Today marks fourteen years since I became aware I would have to fight to live.
I was forty-two years old, with four sons; the youngest was seven, the oldest was sixteen, and there were two in between. Before my diagnosis, I was a nonstop powerhouse raising my athletic sons as my then-husband traveled frequently to places like Hawaii, Guam, Okinawa, and other military bases in his private consulting business for the privatization of military housing. Those job sites were far from the home I was trying to build alone with our sons in Annapolis, Maryland.
I did not have time for self-care until it became imperative to stay alive. Now, self-care and Jesus have become the foundation of my life, but I needed cancer for a redirection.
I bled rectally for nine months before discovering I had stage 3B rectal cancer. I was so traumatized from the pain of neglect and abuse in my loveless marriage that I was significantly mentally ill, existing in survival mode, clinging to good times as I reframed my reality to survive not being valued.
I dissociated from painful experiences so that I could remain physically present while being somewhere more survivable mentally. I have had to forgive myself for showing up in such despair until now, as I have accepted the reality that I did the very best I could under extremely challenging emotional circumstances.
As a result of my mental illness, I did not have access to my entire working mind. I was too traumatized trying to figure out what I needed to do to be loved.
I did not feel loved or valued by anyone but my youngest, who was under eight and still saw me with eyes of wonder. His love for me as his mother was worth living for, and he stayed by my side throughout my entire cancer recovery journey. When he grew up, he distanced himself as his brothers had learned from the patriarchy; other family connections modeled for my sons how wrong it was to be in a close relationship with me.
I refused to acknowledge that something was wrong. It was 2011, and people were not getting cancer as much as they are today. I shopped at Whole Foods, practiced alternative medicine, replaced plastic with glass in our kitchen, and fed our family as organically as possible; I was certain I didn't have cancer, though it appeared that way on my Google search.
God led me to an end-of-the-year party, and I shared my story of bleeding with someone who called me out for not seeking medical care, like someone might care if I died. It never occurred to me anyone would care if I died, but my small children, whom I knew would recover, no one cared about me in my family.
Others knew about the bleeding: my then-husband, my sister, and some folks at my dad's all-inclusive Thanksgiving dinner. My stepbrother's ex-wife's new boyfriend told me that his mom had something to do with the colorectal cancer board or something in Texas, and he heard you can bleed without having cancer. I decided that was me, as the tumor in my body would develop freely for another 8 months, and I believed it was not cancer. No one I told suggested I see a doctor until the end-of-the-year party, when a stranger cared more than my closest 'loved' ones.
I raised myself, and I had no idea how to handle something like this, so I did what I knew how to do: press on and care for my children as my cancer developed in my denial.
In my childhood, we were discouraged from seeing the doctor unless it was a serious situation. My mom's dad was a physician, and she was more sensitive to the impression left on the doctor than she was about health. She was super sensitive about taking up the doctor's time with unnecessary visits. In my childhood, sharing any feeling of unwellness was met with a stern "tough!" We battled it out before we ever went to the doctor, so seeking medical care for the rectal bleeding wasn't at the top of mind.
I was married but didn't have a partner, and I was trying to figure it all out by myself. After all the poor treatment, I had no idea there were people out there who were prepared to show me care in my time of need.
In my cancer recovery, I experienced care beyond anyone's imagination. For a year, meals were delivered by the hands and feet of Jesus, feeding my active family of six that included four growing sons. People made blankets and quilts, sent gifts, prayed, cared for my sons, drove, and sat by my side as needed throughout the entire time.
I had never felt so valuable.
My cancer was the gift I needed to begin the arduous process of seeing myself as valuable after a deep-seated belief system that I was unworthy of life because of how poorly I was treated in abusive environments before now.
It can and should be done, but rewiring the ruts of the neuro pathways from decades of abuse takes humility, commitment, honesty, sacrifice, and a fierce dedication to protecting the work that has been done from the poisonous tentacles of the past.
Recovery requires humility; we must admit that something is wrong and adopt a willingness to release that which no longer serves us or brings anxiety. Regardless of how deep our commitment is or how long we have been serving the relationship, we must be prepared to let it go when we realize we are the only ones invested. We must let go of what anyone else thinks or the judgment we will encounter for protecting our peace from those who don't value it, no matter how they act or what they say in front of others.
We must be open and grateful for what God has given us, even if it is not what we asked for. We must trust that God knows what is best for us and be willing to allow Him to lead us. We must live our lives seeking His presence for our peace, wisdom, and direction, along with the forgiveness He has offered each of us who accepts Jesus as Lord and Savior in exchange for our selfish, sinful will.
The trauma from a lifetime of narcissistic abuse encumbered my prefrontal cortex before now. My central nervous system is beginning to relax and feel at ease because I have been with my second husband for 10 safe, prosperous years, during which he has made his love and loyalty undeniable, no matter how I subconsciously sabotage it to protect myself.
The prefrontal cortex is part of the brain responsible for making good decisions, trauma caused my amygdala to amplify my fear response, and other trauma-affected parts of my brain led to impulsiveness and ADHD symptoms.
My central nervous system has been traumatized from a very young age. Among other times being left to wander astray, I rolled off the changing table onto a concrete floor and lost consciousness at three months old. I grew up in an environment where people were more concerned about their well-being than they were about mine. I was put in a playpen and was not allowed to express how I felt about anything that didn't serve their needs.
I learned at a very young age that my feelings and experiences were irrelevant. I learned to figure things out as my life became what it was in survival mode. I didn't have anyone to teach me how to care for myself.
I was in so much pain before I began to develop trust in the safety and security of my second marriage; I often fantasized about dying. Amid the emotional mess, I was diagnosed with significant cancer. Living required unbearable, painful treatments like direct contact radiation on my rectal tumor before slicing me open and pulling out the residual cancer and affected parts, leaving me with an ostomy bag and six months of intravenous chemotherapy. I had to come to terms with the fact that it made no sense to go through the cancer treatment if I was suicidal.
I was at a crossroads.
When I was first diagnosed with cancer, it was as if a magnifying glass was pointed at me by the group of people I had been longing to connect with my whole life; here they were, focused on me as if I truly mattered to them. I loved it so much.
I thought that they saw me. I fantasized about the relationships I had always longed for with them, as none of them hurt me while I was sick; in fact, they served me and made me feel so loved. I fought so we could live the life I had always wanted. Things were awesome; even my then-husband found a way to immediately change his work so that he no longer needed to travel the world for his business. I wanted to live and invest in my care like never before.
One rock bottom was when I recovered, and all the love and care I had thought was finally mine forever, vanished. I now understand that the attention and care were not a sudden emotional shift by people who previously treated me as an annoying and embarrassing burden. They cared for me so they could try to have a clear conscience if I died.
I wonder how that conscience is today since I didn't die, and in fact, I am instead living more vibrantly and clearheaded than anyone in my past might have ever predicted.
Cancer was the catalyst that prompted the changes I have made over the past 14 years. If you know anything about my story, you know I eventually divorced in 2016 and, as quickly as possible, remarried the man God sent my way the day after I asked him for a boyfriend in August of 2015. Ten years later, God has led us to start a fresh life in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, where we are finding our healthiest selves.
Throughout my life, I have felt invisible and have been working on a book that aims to illustrate my reality. I have never been safe before now to share the horror that I endured growing up in homes where people not only did not love me, but actively, independently, and cumulatively set out to hurt me.
I am unrecognizable from the person my husband married, because it was in the safety of our marriage that I began to discover true love, loyalty, and peace in relationships. His love for me and our children has modeled for me what God's love looks like.
"Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her". Ephesians 5:25
If I had not had cancer, I never would have had the understanding that my life needs to be lived, not just passed by. I am so grateful to be safe, finally, supported, and able to discover who I am. I am exploring the gifts and talents God has given me, such as singing, which I found in recovery. Singing is beneficial for trauma recovery; no matter how unconventional it sounds, we should all consider doing it. We never knew I had a good voice during the silent era.
I am experiencing many things that were previously dismissed and criticized each time I brought them up in my previous home environments. I have finally found a support and social system that allows me to be my authentic self. I do not anticipate my cancer ever returning because of the lifestyle changes that I have made to honor and value my body. I am not suicidal anymore, I am so thankful to be able to use this time to be here and help so many other people recover from narcissistically abusive relationships with people they treasure and think love them, also.
Please join me in celebrating by taking care of yourself. Please be mindful of any blood or abnormalities you might have. Cancer is far more common now, and the quicker it is diagnosed, the more easily it can be healed.
My book is almost done. It helps readers understand why someone would stay in an abusive relationship and how it is very difficult to know that you are being abused.
For updates on my upcoming book, The Bible on Narcissistic Abuse, and to see my other titles, please stay in touch at https://charlottessoul.com/
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