So I married a narcissist. In my defense, I didn’t know he was a douchebag. How could I recognize a narcissist when I was surrounded by narcissists from birth? In his defense, he didn’t know he was a narcissist, either. But then again, to be a narcissist, you can never admit that you are one, and I’ve never met a narcissist who changed.

It all began the moment we said, “I do.” I would learn later that we became family the instant we got married. And that’s all good when both marriage partners come from a healthy family, but not so good in our case. I’m not a psychologist, but I’m certain no one is born a narcissist, just like no one is born an enabler.

BUY BOOK 1

I had no idea that we lacked anything in our home in my childhood. I suppose I was too young to understand how we had failed to meet social expectations or to register the permanent disappointment my mother’s face always showed.

But regardless of her dismay, there was work to be done, and lots of it. Not on the house, of course. Finishing that work could wait, and it would for nearly twenty years.

My parents didn’t believe in working project by project to finish the house. No. Their philosophy was simple: Pretend there is nothing wrong, ignore it, and hope the problem disappears. 

BUY BOOK 2

Red: The color has to be red for this meeting, I thought. I breathed deeply and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My dark brown eyes looked back at me with clear resolution. I had to do this. My decision was final. Slowly and deliberately, I drew on my lips with the red lipstick I had chosen. Yes, that’s the color, said my eyes.

I noticed my diamond solitaire earrings; they stood out just enough to compliment my black sweater and jeans. I looked casual, yet classy. I would not be overlooked or underestimated by anyone. I glanced at my naked left hand. There was no ring on my ring finger because I had thrown it out the car window yesterday.

BUY BOOK 3