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