, I was familiar with the concept of Disney villains from previous films I had viewed. But looking at it now from a more analytical lense, the villains I had viewed in Disney films prior were women. The wicked Queen in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs…she had some major jealousy issues that needed to be worked on. Ursula in The Little Mermaid….well, she’s probably just resentful that she got banished to the dark corners of the ocean by King Tritan. The wicked stepmother in Cinderella…again, jealousy issues to resolve. Maleficent in Sleeping Beauty….well, she really needed to work on her anger issues and process her feelings after not being invited to a party.

But Gaston.. I felt differently about him. I found myself despising him. He was a brute, chauvinist, entitled, all of it. If we are speaking in psychological terms, he was an extreme narcissist. I knew I despised this archetype the moment I viewed the first scene he had with Belle where he ripped the book from her hand, making fun of her love for reading. He tosses her book an attempts to whisk her away like the alpha male savior he was. God forbid, a woman is intelligent and wants to read. Like most extreme narcissists, his character escalates. He becomes obsessive with having Belle, even though she asserted herself several times that she has no interest in him. It then escalates to “If I can’t have her no one will.” Ultimately, it leads to violence at the mob scene in the end. He locks her away, calls her crazy, and marches with an angry mob to the castle to wreak havoc on the perceived “beast.”

Why was this such a formative character/archetype for me? That’s easy. Even though I was only six years old, I was beginning to become familiar with the concept of love and partnership. I knew that I likely would want to fall in love one day and have a “Prince Charming” so to speak. Seeing that animated, disgusting brute of a man on that screen made me say to myself “Well, I will never end up with a man like that.” The Gaston’s of the world are full spectrum narcissists, abusers, all of the above. Black and white. No grey area.

Well, here I am today at 37 years old, and I can safely say that I stayed true to my six year old self watching Gaston on the screen. I never did end up with a man like that. I never encountered physical abuse, chauvinistic undertones in any of my relationships. I guess I should be congratulated, right? Isn’t that how that works in our patriarchal society? I kept those extreme black and white standards in my romantic life. Congratulations to me. I never ended up with a Gaston. And “shame” (there’s that word again) on other women who did end up with a brute, abuser like Gaston. Right?  “You should have seen the warning signs.” “You should have just left.” “You knew what you were getting yourself into.” These phrases, which currently make me want to vomit as I am writing them, are phrases I hear all the time spoken to survivors in places like a court room, at family gatherings, in gossip. Everywhere. Fortunately, in the last two years, more awareness is starting to be made regarding extreme abusers, extreme narcissism. It gives me so much joy to see more awareness made in therapy spaces, court rooms, and social media about the destruction these people wreak havoc on their targets.

But back to the story, I know I tend to digress at times. (Don’t worry, you won’t see me go down a Moby Dick-like rabbit hole of pages and pages discussing the whaling industry. Or in my case, pages and pages of things like the Irish dance world, theater, etc.). This story, my story, is not about the Gaston archetype. This story is about an unlikely character archetype. An archetype that hurts, an archetype that wreaks emotional and financial havoc on their targets, an archetype that is loads of fun and can be kind and gentle at times on the surface level. This is the archetype that broke me, the archetype who made me forget who I was for quite some time. This is my story of my complete and utter love and devotion to a man with Peter Pan Syndrome.