It was a weeknight in 1996. My talented teenage daughter sat at the kitchen table, dutifully doing homework important to her. Meanwhile, at 48 years old, I was behind my closed bedroom door, on my bed, chain-smoking and weeping on the phone to friends who generously gave me their time."How can this be?" I lamented. "Last week, I felt so loved, like everything was falling into place. And now, with a few snide remarks about my ‘failure to comprehend basic math’ and other cruel criticisms, here I am again. How can this be?" I swallowed another TUMS tablet, trying to ease the acidic ache in my stomach.For two long pre-Lovefraud.com, pre-YouTube years, friends gave me their time, listening to my a …
Note to self: Do not break the No Contact rule
Editor’s note: The Lovefraud authorEleanor Cowan, who wrote "A History of a Pedophile’s Wife," describes what happened when she thought she could break the No Contact rule. By Eleanor Cowan Wow! What just happened? Whammo! I was abused this week, completely out of the blue, entirely unexpected, and yet, oh so familiar. I feel black and blue, and I make no mistake, verbal lashings leave me bruised too. I invited my younger brother, a fellow with whom I’ve never achieved a mutual relationship, for a nice fish ‘n chip supper at a local restaurant. We’re both living in the same city now, and I wanted to reach out. My bro, one of the youngest in our alcoholic family, has a history of alcohol …
Sexually abused as a child, she later chose three abusive partners
By Eleanor Cowan Bullied incessantly by an older brother, "Emily" got called fat, stupid, and ugly…all projections of her sibling’s own worst fears. From childhood, Em was sexually molested by him so much that she “got used to it.” Her mom screamed viciously at anyone not removing their filthy boots at the door, but remained silent about the muddy molestations tracked by her extremely isolated and overweight son. That’s the backstory. Fast forward fifty years. Emily just left her third partner. The first two also disqualified themselves: The first was a shameless bully. He insisted his slaps and punches were harmless, just as he emphasized that sex on demand was a marital right. F …
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How loss through suicide creates perfect targets for sociopaths
By Eleanor Cowan The generous invitation to a "Survivors of Suicide Loss Retreat," a day of comfort for those left behind, could so easily have been ignored by me. After all, it's been 46 years since my depressed mother climbed over the railing of her high-rise balcony in Toronto. I’ve done a great deal of recovery work since then. I researched the negative domino effect of Mum’s life: abused by her alcoholic father, unprotected by her co-dependent mother, denied the privilege of marrying the man she loved because he wasn’t Irish, followed by her hasty marriage to an unhappy religious man, who was a widower – and Irish. “Why did you marry a man you didn’t love, Mom?” I asked her one …
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Finally recognizing a sociopath’s abuse
By Eleanor Cowan “The statute of limitations? It took me 25 years post-drug-rape to recognize his abuse,” I replied to a comment as a bunch of us at our local Senior Center crowded around the fitness room TV to hear the sentencing of a dangerous sex criminal, a wealthy fellow much older than most of us, a fatherly figure whose abuses rampaged for decades with no limitations, brakes or borders. “Why is there no statute of limitations for murder?” asked one woman, “while there is one for sexual abuse?” “Yes,” said another, “Billy can wake up with a sudden recall of the murderer who killed twenty years ago, and the police are on it. No officer would ever say, ‘Sorry, times up on your re …
With the sociopath, I kept my mouth shut — not anymore
By Eleanor Cowan A 1929 Depression-era humorist, Andrew Glasow, once wrote, “Improvement begins with I,” and this week, I noted an example of my progress. On Tuesday, I filled out a feedback form about a costly senior health program I attended. I complained that our well-paid lecturers felt entitled to consume 96 minutes of our time to detail their personal histories of living overseas, the languages they’d learned so quickly, and the distinguished academic careers of their high-achieving children – none of which was on the agenda. Annoyed, I chose not to return to the afternoon segment. That evening, an attendee, Ted, called to say that only the last scrunchy 25 minutes of the worksho …
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After our own abusive childhoods, endeavoring to protect others
By Eleanor Cowan Way back in 1940, my Dad, Neil, married Maggie, a gentle woman soon thrilled at the birth of a son, Gordon. In late May, the young mom traveled to visit her parents in Nova Scotia and settled into a beautiful summer. Even with a war going on in Europe, and even though Gordie’s dad remained in Montreal, those months with her family became even more valued given Maggie’s sudden death. In early September, Maggie packed to return to her husband in Montreal. Hours before her departure on the 6 p.m. train, she began hyperventilating. Her blood pressure sky-rocketed and Maggie plummeted into mortal asthmatic distress. She never got to Montreal. Before her horrified parents, Ma …
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Self respect means not having to say you’re sorry (unless you really mean it)
By Eleanor Cowan In my large family, so many of us were affected by our mother’s personality disorder that over time, our odd behaviors and adaptations became normalized. When neighbors asked about my mother’s terrible shrieking and screaming or her calling her children names such as "stupid brainless idiots," I’d quickly minimize the damage and offer inauthentic responses. “Oh, our house is so big. She’s just calling everyone for supper.” When I read, years later, that people swear according to their insecurities, I sensed my mother felt insecure about the education she lacked. Always guilt-free herself, she loudly blamed her older children for our toddler brother’s dangerous habit of …
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By being open to new ideas, I found a way to calm my overprotective brain
By Eleanor Cowan As a 10-year-old kid in a large, rigid Roman Catholic family, I had it all figured out. I knew which way was up. There were no unknowns in my understanding. My future happiness was guaranteed if only I could do as required. Still, my stability teetered back and forth, depending on my ability to conform. For example, if I obeyed my mother’s first harsh morning shout to wake up and if I promptly completed my cleaning tasks before the oatmeal was ready, then I’d begun my day well. If without telling anyone about it, I quietly sacrificed a slice of toast and jam for the sake of a suffering soul in Purgatory (who gained freedom faster because of my personal sacrifice), then …
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After the sociopath, managing how my brain manages trauma
By Eleanor Cowan I felt heavy as I awakened this morning. A toxic punch followed by a few slaps of self-recrimination are tossed with tuning forks—all delivered by myself to me. “No!” I say as I have for the past thirty years. I swing my legs out of bed and onto the solid oak floor. My gold filigreed daily planner is right where its supposed to be. I will never erase my actual history of having married a pedophile who molested first his siblings and then our children. His crafty, conscienceless siphoning of my time, energy, money and support for fourteen years can never be expunged. I can never, ever erase his small daily cruelties that sadly, I got used to tolerating, little by litt …
After the sociopath, managing how my brain manages traumaRead More