This morning, I stepped outside with my cup of coffee and took in the dawning of a new day. The gray fog spread itself across the field behind our backyard as the orange rays of the sun tried to push their way through. I watched as a single oak leaf glided to the ground and listened to the various birds competing for attention as the sounds of semi trucks on the highway near our house rumbled in the distance.

I tasted the notes of chocolate as I took my last sip of coffee and then poured the remaining sip into the dirt. A little ritual of offering what I have to give to the earth. Once I sat my mug down, I pulled my sweatshirt tight around me and began to count my breaths. I decided I would stand in silence and count thirteen inhales and exhales. Why thirteen? I guess because to me it feels like my lucky number (I was born on the 13th as was my sister, and I’ve railed against the thought of it being considered a culturally unlucky number for whatever mysterious reason.) I noticed that my first inhale through my nose was long and deep. And unexpectedly my exhale came out my mouth equally as long and equally as deep to the point that I ran out of breath.

With each observation, time slowed down for me and I noticed the world around me slowing down. I watched as a white midge glided past me and I thought “there goes a tiny creature living in a reality so vastly different from my own.” I listened as a vireo called a cascading song and watched as two squirrels chased each other across the neighbor’s fence. By breath number nine, I felt a shudder of anxiety leave my body and noticed both my inhale and exhale were quick and shallow. And by the thirteenth breath, grief was upon me and felt as if I was taking my last breath on earth, which obviously wasn’t true, but tears still came to me and I felt both grief and relief at the same time. I wish I could say that I had a moment of clarity and cleansing and felt some sense of divine goodness in that moment. But I didn’t. Instead, I got scared and then quickly became numb. I cut the ritual short, went back inside, and returned to my creature comforts and secular life.

That’s how I’ve been feeling lately with the state of our nation and collective transformation: grief and relief with an overall numbing, protective barrier keeping me from fully feeling my emotions. I didn’t celebrate the presidential election. I felt too wary to do so (although I am really proud to know that an entire generation of young children will see a woman in a position of high leadership in this country). I’ve spent over twenty years of my adult life dealing with the ills of narcissism and pathological lying, the majority of it dealt with during my tenure as a high school English teacher and the other past 4 years dealing with the aftermath of emotional abuse my husband endured at the hands of his ex-wife and my stepchildren still endure by their narcissistic afflicted mother.

I honestly could write a book or two on the experiences, trauma, and downright bizarre stories I have encountered and experienced both as a teacher and as a wife and stepmother to an abused spouse and stepchildren. (And who knows, maybe one day I will?) My reactions are connected to my experiences which have taught me that when pathological liars who are toxic narcissists feel cornered, they will do everything in their power to throw you into chaos to the point you are unable to catch your breath. They thrive in chaos and prowl the edges of your reality so as to drip poison into your life in hopes to kill off your sanity. My method of dealing with these types of people is to prepare for the worst they will offer and strategize a way to head them off before they can do more damage to me or my loved ones. Sounds exhausting (and it is) but it works. I have shielded and protected myself and my loved ones many times over with figuring out the psychology of the damaging narcissist and helped us go on stronger (and battle scarred) to live through another day while keeping our sanity in tact.

The dark side of directly dealing with narcissists is twofold. One is the toll it takes on you. You are exhausted after each encounter or counterbalance and your joy of the simple things in life feels tainted or smaller than maybe it could be. Yet, you are alive and you have kept your tenderness, your goodwill, your love, and your heart protected. Although that’s as far as you go. Your life feels like a gray fog or mist has rolled over you and you have to squint to see the sun dawning in the horizon.

Or, you get so angry that you want to see your abuser’s demise and you long to become the judge, jury, and executioner to the point your ego begins to dominate and think of ways to take the narcissist down once and for all. You scream into the void (usually the void being Facebook or other social media) and you walk around angry and tense. You find yourself consumed in conversations about the abuser and spend countless minutes that transform into hours of your life analyzing why he or she behaves the way they do. You seek validation for your victimization and your desires for revenge that you miss out on all the other opportunities for growth and joy and love to come into your life. You’ve caught a bad case of “narcissistic fleas” and your desire to itch them spreads. You forget your breath. You forget your body. You forget yourself completely and feel alone. Your armor has chaffed your thick skin.

So many years of living this way has made me wary. I worry that the Narcissist-in-Chief of our country, who has already sent out his flying monkeys in the form of his legal team, has another slight-of-hand up his sleeve. Maybe it’s my PTSD that causes me to fear the death throes his behavior and his movement find themselves in. When something knows it is dying, it becomes erratic and unpredictable as it struggles to cling to its last breath. It wants to stay alive and stay relevant in a world that is moving on as easily as the midge that floats through the air or the single leaf that falls from the mighty oak. Maybe I shouldn’t run away from my breaths either. Maybe I need to take off my armor and inhale and exhale fully. Maybe I can let my anxiety and unease and old ways of being die and drop away so others can breathe more fully. There was a collective exhale that I missed the other night. I didn’t trust that my countrymen who have held their breath for way too long deserved to sigh and celebrate and dance in the streets, even for just a moment. That all I need to do is feel my own feelings, fully, deeply, and honestly. When I am able to validate these emotions (which in turn validates my whole self) I can then know that death is my friend. It helps the world slow down a bit so we all can breathe in more deeply and exhale more fully. No struggle. No death throe. Just a pause in between the dropping of a leaf and the waiting for a bud.