Or So I Thought….A Story of Hope

In honor of having completed my first 30 posts on this blog, I wanted to share my story. I call it a story of hope.

In 2017 I met a charming man on Tinder. We connected easily and deeply right away. He promised me he’d take care of me. He told me he loved me on the second date. He was spicy and handsome and took 10 years off his age on his profile. Why? I asked him when I found out. Well, you wouldn’t have gone out with me if I had told the truth, he said. Well, yes and there’s a reason for that, I thought, but at that point I was too far in, and reason flew out the window. I’m a successful executive coach. I am well-known in my field as a neuroscience expert. I have been exploring and working on my own spiritual development since I was 18 years old. I am well-informed, very smart, and nobody’s fool.

Or so I thought.

In later days my attorney asked me (more than once) — what were you thinking being with this kind of guy? And each time I would reply, the person I fell in love with was not what you see now. It was a con, a mask, an illusion. I was played by a master manipulator with an end game in mind and I fell.

He convinced me to move in after 6 weeks. I was in love with how into me, into the relationship he was. He kept saying It just feels so obvious, and I was infatuated with the idea that I had found someone who could really step in and commit to being in relationship.

Or so I thought.

He first showed his true colors a few weeks after I’d moved in. He very quickly went from I want to take care of you forever to being distant, aloof, and strangely unavailable. He always had a good excuse. Too tired, needed to go to bed early. Busy day. Feeling stressed. But at one point – thinking I would use my communication skills and fundamental sense of self-empowerment – I said very simply and calmly – Hey, I’m feeling a little distant, I’d like to find a way to reconnect. This was an honest and fair request to make in a relationship.

Or so I thought.

He hit the roof. He ranted and fumed. He lost his s*** and yelled and raged. I was stunned, confused, and deeply deeply hurt. This was, after all, my partner for life.

Or so I thought.

In retrospect, I should have left then. Instead, I sought advice from friends and slept in my office for a couple of days. I waited for his apology, which never came, and read books about attachment theory. Finally, I sought him out and tried to find a way to reconnect. You are so needy, and you have no craft in understanding me, he said. But this didn’t make sense. I make my living understanding people. I’m incredibly good at it. I get motivations and triggers and what drives behavior.

Or so I thought.

But somehow we did reconnect, even though he never apologized or took any responsibility. At one point he stood in his office doorway shaking his head and saying with pseudo compassion, Who did this to you? And a part of me bought it, believed it was my insecurity, saw it as a chance to grow and develop and learn to need less. That this was somehow helpful in my spiritual development process.

Or so I thought.

We wandered through a year of ins and outs. He gave me the silent treatment one full day (without saying why) because I asked him to turn over when he was snoring. He lashed out at my son who was visiting for Christmas and got extremely drunk at dinner because he had to “cope.” He promised and reneged. He told me my intellectual work in neuroscience was for people with less awareness than he had. He diminished me in ways that were just subtle enough that if I said anything it would sound like I was the insecure one.

My light dimmed.

But yet we planned, and when we did, he was fun and pleasant. We decided to invest an inheritance of mine in buying a house. It was interesting to dream together, and when we did, he was the man I’d fallen in love with again.

Or so I thought.

We bought a big house just outside Santa Fe. Soon after moving in, he said I can’t believe how lucky I am. I have this great house and this great dog (we’d adopted a rescue together). Full stop. I looked at him and said, And me? And he caught himself and mumbled something like oh yeah, and you. And I was comforted a bit, sure he valued me as well.

Or so I thought.

Slowly things got worse. We slept in separate bedrooms so that he would never be told to turn over because he snored. He showed less and less interest in my day, my life, my work, my world, while talking for hours about his own projects and ideas. He had recently trained as a coach (my own profession of almost 20 years) and was certain he was an undiscovered genius. I listened, supported, advised and bought his narrative, sure he just needed a break to be able to get out of his professional and financial hole.

I kept digging deeper and deeper into my communication skills, my patience, my forgiveness and my desire to understand. I got coaching from my peers. I sat him down and told him again and again that I needed just a little attention and care. But nothing made any difference. My life became lonelier and lonelier as we spent almost no time together. What happened to my partner? Were my expectations wrong? Was I needy? I didn’t think so.

One day when been together 18 months or so, we were having dinner with some of my colleagues from out of town. I reached over and put my hand on his leg under the table, as if to say, isn’t this nice? He flinched, pulled his leg away, and turned his back to me for the entire dinner. I was shocked and devastated, but carried on. The next day I told him how odd and hurtful that was, and he told me I was inappropriate with my public displays of affection and everyone thought so. I told him that not being able to express appropriate affection may be a deal-breaker for me. He replied, Then pack your bags and get a lawyer.

I went out of town with my business partner. We rented a house on the beach while we were leading a training. Every morning and evening we walked one direction then the other and talked about my situation. She – a master coach, the best I know – helped me look at what was going on. Each day we’d come to a new perspective and I’d think, ok, that’s what I’ll say to him, that’s what I’ll do to fix this. That will work.

Or so I thought.

Because the next morning I’d wake up and know with every fiber of my being it wouldn’t work. I went home in a miasma of despair. There were 2 dozen red roses waiting for me on the dining room table for my birthday. I left them there and went to my bedroom. They were lovely but I did not care.

I’m not sure how to explain what happened next other than that perhaps the angels knew I’d had enough. Somehow I searched the internet asking Can you be a victim and still be a narcissist? You see, that’s how he’d hooked me. He’d shared his terrible tale of woe and I wanted to help, to understand, to be someone who believed in him. I was sure he couldn’t be a narcissist because I thought they were all grandiose, Donald Trump types. But there, after searching that phrase, I found hundreds of hits. Dozens of videos. Articles and podcasts and YES you CAN be a narcissist and a be victim (it’s called a Covert Narcissist). Suddenly, two things happened. One, my life made sense. And two, I felt I had left my body and ended up in some terrible Hallmark movie. What in the world had happened to me? How did I end up here?

But god bless YouTube and the internet. I immersed myself in videos and realized that yes, he fit the profile of a covert or vulnerable narcissist, and therefore, it was NOT going to get better. I had to end what I had thought at one time was a soul-mate relationship. I had to save myself.

So commenced two years that started as the darkest time of my life and ended in victory. Bottom line, I had to move out for my own mental health and physical safety. I had to battle him for the property I’d invested my inheritance in. I had to find the courage to keep going and get up day after day when I thought the situation (emotionally and financially incredibly costly) would never, never end. I had to find people to support me, a lawyer to fight for me. I had to trust that I could get through this. And I did. And I educated myself. I read everything I could get my hands on, including scientific articles and massive books. I watched endless hours of YouTube videos. I connected with some of the leaders in the field. And slowly but surely, I began to understand.

It’s going on four years now since I discovered the man I was living with was really a tortured, disrupted, toxic soul. I am back in my house, which is solely in my name. I am safe. I used the research and learning I’d immersed myself in to create a powerful and potent trauma coaching program with my business partner. I am clearer and stronger than I have ever been, although I have not lost my heart or kindness. Last summer, I met a wonderful man. We dated slowly. We didn’t rush anything. And he has showed me—we have showed each other—that real love, real care, real communication is possible. And in the end, kindness does indeed win.

So wherever you are in your process, I can say, it does get better. You learn to value yourself. You learn to set boundaries. You learn the difference between manipulation and love. And you learn that no one – no one – can ever again steal and dim your light.

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Want to learn how to work with relational trauma as a coach? Join our next Certification Program for Neuroscience, Coaching and Relational Trauma starting Fall 2023.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ann Betz is the co-founder of BEabove Leadership and an expert on the intersection of neuroscience, coaching, trauma and human transformation. She speaks, trains and coaches internationally, and writes about neuroscience and coaching as well as relational trauma. Ann is also a published poet who loves cats, rain in the desert, and healthy relationships. She is grateful for the chance to share her journey.