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A Story

I want to share a story. It's not a happy story, at least not while it's happening. It's about abuse.

I thought abuse left visible bruises. I thought abuse involved shouting obscenities or name-calling.

Abuse also can be invisible from the outside. It can be a silent poison inside a house with a beautiful picket fence around the perimeter. Abuse can infiltrate a suburban house with a green yard and a homemade swingset in the back. Abuse can live in a perfect-looking family of four. The husband and wife might have white-collar jobs, advanced degrees, and attend church regularly.

I know someone who was the victim of abuse. I know her well. 

Her comings and goings were recorded using a video camera mounted to the front of her house.
Her credit card purchases were monitored in real time while she was shopping.
She's had to call the police on the father of her kids.

This kind of abuse is never done in front of anyone that can see it for what it is. It can be almost impossible to detect. Because the abuser might be a narcissist. Narcissists are notorious for treating the general public better than the people closest to them.

Narcissists don't co-parent. They counter-parent.
They don't care about the emotional damage done to the children. They want to hurt you.

I am not interested in shaming.
Only sharing. 

(And yes, I am nervous to write it.)
(And yes, I found love again. You'll see.)

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