Surviving the Storm: My Journey with a Narcissist, by C.S. Ward.

Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure you are not, in fact surrounded by fools

 Sigmund Freud

Sometimes, life takes unexpected turns that lead us toward paths of self-discovery and independence. This story is about finding strength and courage in the face of betrayal and emotional turmoil.

This isn't everything I wanted to get off my chest, but some of what I wanted to write could be supposition or my opinion. I have tried to leave emotion out of it. The emotion would take over the prose. What follows is the clipped truth and facts.

To this day, my ex-husband has never once accepted that he was ever in the wrong. It was all my fault for failing to understand, but then I didn't have a degree, and he did!

He has never acknowledged that he hurt us as a family. He has never apologised.

This is my story. What would you have done?

When I married him, the signs were already there, but often obscured by moments of charm and affection. As teenagers, we experienced our first glimpse of trouble when he was quick to assume the worst. If a nice car drove past us while I was looking out the window, he would get angry, ask me if I fancied the driver, and ask if he should stop the car to let me out.

I wore a lovely, long-sleeved cream and floral blouse I had bought in a sale to a televised function, a piece that was low cut but modest enough not to alarm my parents. This choice, however, sparked a controlled rage in him. He restrained himself from making a scene in public but fumed privately about how he 'knew' I would choose that blouse.

I didn't receive a marriage proposal. He would say things like ‘when we are married, this will happen, when we are married, that will happen’

I funded our honeymoon; I saved diligently for years while he was still a student living on a grant. I was also a student, but I got paid- not a lot, but it was preferable to a grant. My parents charged me minimal bed and board, and he vehemently disagreed with their decision. His parents charged him for everything. I suspect that is why he became a spendthrift after we got married and he was in charge of our finances.

I paid for everything we needed when we first moved into our rental, you know, the basics not covered by our wedding gifts. Kitchenalia, rent and groceries for the first month. We both had to work one month's 'Lying Time'(A system where the employer delays paying an employee for one month. It is paid when the employee leaves the company.)

In our house, we were surrounded by a collection of hand-me-downs from family members. An old sofa, a rug, and a kitchen table—all of which had been high-quality items in times gone by—now looked out of place in our space. The mismatch of colours, coupled with different curtains at two windows in the same room, gave the house an uncoordinated appearance. Despite the eclectic mix, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for having these items. They served their purpose, and I was content to use them for as long as needed while we saved up to purchase our own furniture.

However, amidst the practical solutions we employed, there was one financial decision that troubled me greatly—a loan taken out to buy a two-seater sports car that we absolutely did not need. A small run-around vehicle would have sufficed for our daily needs, but the allure of the sports car took precedence, leading to an unnecessary financial burden.

My frustration with this imprudent expenditure was compounded by an experience at a local shop when I tried to buy a vacuum cleaner in instalments. To my surprise, I was told to return with my husband, who would be required to sign the agreement. This was the early 1980s, and such practices were not uncommon, reflecting societal norms that often placed men in charge of financial decisions. This incident underscored the challenges I faced in asserting control over my finances.

 Becoming pregnant within months of our wedding was both a surprise and a delight. The decision to give up my job after our son was born was not an easy one, but I simply could not contemplate leaving my newborn with anyone else. The bond we formed during those early days was irreplaceable and precious.

Our son was born thirteen months after our wedding, and what a transformative time it was for both of us. The learning curve was steep, and we navigated the challenges of new parenthood together, except I felt very alone.

My husband was often out at night, sometimes until the early hours. His absence added a layer of complexity to the already demanding role of a new mother. I remember vividly the night I was in the preliminary stages of labour; he even called the hospital to inform them he wasn't at home and was going out for the night. In those days, there were no mobile phones, adding to the sense of isolation and challenge.

Despite these obstacles, the experience of nurturing and caring for our newborn son was extraordinary. Each smile, each milestone, and each quiet moment held a significance that words cannot fully capture. The sacrifices made during that time were more than worth the joy and fulfilment that came from being present for every step of our son's early development.

Our encounters with his friends were particularly disheartening; while they reminisced about pub games and enjoyable nights, I stood there pushing our baby in his pram, feeling neglected, scared, and prematurely aged at 23.

His best friend even told him that he should consider spending more time at home. He told me this presumably so that I would think his friend was a good guy.

His remarks about weight and appearance cut deep. He declared that if I gained weight and resembled my mother, he would leave me. The discovery of girlie magazines under our mattress only added to my insecurities. The physical aspect of our marriage was nearly non-existent, leading me to question myself incessantly. I even tried to appeal to his softer side and said the bed was cold without him, to which he replied, ‘I will buy you an electric blanket’

It was a time filled with a mix of joy and sorrow, where the bliss of motherhood was overshadowed by an unending wave of despair. Despite being complimented on my looks and even asked if I was a model, he didn't seem to find me attractive once we were married.

Post-natal depression hit hard, compounded by isolation from friends and family. I put on a brave face during phone calls, but often collapsed in tears afterwards. My baby boy became my entire world.

I was determined to prove that I was a good mother, first in the queue at the clinic, nappies freshly washed on the line early in the morning. I did not realise I had post-natal depression and had no one to notice the signs.

Post-natal depression is an insidious condition that can creep up on even the most prepared and loving mothers. It is characterised by overwhelming feelings of sadness, fatigue, and hopelessness that can make it difficult to bond with the baby and manage daily life. For me, it was the opposite. My son became my whole world and reason for being.

Sleepless nights ( I was breast-feeding) blended into exhausting days, leaving me feeling like a shadow of my former self. The joy of holding my baby was often eclipsed by a deep sense of inadequacy and guilt. I struggled to reconcile these emotions with the societal expectation that motherhood should be the happiest time of a woman's life. 

One of the most challenging aspects of my postnatal depression was the isolation. Living far from friends and family, I felt cut off from the support network that might have helped me recognise and address my condition. My husband, though present, seemed distant and unable to offer the emotional support I so desperately needed. 

In public, I maintained a facade of strength and competence. I made sure to be the first at the clinic, this was to avoid speaking to other mothers in case I was making a mess of things. To the outside world, I appeared to be managing well, but inside, I was crumbling. The pressure to appear perfect only intensified my feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt. 

Speaking to a healthcare professional at my son's year check, I burst into tears. I was still breastfeeding and exhausted. I was able to articulate my feelings and start to understand that what I was experiencing was not a personal failing but a medical condition that required attention and care.

A move closer to our families marked a turning point. We bought an old house that we could live in while we renovated it. He worked long and hard to finance it, and I worked long and hard looking after our son and newborn daughter, decorating the house and keeping the large garden under control. I also had a part-time job. Our time together was scarce. Nonetheless, renovating the house gave him a sense of purpose other than socialising in the pub, for which I was deeply grateful.

 We both worked extremely hard. We were both singing from the same hymn sheet at last.. It was one of our happiest times together.

While the children were small, I continued to work part-time, mostly nights over weekends, to avoid disrupting what little family life we had. I took pride in what I contributed, feeling that I truly pulled my weight in maintaining the smooth running of the household. My husband worked late almost every night. He also worked most weekends, which meant I went without sleep after a night shift until he came home.

A few years later, when the opportunity arose for us to move overseas for work, I embraced the idea, hopeful that it would be a fresh start for our family. Little did I know how wrong I would be.

He moved before I did; I stayed behind to allow our son to sit his exams. During this period, I visited him a few times, and we seemed to be getting on better than we had in a while. Yet, he would make comments like my grey roots were showing, and when I left tampons in a drawer for my next visit,  he claimed I was marking my territory—comments that were not nice and chipped away at my self-esteem.

Incidentally, more than one person back home commented that my confidence grew during that time apart, that it seemed to be the making of me. I must admit, I did feel like a totally different person. I missed him, of course, but it was actually the happiest of times for me and the kids. I found out much later that they thought so, too.

After the kids and I finally moved to be with him, I discovered he had found a new best friend—a college girl who worked as a barmaid. Apparently, she was everything I was not: intelligent, funny, witty, understanding, and she even knew exactly how he liked his coffee. He was keen for us to be friends, but when we were introduced, I knew immediately that was the last thing she wanted. To be honest, I had enough on my plate trying to support our now-teenage kids, who were finding the transition extremely difficult, worryingly so. Life at that time was very difficult indeed.

Unveiling the Truth

There comes a moment in every relationship when trust is put to the test. For me, this pivotal moment came when I 'stumbled' upon his organiser. There, amidst the mundane entries of daily tasks and appointments, lay a detailed account of what he and his friend had done together. The narrative painted a picture of them drinking merlot in front of a roaring fire, a charade crafted to fend off unwanted attention from men at the bar. It was a scene reminiscent of youthful antics, a desperate act to maintain a facade of innocence.

Despite my plea asking him to discard the upsetting entry, his refusal was resolute. I couldn't comprehend why he would cling to something that caused me so much pain if it indeed meant nothing. My instincts had been heightened for weeks, alerting me to the fractures in our family life. Each time I delved deeper, searching for clarity, I unearthed more hurtful truths.

One evening, as I was immersed in the routine of the evening school run, he called to inform me of his plans to have drinks with colleagues in a nearby town. Though his words were casual, my instincts directed me elsewhere. After dropping off the kids, I found myself at the hotel where his friend worked, searching for his car. It wasn't at the front where it would normally have been, but a mysterious force led me to the rear of the building. There it was, confirming my suspicions.

Walking into the bar, I refrained from making a scene. My presence alone was enough to silence the room. I merely mentioned that I would see him after picking up the kids. The tension was palpable.

Hints of his betrayal had been numerous, including whispers and comments from acquaintances. One person mentioned that they hadn't realised he was married, believing he was in a relationship with the barmaid. It became evident that he adored the single man's life, thriving in his freedom despite his declarations of missing us and discussing our future together. He confessed to sharing our marital problems with his newfound confidante, who offered solace by placing her hand on his, assuring him of her understanding. I know!

 She had studied a bit of psychology at college, he told me. (As had I, more than a bit). He mentioned ‘transference’ and accused me of being shallow for failing to understand this new relationship he had formed. I felt totally alone.

I said that from where I was standing, he was having an emotional affair, but he denied this. He was above such a thing. He was more intelligent and above most things.

Supporting the children through the transition to a new country was demanding, and their struggles added to my emotional burden. I had hoped for a fresh start, but instead, I found myself grappling with betrayal and the challenge of rebuilding our lives in a foreign land. My heart broke to see how my children struggled.

They rarely saw their father, he was hardly ever at home. That said, when he was, he loved taking us all out for nice meals to a restaurant where he was known quite well. One evening, a woman kindly pointed out to me that my blouse label was showing. I remarked that it was such a nice thing for her to do and thought no more about it. Then he told me that he had paid for her meal and the three people accompanying her.

We were somehow struggling financially, which should not have been the case. I just could not understand his gesture. By this time, I believed everything he told me. He was superior to me in every way imaginable. Everything I had was because of him. I needed him. I should not have been surprised; one of my recent birthday gifts had been a self-help book about improving self-esteem. I had also developed bulimia. I was scared to gain weight, but did not want to refuse a meal out since it was our only time together. 

He even told some of his colleagues that I was going back home. When I challenged him, he admitted he had said it because we had got on much better when we were apart and he thought it was a good idea. He said I should take our youngest with me, and he would keep the eldest. For me, this was unthinkable and cruel.

It would have been the best of both worlds for him. Getting to talk about how much he missed his family while being able to behave exactly as he wanted to.

He regularly missed school performances; it did not go unnoticed by the kids. One of them even suggested I should leave him.

I was broken and so far away from home. The weight of the emotional and psychological burden was overwhelming, and it felt as though there was no escape from the pain that enveloped me. Despite everything, I persevered, finding strength in the love for my children and the hope of a better future.

As I looked around, I realised that the new country, despite its challenges, offered a chance for growth and healing. The cultural differences, unfamiliar surroundings, and everyday struggles became a backdrop to the resilience that began to emerge within me.

However, the betrayal lingered, a constant reminder of the emotional scars that had been inflicted.

To add insult to injury, I was now in Perimenopause. I suffered from menorrhagia big time. I gained weight. I began to suffer from migraines. I tried to cope as best as I could. By now, he was rarely home before 10 pm. Dinners were ruined, and trust was almost nonexistent on my part.

On the rare occasions we went shopping together, he would shoot me down if I admired a piece of clothing by saying it would look much nicer on our daughter. Every Sunday afternoon, he would shower and change, saying he was going out for coffee. If I suggested going with him, he would say that we were not joined at the hip and that he was going on his own.

He went shopping on his own on Saturdays and would bring home expensive gifts for the kids that we could ill afford, although we should have been able to afford them. I still don’t understand where our money went. I remember remarking about a car one day, saying it looked just like ours. "Mine, you mean," he replied. "You wouldn’t have the car and the house without me."

I had given up a decent job and uprooted the kids to support him, this was like a kick in the teeth.

I had a bit of a meltdown one day, without going into too much detail, so much so that the doctor wouldn’t let me hang up the phone. I was prescribed tranquilisers and anti-depressants.

When he got home that evening, early, because he was planning a night out, I told him about it, hoping for a glimmer of empathy, he merely said, “I don’t want to be inflammatory, but my ‘friend’ had a car accident last week, she is okay, but I just want to see her for myself." It was one of the worst times of my life.

Just as our children were settling in, making friends and enjoying their newfound freedom, we had to return to our homeland sooner than expected, and things got worse, much worse.

It all began one fateful day when I suffered a fall that led to surgery. The physical pain was intense, but the emotional turmoil that followed was even harder to bear. He arrived at the hospital eventually, but his demeanour was far from comforting. His embarrassment about my situation was palpable; it was as if my vulnerability tainted his image. When I was returned to the ward, he told me I was not a pretty sight, a statement that left me shocked and hurt in my most fragile state. His absence after that moment felt like a betrayal, but thankfully, our kids filled the void with their presence, their love shining through as they visited me, both proudly bearing their newly acquired driving licenses.

Just as our children were settling in, making friends, and enjoying their newfound freedom, life threw another curveball. We had to return to our homeland sooner than expected, and the challenges only intensified.

Back in the UK, I recognised the signs: He had an obvious crush on a colleague. The sting of betrayal deepened when he took her and her son out to dinner while I was visiting our son at university. Despite these heart-wrenching moments, I found solace in my work, securing a good full-time job that occasionally required Saturday shifts. However, when I sought his help with chores, specifically washing and ironing his shirts and tending to the garden on those weekends, his response was dismissive and hurtful. He simply stated that he earned more than me, so I should suck it up.

Through these trials, I found strength in the love and support of my children. They became my pillars, their resilience inspiring me to keep going. Despite the challenges, I continued to strive for a better life, channelling my energy into my work and cherishing the moments with my kids. Their achievements and happiness became my motivation to endure and overcome the hurdles life presented.

Our dog had been in kennels. One day after she got out, she sniffed a tray of roast lamb in the kitchen. That was all she did; she was a gentle, good-natured dog, but he got her in a corner and started kicking her, saying she must have picked up bad habits and that they would need to be knocked out of her. I can’t write much more about this. It still breaks my heart.

He couldn’t understand why the kids and I were so angry and shocked by his behaviour and refused to talk to us, including the dog, for a few days until he mentioned what had happened to someone at work, and they were on our side. He then decided to laugh it off and expected us to do the same.

He also favoured one of our kids over the other. One could do no wrong. One could do no right. Life was toxic.

One Sunday, I discovered pornography on my laptop, used by him after his own computer broke. I also discovered he had been on dating sites and had dated more than one woman. He had even written a poem for one of them, something unheard of! You see, in my new role, I had been learning how to use a computer. I had been pretty useless before, but I now found myself more interested in using my own and finding out more about what it was capable of.

Confronted, he declared that he had had more than enough of me and that our relationship was over. I heartily agreed, although my stomach was churning about what the future would bring.

Life became unbearable; he occupied the house while I was happy to stay cocooned in what had been our bedroom. I ate my main meal at work and had a microwave meal in the evening. I discovered how many loyal friends I had, offers of sleepovers, nights out, and fun.

I had a social life, and I was enjoying it,

Before we split, I spent weekends mowing the lawn, washing, and ironing. Then, I stupidly ate the food he knew I loved and brought copious amounts of. Crusty fresh bread, butter, cheeses, chocolate, and wine. I would fall asleep on the sofa while he spent the day using his computer upstairs. He also told me I gained weight around this time. I had gone up a dress size to a UK16. I felt like a naughty child as he chastised me, telling me it was not healthy.

I was yet to discover that he had taken on a new credit card. He often presented me with documents, he would quickly explain what they were and then tell me where to sign. I always did.

He ran up 10K of debt on a credit card he had taken out in my name. it. He took part in a work charity auction and came home and told me he had 'won' dinner for two at The Hilton, return flights, flying lessons and a whole host of other expensive things.

The discovery of a printed email on the bathroom floor revealed a painful truth: he had met someone special to him, someone younger than our son, hailing from Eastern Europe. His visit using the plane tickets obtained through the charity auction, paid for with a credit card in my name, compounded my frustration and anger. His inability to cope with my uncharacteristic challenges and responses sparked intense anger. One night, his rage was so overwhelming that I had to leave the house and seek refuge with a friend.

Surprisingly, his absence brought a sense of relief. During the week he was visiting his new girlfriend, I found myself able to relax and even ventured into the world of online dating. The first man I contacted responded promptly, and although I knew it wasn't destined for the long term, I was superbly wined and dined and enjoyed his company immensely. For the first time, I felt valued and desired – it was a revelation.

Amidst the chaos, I took a decisive step and made an appointment with a solicitor the day after everything erupted. The divorce process had begun, and while I was terrified, I also felt an undercurrent of excitement.

Work became my sanctuary. Although the thought of leaving my friends filled me with sadness, I knew it was my only way out. A fortuitous promotion brought me closer to our children, allowing me to maintain a semblance of normalcy amidst the upheaval.

I will never forget the moment I went for the interview. He wished me luck but cautioned that even if I got the job, I couldn't accept it as he needed my income. His fury over my visit to the solicitor was still palpable. He believed things should remain unchanged, proposing we share grocery shopping and have evening meals together – an arrangement that was intolerable for me.

He put my car off the road, saying we couldn’t afford to repair it. This meant we had to travel to work together. This was a nightmare. I laughed when he stated how the settlement would proceed; he had not employed a solicitor; he thought it was a waste of money when he could navigate the process by himself. We had no assets, just debts. He got extremely angry and told me not to mock him. Because I laughed, he said he would not be as lenient as he had previously intended.

My parents had given me some money to help me move, a gesture of support and love that I deeply appreciated. With their help, I opened a new bank account, choosing the same bank as our joint account for convenience. However, I had forgotten a crucial detail—my husband knew my login details. He had always claimed he couldn't remember his own login information, yet I discovered that he had been logging into my account and withdrawing money. It was a betrayal that cut deep.

When the bank discovered the unauthorised withdrawals, they advised me to involve the police and report it as fraud. But I couldn't do it. We were still living under the same roof, and I feared the repercussions. Calling the police would have made my life insufferable, adding more turmoil to an already painful situation. So, I declined, choosing instead to bear the burden of this betrayal.

I eventually found a small one-bedroom flat that I could afford in a place I had never been to before. This was to be where I would work, rest and play.

My car was now back on the road, and I discovered that I enjoyed driving. He had always told me I was a bad driver. I was criticised from the start of the journey to the end. I was even told to tuck the car behind a lorry to save fuel on occasions, this from the man who would drive at high speed, often racing other drivers with our two children in the car.

From the day I moved into my new abode, even though I had never lived alone before and knew no one, I loved it. The weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders; I was no longer ‘holding anyone back,’ a phrase I had become accustomed to hearing.

I had a fantastic new job and a new sense of self-worth. It was wonderful.

I saw a lot more of the kids, too, which was a real bonus.

Leaving behind 31 years of shared history was not easy. There were moments of joy and happiness, laughter and love that I would always cherish. But there were also moments of pain and heartache that had left scars on my soul. As I walked away, I knew that this was not just the end of a marriage but the beginning of a new chapter in both of our lives.

The final day came, and as I packed my belongings, the weight of 31 years pressed heavily on my heart. Every item I placed in a box carried memories—some cherished, others painful. Worse still were the things I had to leave behind. I could only afford to rent a ‘Man with a van’ and I was moving to a one-bedroom flat. I still feel sad when I think of a little rocking chair that was a gift from my parents to my son, a moses basket full of cherished ‘special’ baby clothes that I hoped I could pass on to my son and daughter one day, and a sewing machine that had been a gift to me from my grandmother.

He was crying just before I left. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he said, "It was a sad end."

“You do know I haven’t a bad bone in my body?” he said

The truly sad thing for me was that he believed it. Despite everything that had transpired, he couldn't see the pain his actions had caused.

This new chapter was daunting, but it was also an opportunity for growth and healing. I moved into my new flat, a place I could call my own. It was a space free from the shadows of the past, a blank canvas where I could start anew. The first few nights were the hardest, as the silence echoed with memories of what used to be. But with each passing day, I began to reclaim my life.

I reconnected with old friends and made new ones, surrounding myself with people who brought positivity and support. I pursued hobbies and interests that I had set aside, rediscovering passions that brought me joy. I focused on my career, setting new goals and working towards them with renewed determination.

I learned that forgiveness was not about condoning his actions but about freeing myself from the chains of resentment and anger.

There were moments of doubt and loneliness, but there were also moments of empowerment and strength. I realised that I was capable of so much more than I had ever imagined, and I emerged stronger and more resilient.

Fast forward several years. I have married again, and I now understand the true meaning of partnership, contentment and trust. We are equals in every way, even though he earns more than I do.

We do things together. We look after the garden together; I had never known such a thing.

Trust is the biggest thing for me. I had never really known trust before. My new husband never gives me any reason to doubt him. Bliss!

I have gone from strength to strength in ways I could not have imagined. I live what is a simple, quiet, but, for me, idyllic life. I know my worth, not only as a person but as a mother and a wife.

CS Ward. 2025

'You own everything that happened to you.

Tell your stories

If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should've behaved better.

Anne Lamott

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