Arguing.

Rage.

Screaming.

Blame.

The kind of things little ears aren’t supposed to hear.

But mine did.

But my first physical memory?

Pain.

Relentless ear infections. I remember running back and forth between my living room and bedroom, screaming in agony.

But my mother never missed a chance to take us to the doctor. That part always felt like it was about her, not me.

Still, I got tubes put in early on and as I got older, they fell out. But nothing really changed.

The fullness.

The pressure.

The balance issues.

Eventually, nerve pain.

Sometimes it felt viral.

Sometimes structural.

It always felt like something was wrong deep inside, where no one could see it.

In my late twenties, I worked in sales for LegalShield. They offered big sales incentives like exotic trips, all expenses paid. That year, I earned Jamaica.

The day before we left was chaos.

• Packing.

• Laundry.

• Scrambling.

And underneath all of it my left ear was starting to flare again.

Bad.

I kept taking decongestants and Advil, hoping I could push through it. Like always.

I told myself:

“Even if I’m in pain… at least I’ll be in Jamaica.”

I always loved flying. Not for the destination, for the ascent. The moment when the pressure would finally pop my ears. That release when everything expanded for just a second and felt like relief I couldn’t get anywhere else.

We landed and went straight to the bar. I was deep in my alcoholism at the time...but we’ll come back to that.

Later, I went back to the room to get ready. I looked in the mirror. Something was off. My smile looked…

Warped.

I shrugged it off. Told myself it was nothing. Like always.

That night, a woman approached me.

“I’m an RN,” she said.

“I’m sorry to interrupt… but are you aware you have active Bell’s palsy?”

Pause.

Then.

“You need to get to a hospital. Now.”

“I do?” I asked. “This has been so weird. I thought it was just an ear infection earlier… now my smile is warped. Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Also under no circumstances can you fly until you’re stable.”

I rushed back to the room and called home.

“Mama, something’s wrong. A nurse said I have Bell’s palsy. My ear hurts so badly… I think I need to go to the hosp—”

“Oh no you’re not, young lady. You always do this. Some stunt. Always traveling. Always getting into problems. You get on a plane and come home. Right now.”

I rolled my eyes. Not because it didn’t hurt. But because it was familiar. I didn’t have the energy to feel it. Or fight her, again.

Much like when I was seven after getting bit by a dog and she said:

“Why did you let him bite you?”

Now at 32, standing in a hotel room in Jamaica with half my face now fully collapsed. I still felt like that little girl.

Jellies.

Hairbow.

Trying to figure out why everything was always my fault.

I hung up. Called my dad.

“Daddy… I have Bell’s palsy. The left side of my face collapsed. I need to go to the hospital.”

“Okay,” he said. “Find out how much it’s going to cost.”

Pause.

“I wasn’t going to say anything… but you always seem to have some problem when you travel.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m taking a taxi to a private hospital. Apparently the public ones aren’t safe. I’ll let you know if I need money.”

No one asked if I was okay.

If I was scared.

If I would be okay.

This memory came back to me today.

Even after everything I’ve processed, memories like this still surface. Tragic and cathartic. Because I never forgot. I buried it.

For years, I never understood why I struggled with eating disorders, depression, anxiety, addiction, abusive relationships like songs on repeat.

Yesterday, my ear pain came back. And for a moment, it felt like it might happen again. But this time, I caught it early.

• Steroids.

• Antivirals.

• Intervention.

• And awareness.

Maybe my ears should never have heard my childhood.

Maybe my ears were just born small.

But today, I remembered and I listened to those Little Ears.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

People assume they understand a mental breakdown… until they’ve had one.

We’re taught it comes from bad genes, poor character, or drugs. That might be part of it. But it’s not the whole story.

The truth, at least for me, was much closer—my earliest memories.

What we carry with us every day.

Who we met right after birth.

Our childhood.

Our families.

I believe that most mental health struggles—even psychosis—can be rooted in what we understood early, but never allowed ourselves to accept.

Think about it logically.

If you knew something was true, but your entire life told you it was a lie and that you wouldn’t be accepted unless you believed it… Would you struggle?

Not always bruises. Not always addicted parents. Not creepy uncles. But something quieter.

Something all abuse has in common. The subtle aroma of humiliation.

Subtle digs. Eye rolls. Praise and rewards for being fake. Punishment for telling the truth or asking innocent questions. Constant criticism. Constant comparison. Tension you could cut with a knife. Walls lined with rage and fake smiles.

Yep, those are all abuse. But eventually… it hits.

If you think you were immune…

Ask your body.

• What does it feel like to be loved only for what you represent?

• What does it feel like to be blamed for things you never did?

• What does it feel like to know you’re not important—but never fully admit it to yourself?

• What does it feel like to be rewarded for being fake—and punished for telling the truth?

When we “heal” from this kind of childhood, it doesn’t look like a yoga retreat or a fun day of magic mushrooms.

It’s awful.

It’s waking up one day and finally connecting the dots you always avoided. Dots so many of us carry.

I was never loved. My parents didn’t give a shit about me.

They bought me things. Paid for things. Smiled in pictures. They participated. But they were never in the game.

I always knew. But I didn’t feel it—until I stood between suicide and an inner flame.

When I finally let myself feel what I had always known, I grieved reality. All at once. In just a few weeks.

Not in a therapist’s office.

In my bathtub.

In my bed.

Soaked in tears.

Shaking from chills.

What people call somatic release—mine came like a hurricane.

And I had no safety net. No safe person there. Because I didn’t think I needed one.

No one tells you there are risks to grieving reality too quickly. Because no one tells you you’re supposed to do it at all.

Within a week, I began to think people were after me. That the press wanted to hear from me.

By that Saturday, I had cut my hair, given away my dog, and gone to the airport to wait for a private jet.

That’s the part no one talks about.

There are psychological risks when truth surfaces faster than your nervous system can handle it.

Your mind will protect you.

Mine took me somewhere unreal—where I felt special. So it could take the time it needed to repair—the time I didn’t allow it to have.

But I came back fairly quickly. And it took a couple of months before I felt steady again.

Was it worth it?

What’s the cost of staying frozen in survival?

Pretending until you can’t anymore.

Holding both the truth and the lie at the same time.

And not even knowing you are.

Saying things like:

• “They did the best they could.”

• “No one has perfect parents.”

• “They loved me in their own way.”

Those statements lock your trauma in like cement.

You don’t just suffer.

You disappear.

You people-please.

You apologize for existing.

You numb out.

You chase anything external to fill something you can’t name.

You become someone you no longer recognize.

You drink.

You shop.

You date and marry narcissists.

And eventually—you pass it on.

So would I do it again?

You bet your ass I would.

Maybe slower. Maybe with more sleep. Maybe with someone who understood.

But I will never regret who I became.

Or more accurately—who I stopped pretending not to be.

I don’t apologize for existing anymore.

My name is Sydney Turcotte.

I’m a writer.

Working on my first book.

A therapist coach.

A deep thinker.

A lover of learning.

A vegetarian.

Obsessed with dogs.

And Sandhill cranes.

And most animals… except roaches. They can die.

I’m drawn to people who are real.

Status symbols make me gag. That’s probably why most of my social circle disappeared.

Because when your identity shifts, people fade out like fog.

And through the work I’m doing now, with people who understand this deeply, I want to help others do more than survive.

To help them understand what they’re carrying and why.

To face it without breaking.

And to finally start living.

Becoming who they always were.

Through remembering.

All because of A Little Psychosis.

Content Warning: The following material contains explicit depictions of child abuse and may be disturbing. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

"But I didn't do anything!"

I screamed as my Mom had barely set down her purse and grocery bags after coming home from work.

"Mama, she has been selfish again and refused to help me with all the chores. All she does is ride her bike, and she didn't even finish her homework—again."

"Erin, why can't you just respect your sister for once and do something. You just wait until your Daddy comes home."

My family always called me by my first name, Erin—but the full Erin Sydney was for serious trouble.

"But I try to help, and she—"

"Don't you sass me, young lady. GO TO YOUR ROOM!"

"This isn’t FAIR! Why won't anyone listen to me… I was just—"

"Damnit, Erin Sydney, I TOLD you to go to your room and wait for your Daddy to come home."

I slinked off to my room, slamming the door as hard as I could and locking it.

I looked in the mirror and tried to reassure myself if I remembered it correctly.

And I did.

It wasn’t fair.

It was awful.

Hot cheeks. Watery eyes. Rage. Then that familiar sinking in my gut. Dread. Mixed with that fire to push back. Stand up for myself. Bite back. That part of me—has stayed, even now.

The garage door opening.

His voice. Laughter in the kitchen.

Then—"Again?" from my Dad.

Heavy steps down the hallway.

The sound of the belt slipping from his waist.

Then… the inevitable.

"Erin! Open this door now," he said.

"No! I'm not coming out until you listen to me." "OK, that's it!" he yelled.

"Terry, I am handling it. Shut up!"

The sound of the long nail unlocking the door.

Stomp.

Stomp.

Stomp.

He approached as I tried to protect myself.

"No!!!!!" I screamed.

He picked me up, yanked my arm, and rushed me into my parents’ room.

"Turn around."

"NO!!!"

"OK… fine then."

Slash after slash.

Red marks from his belt—later often turning into bruises.

My small hands reaching around to cover my legs before each slash.

Screaming.

Tears.

Humiliation.

While Rebecca sat in her room.

Quietly.

Never saying a word.

My Mom pointed her finger at me, yelling. "Well, you asked for it."

And that's how it happens.

Over and over.

Days.

Weeks.

Then years.

Eventually, the belt stopped.

Right before it became invisible.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

Born just outside of Clinton, Mississippi, David joined a family that had already decided who would matter and who wouldn’t. He was quiet, gentle, and obsessed with learning—books, nature, school.  Anything that offered structure and safety. 

His love of learning never ended.  He read the entire set of encyclopedias so many times they fell apart. Always reaching for knowledge while quietly burying deep-seated rage. 

In families like this, roles aren’t random. They’re assigned. 

The golden child. 

The scapegoat. 

The invisible one.

David was the scapegoat from the beginning, which allowed his brother Dan to disappear. He was blamed for everything while he and Dan were denied nearly everything Charlie and Terry received.

Their older brother Charlie was the supreme favorite—birthday parties, new cars, money… all never given to David or Dan.  They were even denied birthday parties, while Charlie and Terry had one every year.

His sister Terry was also a favorite, with special privileges—but she was always second to Charlie.

After college, he quickly married my mother, Terry—the same name as his sister.

At one point, they were both pinching pennies. She was teaching school, he was in grad school, and they didn’t have enough to make it to the end of the month. So they drove to his parents.

“Daddy, I just need fifty dollars to make it until Friday.”

…“Well, all tubs have to stand on their own feet.”

His mother gasped, then softly said, “Bill.”

The rest of that month they ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches—made from cafeteria supplies my mother brought home from school.

Terry came from a home shaped by neglect—immature parents and a house that was always dirty, always chaotic.  With cigarette butts in pots and pans.

She resented the way her family embarrassed her, so she built a life that looked perfect from the outside—a white picket fence filled with clean, smiling children, oozing love, bright hair bows, and charm.

David maintained his warmth and kindness for many years, even into his early forties.  But over time, the unprocessed pain calcified. The endless rage of my parents’ fights settled over him like a fog that hardened into stone.

The fighting and screaming were so constant, I assumed everyone lived like this. I remember watching duplex homes being built and feeling confused. 

How could families share walls?  Wouldn’t the neighbors hear the screams?

My sister Rebecca was born first in 1974, and eight years later I came along. After the miscarriage, I was always told—almost insistently—that I was planned.

Becky learned early that control came easily—especially through my mother’s obsession with our illnesses.

We went to the pediatrician constantly.  Any cold, cough, or mild fever was an instant trip.  I never understood why we had to go so often.

I remember the smell of the clinic.  The crinkling paper under your legs as you sat on the table.  My mother signing her name—Mrs. David Turcotte—then writing out a check.

And afterward, from Eckerds, the best treat of all… pink penicillin that tasted like bubblegum. I can still remember that taste.  I even drank the whole bottle once.

Checkout always took longer.  The nurses and receptionists would stand there, listening as my mother talked and talked about the burden of sick children.  But what more could a mother do?

Becky's power wasn’t limited to sickness or sympathy.  Early on, she learned she could harm the baby—and no one would stop her.

There was a story they told over and over.

Becky, maybe eight or nine, yanking the pacifier out of my mouth repeatedly while I cried.  They called it sibling rivalry—like all the endless fights.

But as I grew older, her cruelty never stopped.  She was skilled at keeping it hidden—insults, rage, and character assassinations delivered in private, just out of reach of my parents’ ears. And when they did overhear, it was met with a single dismissal. 

“Rebecca!”

And that was it.

One day when I was eight, I was devastated to learn my sister and cousins were going to a local water park called Water Land. I ran into my dad’s office in tears.  He hung up mid-call and pulled me in, holding me tight.

In that moment, I felt the real him—soft, present, safe.  The comfort came over me quickly.  So did the calm.  But those moments became rarer. 

As the years passed, Becky's abuse continued—now layered with my mother’s relentless disappointment.

Now my mother had joined in.

It never mattered what I did right.

I was always wrong.

Always in trouble.

Screamed at.

Humiliated.

Blamed.

Many times, after the fights ended, my parents would come home from work to find me shaking and screaming on the floor—while Becky quietly finished straightening the already immaculate house.

I still remember the flawless vacuum lines.  The sound of cutlery as she emptied the dishwasher.

They believed her version. Always.

After all—who do you believe?

The child shaking on the floor… Or the one standing calmly in a spotless house?

So then came the belt.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

Could mental illnesses be relieved by something as simple as grief?

Not the socially approved version of grief we only reserve for death.

But the process of metabolizing emotional pain—the kind of pain that sits quietly beneath anxiety, depression, rage, and dysregulated behavior.

Clinical psychology increasingly points toward the same pattern. When emotional pain is processed, symptoms ease. When it is avoided, symptoms multiply.

Metabolized pain becomes growth. Avoided pain becomes pathology.

We treat emotional pain as something to be avoided, suppressed, medicated, and labeled away.

• “I can’t go there.”

• “I’d do anything to stop thinking about it.”

• “Don’t dwell on the negative.”

• “Just calm down and take a Xanax.”

• “It’s because I have ADHD.”

• “You just need to move on.”

• “Real men don't cry.”

We speak about depression, anxiety, and emotional chaos as if they appear randomly like genetic storms descending without cause.

• "He has always been crazy."

• "You’re overreacting again."

• "Something was always running in that family."

• "Why are you so emotional?"

• "We did everything we could to help her."

Then we attach labels organizing identity around them.

• ADHD

• CPTSD

• PTSD

• BPD

• NPD

• OCD

• and the pop psychology diagnosis "Trauma"

The diagnosis becomes relief because it explains it. Sometimes even excusing it.

Have we accepted normal psychological responses to harm as permanent disorders before asking uncomfortable questions?

What if some of the symptoms we pathologize are actually unprocessed pain?

Psychologists have long recognized that early caregiver relationships shape the emotional architecture of the mind. So could there be a connection between mental illness and our upbringing?

No, of course not. It must be genetically random. Because avoiding the grief process means avoiding blame.

And avoiding blame means we wouldn't have to address that harm was done to us by family.

Maybe it’s better to wash over the gaping wound with alphabet soup and a pastel pill.

But let’s take a beat. Could depression not be from a chemical imbalance?

In 2022 a published review in Molecular Psychiatry, led by psychiatrist Dr. Joanna Moncrieff of University College London examined decades of research on the long-standing claim that depression is caused by a serotonin “chemical imbalance.”

Her team analyzed studies that had investigated serotonin levels, receptors, transporters, and genetic links associated with depression.

After reviewing the extensive evidence, the researchers found no consistent proof that depression is caused by a deficiency of serotonin.

Their conclusion was not that depression has no biological factors, but that the popular explanation of depression as a simple chemical imbalance is an oversimplification.

Instead, research increasingly points to depression arising from complex interactions between life experiences, stress, and the lack of psychological process.

So if depression isn't caused by random genetic chemical imbalances, could it simply be heartbreak?

Could the rates of mental illness be due to centuries of slowly accepting unprocessed pain as pathology?

When we look backward into human history, something interesting appears from the same storms.

Across cultures, pain was rarely something people were expected to quietly “get over.” Resulting symptoms weren't labeled or treated as socially unacceptable behavior.

• Pain was expected.

• Socialized.

• Ritualized.

• Even cherished.

Ancient Greeks practiced public mourning rituals—wailing, lamentations, and communal expressions of sorrow.

Jewish tradition still practices Shiva, a week-long communal grieving period where mourners are surrounded by community, speaking of their pain.

Indigenous cultures developed mourning rituals involving storytelling, singing, and communal remembrance.

Anthropologists have noted that societies historically created rules for emotional expression.

In modern language, we might call this psychological integration. Yet somehow, emotional pain became something we learned to power through.

• Feeling deeply became weakness.

• Avoidance became strength.

• Powering through became a badge.

• Then pretending was accepted.

And the longer pain remained unprocessed, the more it began to change shape.

The wound stopped being something that happened. The wound became what we are.

Defensiveness grows because the pain is no longer just pain—it is part of the self. The label becomes the self. The person is the symptom. Then we are either pitied or vilified.

This is not to say these conditions are not real. They are. If they weren't real, ancient societies wouldnt have dealt with them. But we increasingly treat them as the explanation rather than the question.

Because if the diagnosis explains it, the deeper work of grief may never need to begin.

• “I act this way because I’m an addict.”

• “I can’t help it because of my trauma.”

• “I need distraction because my brain works differently.”

The endurance and avoidance of pain became a badge.

• Endless motivational narratives.

• Spiritual bypassing.

• Self-help gurus.

Even religion sometimes becomes a substitute rather than a sanctuary.

• “Hand it over to God.”

• “God will ease your pain.”

• “I felt the roar of God.”

As if pain must be prayed away instead of accepted. As if spirituality doesn't assist us through pain but removes it entirely.

Pain was never meant to be avoided. It was meant to be expressed. Witnessed. And integrated.

When pain is allowed to run its course, something remarkable occurs.

• Symptoms ease.

• Anxiety settles.

• Depression lifts.

• Identity reorganizes.

• Character development grows.

Pain becomes something that happened versus an illness. And perhaps that is why grief once held such an important place in human societies.

Not because loss is rare. But because loss and pain are inevitable. And grief may be the only mechanism that allows the human psyche to survive it.

Maybe many mental illnesses we suffer from are freed by processing pain. And maybe that process is The Power of Grief.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

People often ask whether I embrace faith or religion. My answer? Well, both.

Because when you study science long enough, it leads you to mystery. When you study healing long enough, it leads you to spirit. Even mathematics embraces the imaginary to solve the real.

The imaginary number negative i — defined as the square root of −1 is something that does not exist yet helps solve equations that shape our real world.

It would seem naïve to believe that ending human suffering — while deepening inner growth — requires nothing beyond what we can see.

Something beyond the visible.

At the University of Virginia Division of Perceptual Studies, physicians and psychiatrists have spent decades studying near-death experiences in clinical settings. People revived from cardiac arrest, trauma, and medical emergencies often report eerily similar experiences. Across cultures, religions, and languages, the patterns repeat.

• A sense of peace.

• The feeling of leaving the body.

• Movement through darkness.

• And then — light.

Researchers describe these experiences as “profound psychological events with mystical elements.”

• Christians may call it the light of God.

• Some call it consciousness.

• Others describe it as an all-consuming love.

• Some simply say they cannot describe it at all.

The pattern appears again and again — in hospitals, medical journals, and in the stories of people who briefly stepped to the edge of death and returned. Many saying they did not want to come back.

When we reflect on these experiences, it raises an interesting question:

Why are we here?

Perhaps part of that journey is learning to understand the difference between choosing light or darkness.

• Between truth and distortion.

• Between growth and avoidance.

Recognizing that difference seems obvious — until it begins to blur.

Many humans develop defensive barriers — the ego — to protect themselves from growth, because growth can be painful. But could those barriers, those facades, be a form of darkness? Something that prevents us from accessing light?

After we are born, we encounter both light and its barriers. Perhaps the challenge of being human is choosing which one we follow.

In Christian theology, the Holy Spirit is described as living within people.

“Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you?”

— 1 Corinthians 6:19

If that is true, then light is not merely something outside us to admire. It is something meant to grow inside us — something we learn to choose.

Truth.

Respect.

Expression.

Courage.

Humility.

Unconditional love.

Even pain.

Not standing near Light.

Not wearing Light.

Not holding a Light book.

Not waving a Light flag.

Not announcing you are Light.

Not gathering in Light.

We have all felt the pang of making the right choice. It hurts at first. But if we hold steady, something surprising happens.

A quiet calm begins to fill the space where fear once lived. If we repeat this process enough times, we build a tolerance for the pain of truth — much like building a muscle.

Perhaps faith is simply choosing the pain of truth — choosing the harder path, trusting it will eventually lead to peace, with a quiet knowing we are never alone because Light lives within us.

Maybe that is what was meant by:

“I am the way, the truth, and the light.”

— Jesus Christ

Light.

It is the path of goodness, truth, and love.

Maybe Jesus was not merely pointing people toward an external light to worship, but demonstrating what it looks like when truth is fully lived.

A human life aligned with courage, humility, love, and honesty. Not simply belief in light — but the embodiment of it.

Could it be that we all share the same faith? That we are born carrying light — and encounter darkness along the way. And the journey is learning to choose the light?

Christian believers are called to “walk in the light,” not merely to speak of faith but to live it — through truth, courage, humility, and love.

In that sense, the light is not just something we believe in. It is something we choose — our character and inner growth.

It only feels painful because it asks us to shed the barriers we built to protect ourselves, only to discover those barriers were not protection — they were hiding our light all along.

Below are several reflections from Christianity, Islam, Hindu philosophy, and spiritual teachers.

Christianity

“You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”

— John 8:32

(Freedom is choosing the pain of truth.)

“Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’”

— John 14:6

(Could Jesus be describing truth within us?)

Hinduism (Bhagavad Gita)

“They who are attached to external enjoyments and material possessions cannot develop the steady mind necessary for realization.”

— Bhagavad Gita 2:44

(Truth is not external.)

Islam

“And say: Truth has come, and falsehood has vanished. Surely falsehood is bound to vanish.”

— Qur’an 17:81

(Truth dissolves ego.)

Paramahansa Yogananda

“The soul, being invisible, cannot be perceived as it truly is until the distortions of the ego are dissolved.”

“Your trials did not come to punish you, but to awaken you.”

“You can overcome delusion if you tune in with God and smash it repeatedly with the hammer of wisdom.”

Different books.

Different religions.

Different traditions.

But maybe one message.

Truth is light.

Light is painful. Until it sets you free.

Maybe real light has no religion.

Science searches for it.

Faith points toward it.

But in the end, each of us must choose it.

Maybe we are not saved by belief.

Maybe we are saved by… Light.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

Obnoxious traits have evolved all over the animal kingdom. Yet humans may be the only species that evolved without the ability to see past them.

Elaborate shades of purple, blue, yellow, red even neon pink appear in birds and insects across the planet. Some animals dance.  Some sing.  Some puff themselves up like Fourth of July fireworks. And we sit there watching National Geographic, feeling so evolved.

Dogs, even, form social hierarchies primarily for respect and order.

Sometimes these traits signal strength. Sometimes health. Sometimes the simple ability to survive despite carrying something ridiculous.

A peacock dragging a giant Vegas showgirl tail around is basically saying: “If I can survive predators with this stupid thing attached, my genes must be excellent.  So let’s get down.”

Humans do something eerily similar. But we moved far beyond using signals for mating or basic social order. Instead of feathers, we flash:

• Job titles

• Tom Ford suits

• Degrees

• Weddings and flawless diamonds

• Beach houses

• Follower count

• Charity optics

• Religious affiliation

• Curated family photos

None of these things are inherently bad.  The problem begins when status replaces character - blurred so effortlessly that many people cannot tell the difference anymore. Even when asked directly.

Yesterday I posted a challenge on my platforms.

A simple game: Find the person with the best character.

Most people hesitated. 

Some never responded.

Some private messaged saying, “I have no idea.”

Others said, “I don’t want to judge.”

Only two people answered correctly.

Not because character is unknowable.  But because we’ve become so blinded by signals that we’ve lost touch with the thing they were supposed to point to: Internal growth.

But let’s change the channel back to National Geographic for a moment.

Once a pair bond or offspring relationship forms, the flashy signals mostly stop mattering.

• Birds will feed chicks even if they’re weaker or malformed.

• Elephants care for injured herd members for years even having funerals.

• Orcas carry dead calves for days or weeks.

• Primates groom and comfort distressed group members.

Once the social bond is established, behavior shifts to care and group stability.

Animals don’t suddenly say: “Your feathers faded, so you're worthless now.”  But humans? Oh we often do.

But animals can be very brutal too.

• Male lions kill rival cubs. 

• Chimpanzees conduct coordinated lethal raids. 

• Dolphins have been observed killing porpoises. 

• Some birds eject weaker chicks.

Nature is not a moral utopia. But cruelty in nature is usually functional and tied to survival. 

And notice the difference:

Animals don’t lie about their cruelty. Humans do.

Humans evolved into using something animals mostly don’t have:

• Using symbols, traits and manipulation to replace character. 

• Symbolic status systems.

• Layers of abstraction.

These are not biological fitness signals. They’re social constructs.

Once humans began organizing into large societies - thousands, then millions - we needed shortcuts to judge strangers.

So we invented status proxies.

• Degree = smart

• Money = capable

• Marriage = stable

• Religion = moral

• Followers = important

• Reputation = trustworthy

Humans eventually began confusing the proxy for the trait. Status didn’t just become a signal.  It became the substitute.

We may be the only species that ties belonging to symbolic achievement.

• Parents loving children only when they perform.

• Families assigning worth by career.

• Social circles based on prestige.

• Admiration of power regardless of morality.

"I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. 

A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself."

Self Pity by D.H. Lawrence

We often wonder why humans kill themselves drowning in depression.  Thinking to ourselves, “I'm sure they wouldn't have if they knew how much they were loved.”

Animals may die from stress or grief. Humans may be the only species capable of ending their lives over status, shame, or the loss of belonging.

The inconvenient truth is we don't love each other unconditionally anymore. 

Conditional love tied to status is actually a well-studied psychological phenomenon called Conditional Regard.

It’s strongly linked to:

• Narcissistic family systems.

• Performance-based parenting.

• Status-driven cultures.

You see the fallout everywhere. People hit their forties and suddenly feel dead inside.  They chase obscure spirituality, mysticism, reinvention.  They power through each day like they’re dragging cinder blocks.

Unprocessed childhood pain mixed with relentless achievement leading nowhere may be where we lost our way.

Because we no longer sit around fires telling stories in the moonlight.  We sit under artificial light in cities of millions when our ancestors rarely encountered more than a hundred people in a lifetime.

We don’t create art.

We don’t make music.

We don’t rest.

We don’t reflect.

Most people don’t even know how to process pain anymore except to distract themselves into Crossfit or selfies. 

What happens if worth continues to be assigned to powering through our unprocessed past toward an endless pile of shiny objects?

Recently Uber CEO Dara Khosrowshahi was quoted saying there is no greater achievement than working hard. Uber generates roughly eight billion dollars in annual profit.

My stomach turned hearing him tout this, not because of the money. Who wouldn’t like more money?

But because of the implication.

Working hard… for what?

We all understand the deal. Work hard so the machine grows.  Receive a title.  Buy a bigger house.  Repeat.

Like most corporations, human value isn’t measured in kindness. Or safety. Or how well we care for our tribe. Or art. Or expression.

And then we act surprised when people snap?

When we leave society.

When we drink ourselves into a socially acceptable numbness.

When Dave Chappelle walked away from a $50 million show and disappeared to Africa.

When millions quietly quit during the Great Resignation.

When others retreat into forests, monasteries, or rooms they rarely leave.

Somewhere along the way we didn’t just start admiring feathers.  We replaced character with them.

So what do we do now? Cry into our kombucha and wander barefoot through the woods looking for a cabin? Probably not. 

But maybe it starts with something simple.

Conversation.

Asking eachother:

• When was the last time you took in the sunset without posting it?

• What matters more to you, compassion or status?

• When was the last time you created something just because it was beautiful?

Because until we start asking better questions we’ll keep growing feathers trading our invaluable character for more… Shiny Objects.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

Everyone loves to throw around “use boundaries” like it’s the silver bullet for mental health, weight loss and world peace.

But using boundaries against the wrong people often makes them blame your character. And using boundaries inside the wrong system can fail - brutally - causing even more harm.

But no one talks about that part.

Maybe it’s less about “using boundaries” and more about our accountability to protect ourselves.

And part of that accountability is understanding the entire risk because when people harm repeatedly with malicious intent, it’s rarely just about them.

It’s about systems that protect them. Systems that excuse them and reinterpret your pain as the problem.

If anyone’s ever studied narcissistic dynamics, they are rarely lone wolves.

They work very hard to maintain a support structure as enforcement - pawns, flying monkeys, enablers.

So when we put up a fence between us and an abusive person but fail to understand that the gate stays open for the enablers, then what?

• A boundary without power becomes just a sentence.

• And a boundary inside an abusive system is an invitation.

Because boundaries are only effective when consequences are real and the system respects them.

Years ago my sister and I were on a road trip by ourselves. I was excited to get home that weekend to spend time with my boyfriend.

When we stopped for lunch at a Chick-fil-A in nowhereville Virginia, she asked:

“So what are your plans this weekend?”

At the time, I assumed my struggles were random mental illness. So, I was in therapy learning to practice “boundaries” particularly with her.

So I responded:

“I’m spending the weekend with Jacob.”

She paused, adjusting for the opportunity for control.

“Well you shouldn’t be doing that. You need to spend time with your family this weekend.”

I gulped my diet coke slowly, applying the professional therapeutic suggestion.

“Well, Leigh-Anne, that’s none of your business.”

You would have thought a nuclear reactor exploded the way her eyes bulged.

She leaped up, and snarled “It is MY business,” storming outside to wait in her Jeep.

She always reminds me of a toddler having a tantrum when I barely whisper from independence. Hips swaying. Finger pointing.

So I stayed. Finished my wrap, dipped it in ranch too many times in lieu of running after her.

Eventually I walked outside and opened the car door to an emotional ambush of character assassinations.

Safe in her little private arena, always away from witnesses.

“You are so selfish!”

“All you think about is yourself!”

“What a little entitled bitch - abandoning your family whenever you feel like it!”

Relentless.

Rage.

Hours of screaming.

Character annihilation.

Most of it blacked out.

I held it in for two hours.

Per therapist guidelines:

“Don’t react.”

“Stay calm.”

“She wants you to be her punching bag.”

But boundaries in a pressure cooker feel like chewing gum holding back the Hoover Dam.

Eventually - I broke.

“WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE A BITCH!”

Her eyes sparkled in relief. Like a predator finally taking its first bite.

“How dare you! Do you know how much I do for you and Mama and Daddy? I’ve had enough of you - GET OUT OF MY CAR!”

She pulled over on I-95. Semis flying past to the left. Trees and nothingness to the right.

“Are you insane? This is an interstate!”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll be nice and do you a favor.”

She drove to the next exit. Pulled up to a Subway. Hurled my suitcase towards me and drove off.

Soaked in tears. Shaking and in shock.

I called home. Subconsciously I knew what I was about to hear but always hoping one day they will finally see her for what she is.

My mom answered and I will never forget her voice in that moment.

“What did you do?!”

That’s the part no one explains when they casually suggest boundaries. When the system sides with the abuser, a boundary doesn’t correct the behavior. It re-exposes you as the problem.

Behavior never changes because from their perspective we are always the problem.

Everything was always swept under the rug because Leigh-Anne was “under too much stress.”

So what happens when boundaries blow back and create more hostility?

Should we:

Endure?

Pretend to be Helen Keller?

Or God forbid,

Leave?

Because boundaries with strangers are simple. Boundaries with coworkers have HR. Boundaries in friendships can be negotiated with minimal risk.

But boundaries inside entrenched family systems where harm is allowed, encouraged and protected?

Oh but you only get one family. Well we only get one life too. And without joy and love, what's the point besides...

Appearances.

Illusions.

Lies?

If a system refuses accountability, you cannot boundary your way into safety. You either become accountable for your behavior or you become accountable for protecting yourself.

Sometimes it means cutting contact.

Sometimes it means removing yourself from the entire structure that feeds on you.

Maybe deep down we all know this.

But it’s easier to just have brunch and suggest we all practice... Boundaries.

Author's Note.

Her behavior never changed.

Over a decade later, while I was suicidal from trauma finally catching up, she kicked me out of her house - leaving me homeless - for suggesting she “go take a nap.”

Two weeks before Christmas.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

Did someone hurt your feelings? Forgive them.

Did someone harm you? Forgive them.

Did someone continue harming you after your forgiveness? Forgive them again?

We prescribe forgiveness the way we hand out Advil - fast, easy, socially approved.

But do band-aids clean wounds or conceal them?

Forgiveness has many definitions.

• Some forgive to try to release pain.

• Some forgive to reframe harm as ignorance.

• Some forgive because family or religion told them it was virtuous.

• And some use the term forgiveness to mean dismissing someone.

But traditional forgiveness collapses under simple questions:

What happens when nothing changes?

What happens when harm continues?

Does forgiveness require staying?

Silence?

Endurance?

Or does it require something from the person who caused the harm?

Forgiveness alone does not repair anything.

Repair is something else entirely.

Repair requires harm to be acknowledged, responsibility owned, and behavior changed. Trust is then rebuilt through consistency.

Have you ever felt a genuine apology?

• Not words - change.

• Not regret - accountability.

• Not promises - proof.

When repair happens, forgiveness feels and becomes organic after their accountability. Safety returns. The relationship even strengthens.

Without accountability from the party that caused harm, forgiveness becomes theater. And theater continues harm.

Many people fear accountability because it threatens identity. It threatens family mythology, ego and the story that “we did our best.”

So instead we universalize.

“Everyone has trauma.”

“No one is perfect.”

“We all make mistakes.”

Flatten the harm so no one has to own it, so no one has to change or repair.

But accountability is not annihilation, exile, or death.

Accountability is character.

Families fracture not because someone asked for too much but because someone refused to sincerely apologize.

Marriages end not because forgiveness was withheld but because repair was.

Children distance themselves not because they are bitter but because harm went unnamed.

Holding the line to wait for accountability is not cruelty.

Holding the line is integrity.

Holding the line is accountability to respect ourselves when no one else will.

Releasing relationships that refuse repair is not resentment. It is self-respect.

Forgiveness without matched accountability is permission.

Forgiveness with accountability is love.

Love does not mean unconditional access, endless tolerance, or absorbing someone else's harm.

Unrepaired harm doesn’t disappear. It burrows. And systems built on avoidance eventually collapse under what they refuse to face.

We are encouraged to forgive without accountability because if we waited for it, we would see how many of our relationships were never rooted in love at all.

Is that shocking? Possibly. Or maybe we always knew.

When continued relational harm and goes unrepaired, it doesn’t vanish. It often compounds into:

Suicide.

Addiction.

Mental illness.

Abusive relationships.

And more.

Processing that unconditional love never existed seems insurmountable until you accept it, climb that mountain and finally feel true peace.

Repair and its refusal reveal truth. And truth is what most systems are built to avoid. Yet truth is the only way to peace.

The only way to know the difference between love and tolerance is to experience...

The Art of Repair.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

Trauma Recovery Expert

Writer & Coach

#traumahealing #traumarecovery #narcissism #HealingJourney #relationships

“Evan was accepted into University of Florida on a baseball scholarship.”

“Emily is in her third year at Miami playing volleyball; then law school.”

“Ryan is in 10th grade… but he’s still short.”

Then the socially acceptable insult followed.

The group laugh.

Her coworker added, “Yeah, I had that problem. ‘Vertically challenged.’ I grew out of it.”

The mother’s eyes stayed dull. Her mouth barely moved before she added,

“But Mike and I are heading to Islamorada next week. Gotta keep the marriage spicy with these kids draining the life from me.”

I cringed.

Because I remember being reduced to a bullet point and a joke.

To many, this is an ordinary conversation.

Acceptable.

Normal.

Funny.

Yet… why does it feel wrong?

Why is our currency placed on accolades, image, credentials, vacations, sex appeal or ultimately - status?

When children are described as exhausting liabilities and marriages as branding exercises, the home stops being a sanctuary.

It becomes a corporation.

And what happens to a child who realizes they are being discussed as an asset?

• Achievements.

• Aesthetics.

• Reputational insurance.

• An object of acceptable good parenting.

Instead of a person.

What happens to the “short” one in that story?

Does he begin to understand:

• His body is negotiable.

• His value is conditional.

• His existence is comedic relief.

What happens to the “successful” ones?

The scholarship son learns:

• I am loved when I perform.

The law-school daughter learns:

• I must maintain upward trajectory or I fall from grace.

The short son learns:

• I am a liability.

All three are trapped.

Why do we rarely tell stories of our children’s character?

Their courage.

Their empathy.

Their quiet integrity.

Not the trophies - but the moment they stood up for the girl being picked on.

Not the résumé - but the way they run toward us shouting, “I love you, Mommy!”

Not the GPA - but the tears of joy when their father returns home from deployment.

Not the prestige - but the pride in finishing something they built with their own hands.

Not the image - but their apology that comes unprompted.

Achievement is not the enemy. Conditional worth is.

One weekend visiting my parents, my Dad left an essay on the table - a summary of his life for his high-school reunion.

In it, I found the sentence:

“We still do not have grandchildren, but Leigh-Anne is married to a Naval Commander. Erin Sydney is still single at 30 years old.”

I stared at it.

And burst into tears.

Then rage.

Because in one line, I was not a daughter.

I was a status update.

A comparison.

A deficit.

A footnote.

Only now do I have the words. And a pen.

We talk often about narcissism rising in society.

Yet few of us examine the subtle cruelty embedded in what society rewards. When value is tied to representation, does that build character. Or does it quietly cultivate fragility and ego?

We all know the answer.

But this isn’t about pointing fingers. It begins with looking inward.

• How we speak about our children.

• How we shape what they believe is valuable.

• How we respond when they fail.

• How we celebrate their character.

And maybe, instead of asking about scholarships, we ask:

“How do your children feel?”

No one loves their children more because of a degree from Harvard.

No one gains integrity from commas in a bank account.

No one grows character from vacations or handbags.

Character grows from something less glamorous, but far more enduring:

Unconditional love.

Boundaries without humiliation.

Accountability paired with repair.

Mirrored kindness.

Encouragement to develop an inner world.

Character is the only currency that holds its value. Everything else fluctuates and fades.

So reflect.

What value do you assign to your children’s character?

And more importantly...

What value do you assign to your own?

Because in the end, character is all that remains.

Because character is our only true... Currency.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

Trauma Recovery Expert

Writer & Coach

#traumarecovery #traumahealing #narcissism #HealingJourney #relationships

Is belonging the opposite of loneliness? Or is being seen and recognized the opposite of loneliness?

Looking back on my childhood, I realized my deepest scar wasn’t just the lack of love.

It was feeling like I didn't belong.

Not being chosen.

Feeling exiled, yet told it was because I was “too little.”

Always on the outside, yet holding their hands to say the blessing.

Being compared as if nothing was ever good enough.

Constantly judged, belittled - having everything on the surface, but nothing I craved.

Hearing constant screaming, arguing, gaslighting - then being served meatloaf and rushed off to cheerleader practice.

When I got older, it became the ache of knowing I was nothing more than a disappointment.

It never mattered how kind I was.

How curious I was. How loyal I was. How beautiful I tried to be. How much I told the truth. How deeply I craved connection.

Because it was all drowned out by the sound of my family’s disappointment.

A sound as loud as gas.

Always there.

Never acknowledged.

Yet choking you.

I never had the words then, so like many, I held it in.  But like all pain from abuse, it leaked out.

People pleasing.

Rage.

Eating disorders.

Trying too hard, then giving up.

Bottles of Sauvignon Blanc.

Xanax.

Exciting and cruel men.

Romance that went nowhere except rolling my eyes somewhere in an oversized bathroom.

The sound of keys and cocaine.

Wondering how you got home. 

Beautiful, fun friends who scratched the itch but never made it go away.

Yearning for love yet bored by boring love.

Excelling in a career, only to check out from the crippling depression.

Finding yourself in yoga, only to realize nothing could fill the hollowness.

Never knowing which direction to turn except toward the glugging sound of your third bottle, while wondering if your dog notices.

Eventually, we realize that what we yearn for is not love, success, or even happiness.

It’s to be seen.

Met.

Recognized.

Included for who we are.

Cherished.

Invited.

This is much deeper than belonging for the sake of image.  This is about having a seat at the table without feeling like you have to apologize for existing.

When we keep searching, we eventually reach a crossroads.

A crippling reality.

If we tell the truth about how we feel, how we always felt - we discover that what we thought were our deepest connections, our friends, our family...

Were never real.

Because if they had truly loved us unconditionally, they would not have treated us that way.

And if they had realized it was a mistake, they would have been accountable when we finally found the courage to ask.

Instead, they treat us like we’re still the problem.

Unwell. Too sensitive. Insane.

And ultimately - a joke.

So - many of us are left with three choices:

• Mask who we really are.

• End our lives.

• Or tell the truth by finally seeing ourselves.

When we choose to see ourselves, we naturally end what we once believed were our closest relationships.

I don’t talk to my family anymore - except for one. They reached out only a few times early on to shame me. Most of my closest friends fell away.

Authenticity is a word thrown around casually, but what it actually means is choosing reality.

And the cost is that nearly everything you had falls away.

When you choose to include yourself. Belong to your truth. Marry accountability. Live smaller.

You realize something devastating and freeing at the same time:

Loneliness feels worse when surrounded by empty connection.  What matters more than family, friends, and the image of connection...

Is being seen.

So look inside.

Invite yourself.

See your truth.

See yourself.

Because then you may finally just - Belong.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀 Trauma Recovery Expert Writer & Coach #traumahealing #traumarecovery #narcissism #HealingJourney #relationships

• Were we born with a psychological system of checks and balances?

• Is the ability to regulate our own behavior, emotions, inner world something we still have?

• What if this capacity is not merely a skill, but an underused, misunderstood psychological organ?

• What if many of the things we call “symptoms,” “personality,” or even “character flaws” are downstream effects of this being underdeveloped, fractured, or defensively shut down?

• And why is this rarely known, discussed or more importantly encouraged to grow?

Before answering, let’s step back and observe if you can you feel yours.

Have you ever noticed yourself noticing?

Perceived yourself feeling?

Wondered, why am I the way I am?

Questioned your impact on others?

Felt comfortable not knowing - even briefly?

Wanted the absolute truth rather than a comforting version of reality?

If you feel curiosity rather than defensiveness while reading this, your observer may already be online or at least capable of coming online.

The Crossroads.

Humans are all born with the capacity for self-reflection. But not everyone keeps it. Early development presents a crossroads where this ability is either:

Encouraged, flattened or forged under pressure.

This capacity is known in psychology as metacognition, a term coined by John Flavell in 1970 - the ability to think about one’s own thinking.

I prefer calling it the Internal Observer. It feels less mechanical. Because it describes a lived experience, not just a cognitive function.

More human.

More honest.

Less formal.

How the Observer Fractures.

The Internal Observer doesn’t disappear randomly. It is shaped by environment especially our earliest relationships. And for many, our parents. One of the most reliable ways to fracture it is chronic invalidation.

Not disagreement but erasing a child’s reality.

“That didn’t happen.”

“You’re too sensitive.”

“You’re remembering it wrong.”

“That’s not how it was.”

“He didn’t mean it.”

The lesson the child learns is not I was wrong, but “my perception is unreliable or dangerous.” From here, self-trust collapses. External authority replaces inner reference and the observer weakens.

Another fracture point occurs when reflection itself is punished.

When children explain intent and are accused of “talking back.” When curiosity is labeled as defiance. When reflection is reframed as manipulation or drama. Reflection becomes associated with threat, so the brain adapts and says:

“Don’t look inward.”

“Don’t explain.”

“Don’t examine.”

“Just comply… or dominate.”

The observer goes offline not from stupidity, but from survival.

Emotion Without Distance.

Many children are never taught: “You are having an emotion.” Instead, they are told: “You are the emotion.”

“You are bad.”

“You are wrong.”

“You are defiant.”

There is no separation between: feeling, behavior or identity. And without that separation, distance cannot form. Without distance, regulation is impossible.

The Death of Ambiguity.

Another quiet killer of the observer is forced certainty from parenting.

“Because I said so.”

“Have faith.”

“Don’t question it.”

“This is just how it is.”

Ambiguity becomes intolerable. But ambiguity tolerance is the oxygen of metacognition. Without it the observer cannot form. The mind seeks a closed version of reality over truth and certainty becomes emotional regulation.

This is why rigid belief systems like ideological, religious, or psychological correlate so strongly with narcissistic structures. Not because belief is dangerous, but because certainty is being used to regulate emotion.

Humiliation and the False Self.

Perhaps the most devastating fracture occurs when vulnerability is humiliated.

Laughing at a child for crying.

Mocking fear.

Public shaming.

Sarcasm when a child expresses confusion.

The lesson becomes a child’s inner awareness equals humiliation. So, their psyche adapts by dissociating, hardening, externalizing blame, or worse - construction of the false self. Because the observer became unsafe.

But What Builds a Healthy Observer?

This contrast matters.

The observer grows in environments where inner experience is treated as real, separate, and examinable. Simple phrases:

“What do you think is happening inside you right now?”

“That makes sense - tell me more.”

“It’s okay to not know yet.”

“Feelings come and go.”

“It’s okay to feel angry or sad.”

Key conditions are found:

1. Emotions named without fusion.

2. Curiosity without punishment.

3. Disagreement without abandonment.

4. Permission to revise their understanding.

The child learns one thing: “I can watch myself safely.” And that’s the seed.

Forging the Observer under pressure.

Not all observers are gently cultivated - some are forged.

When a child grows up in an environment where reality is denied, emotion is punished, and safety is inconsistent, their psyche sometimes adapts in a different way. And this distinction is still poorly understood.

Instead of shutting down reflection entirely, the child is forced to develop an internal vantage point to survive.

This happens when no external adult can be trusted to tell the truth. The child must track moods, danger, and contradictions. Survival depends on noticing patterns others deny.

In these environments, the observer is not encouraged. It is required.

The child learns:

“I must watch carefully.”

“I must notice what isn’t said.”

“I must understand before I can be safe.”

This produces a heightened self-observing capacity early in life often paired with hypervigilance, dissociation, or over-responsibility. This is the cost.

When a forged observer develops without protection, guidance, or titration, truth arrives too early, too fast, and too alone. Rather than being buffered by safety, curiosity, and repair - insight becomes a survival tool.

This is why some highly reflective individuals later experience:

• Identity collapse when truth accelerates.

• Periods of psychological overwhelm.

• Existential grief that others cannot tolerate.

• Delayed integration rather than avoidance.

The observer was always present but unsupported. Forged observers often mistake intensity for strength and truth exposure for healing. And without regulation, too much truth too fast can overwhelm any system.

This is not a failure of insight. It is a failure of containment. And it is why within trauma recovery, like medication - truth is titrated because truth can compromise identity if accepted too fast.

Sudden identity collapse can precipitate psychosis. Identity restructuring after abuse must be gradual to be integrative rather than destabilizing.

When integration occurs after healing, truth is metabolized rather than survived. Forged observers often become exceptionally precise, ethical, and reality oriented. Instead of comfort they are attached to coherence. They do not seek certainty. They seek truth. This is why people like this are often misunderstood and why they struggle in systems built around symptom management, control and avoidance rather than integration.

Culture Finishes What Abuse Starts.

Abuse is the primary destabilizer of the observer, and culture often prevents its repair.

• Authoritarianism.

• Performance culture.

• Spiritual bypassing phrases like:

  • “She is a demon.” or “I am experiencing this due to past life karma.”

• Certainty worship.

This is why you see:

• Highly intelligent adults

• Verbally sophisticated people

• Morally serious or “spiritual” individuals

• With little to no self-reflective capacity.

They were trained what to think, not how to watch themselves thinking.

Narcissism Revisited.

Narcissism is not caused by a primary lack of empathy or desire for control. It is shaped by environments where self-observation was punished, unsafe, or never modeled. Over time this causes:

A calcified false self.

Reflection that feels like annihilation.

External regulation replaces inner regulation.

Control.

Power.

Humiliation.

Reality distortion.

Without an observer, character development stalls. With one, character develops.

Why This Is Often Avoided in Therapy.

• If this internal observer is so central, why is it so rarely named, assessed, or deliberately strengthened in modern psychotherapy?

• Why do many therapeutic models focus on symptom management while leaving the observing capacity untouched?

• Why do some clients feel momentary relief but no internal reorganization?

• And why do certain patients disappear the moment therapy begins to point inward?

One uncomfortable possibility is this:

Strengthening the observer changes the power dynamics of therapy. A client with a functioning observer becomes harder to control, harder to direct, and less dependent on external regulation.

They ask better questions. They notice incongruence. They no longer accept insight handed down without integration.

This makes therapy shorter. It also makes some therapeutic roles obsolete.

Another possibility is more sobering. You cannot guide someone to a place you cannot stand yourself.

If a therapist lacks the capacity to observe their own defensiveness, attachment needs from abuse, or certainty hunger, they will unconsciously steer clients away from those same internal territories. Not out of malice, but out of avoidance.

So, the work quietly shifts toward techniques, medication, labels, protocols, or endless processing.

Safer.

Predictable.

Billable.

And limited.

To truly strengthen the internal observer requires tolerating ambiguity, shame from truth, and the possibility of being wrong. Not all clinicians are trained for this. And not all systems reward it. And in some cases, cultivating a client’s observer would remove the very reason they remain in therapy at all.

That is not an accusation. It is a structural tension worth examining. And one we should all question.

An Ancient Insight.

Long before modern psychology and philosophy, Socrates named this plainly:

“The unexamined life is not worth living.”

Not as insult - but as diagnosis. The examined life requires an observer. Many names but one function.

Different traditions describe the same:

• Capacity.

• Metacognition.

• Meta-consciousness.

• Reflective functioning.

• Mentalization (Fonagy).

• Meta-awareness.

• Decentering / cognitive defusion. (ACT).

• Observing ego (psychoanalysis).

• Practical wisdom (phronesis).

• Reflexive consciousness.

• Different vocabularies, same function.

A Final Question.

What if psychological health depends less on symptom reduction and more on the ethical, careful strengthening of metacognition?

What if healing is not about becoming calm but becoming able to observe ourselves without fleeing?

And if you’ve made it this far without flinching, dismissing, or attacking - you may already know your own psychological organ.

Sydney Turcotte

Trauma Expert, Writer & Coach

And then he asked me,

“So, what happens if you ever go back?”

My jaw tightened and my neck pulled backward. It felt like someone asking me to step into a time machine and return to first grade - wearing jellies, eating a Fruit Roll-Up, pretending that was still my world.

The thought was so strange that my answer didn’t come right away. Not because I didn’t know but because that was the moment it finally clicked.

Once you truly leave any abusive system, this is what it feels like.

We can’t go back to first grade as adults because we aren’t children anymore. Our identity is adult. We pay taxes, fold laundry, snore, and willingly eat broccoli.

The thought is nostalgic at best, never longing. Like playing house with Legos and a GI Joe.

Sure, the idea can seem pleasant at times. It’s not like you were whipped and chained every moment. But then the churning in your gut hits.

The back of your teeth clenching from being laughed at.

Watching your mother roll her eyes like steam releasing from sheer disgust.

Being whipped with a belt, your tiny hands covering your body just for telling the truth.

Screaming to be believed and proven innocent.

Humiliated for existing, never knowing when the next character assassination would begin.

Going back isn’t an option not because you’re unwilling, but because it’s incompatible with reality.

Holidays don’t matter. Weddings. Funerals. It would feel like attending a stranger’s funeral. Like reaching for a light switch that isn’t there.

“Once you see it, you can’t go back” isn’t a metaphor. It’s what happens when you finally feel who you always were.

Staying all those years was only possible because reality hadn’t been accepted yet. Normal wasn’t real. It belonged to my false self - my false reality, my false identity.

When this finally dawned on me, I began searching for similar experiences in others. What I found wasn’t philosophical. It was clinical.

When people leave cults (or cult-like systems) and reach the point where return becomes impossible, a specific cluster of symptoms appears.

Not everyone experiences all of them, but the sequence is remarkably consistent.

1. Temporal rupture.

“It feels like another lifetime.”

“I can remember it, but I can’t inhabit it.”

Identity has consolidated. The brain has reorganized around a new reality. Going back feels categorically wrong, not dangerous.

2. Rejection without longing.

There is no yearning. No pull. Just a neutral absence. Relief. Peace. Like the quiet that follows leaving a war zone or being cancer free.

This is post-integration, not fear.

3. Loss of optional contact logic. Thinking shifts from:

“Boundaries”

“Limited contact”

“Maybe holidays”

To:

“This is incompatible.”

“There is no version of this that works.”

“Going back would require pretending.”

4. Grief without bargaining. There is grief, but it’s different.

Grief for lost time.

Grief for who you were.

Grief for what never existed.

What’s missing is bargaining, hope for repair, or fantasies of accountability.

The illusion is dead.

5. Final marker:

Going back is unfathomable, not forbidden. People don’t think:

“I’m not allowed to go back.”

They think:

“That isn’t real anymore.”

Ultimately, return would require lying. And truth has become our new identity.

So I found myself asking readers:

If an abusive family isn’t a cult - what is it?

And if we already know the system is wrong but still refuse to name it, the real question isn’t whether we could return.

The question is:

How would we ever recover from - The Return?

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

Trauma Recovery Writer & Coach

As Seen on The Dr. Ramani Network

#traumahealing #traumarecovery #narcissism #HealingJourney #relationships

Open any social media app and you’ll be flooded with narcissism content.

Explaining them.

Analyzing them.

Labeling them.

Top 5 signs you’re dating a narcissist!

Why they never say “I’m sorry.”

What type of narcissist was your ex?

What they really mean when they say these 10 things.

We consume it like kids gorging on Halloween candy.

A-ha!

That’s him.

That’s her.

I knew it.

Finally!

But it’s never finally.

So we keep scrolling.

Keep reading.

Keep searching.

Looking for the proof they can change.

Proof they’ll love us again.

Proof we didn’t waste our time and lives.

Proof we mattered.

What no one asks is - why?

Why we’re attracted to them at all.

Why ambiguity feels familiar instead of alarming.

Why disrespect isn't repellent to us.

Why we go back again and again.

Because asking why connects patterns.

And patterns shatter identities.

No one randomly ends up in narcissistic abuse.

Healthy people are not turned on by disrespect.

Healthy people sense blurred boundaries and leave - the first time.

Understanding the why is destabilizing. It forces you to turn the mirror around. It makes you question your life.

Your family.

Your closest relationships.

Your parents.

And that is terrifying.

But it is also freeing.

The truth is - it starts in childhood.

And we are attracted to them because we are trying to fix what we couldn't in childhood.

Every time.

Not by accident.

Not without a pattern.

Chronic invalidation.

Conditional love.

Emotional neglect.

Being silenced or shamed for having feelings.

Not being a priority.

Being misunderstood.

Scapegoating.

Punished for telling the truth.

Humiliation masked as discipline.

Never quite enough.

This isn’t just “toxic.”

This isn’t just “trauma.”

This is abuse.

Were your parents evil demons intent on destroying you?

No.

But intent does not erase accountability - just as a drunk driver doesn’t undo harm from killing someone by meaning well.

Most families are formed by adults who never integrated their inner selves. And without that integration, a false self develops.

A false reality then follows.

And often, children become part of that false identity rather than individuals to be loved.

It isn’t that they wouldn’t love us.

It isn’t that there's anything wrong with us.

It’s that they couldn’t love anyone - because they never learned how to love themselves.

Is this an oof moment?

Yes.

Absolutely.

But so is alcoholism.

Suicide.

Domestic violence.

Financial ruin.

Divorce.

Mental illness.

Overdoses.

Each with the exact same root cause.

The most dangerous place on earth is behind smiling walls.

But come on is there a silver lining?

A fairy tale?

Relief?

Is there a way out?

Yes.

And it’s not coping.

It’s healing.

It begins with accountability -

from our parents,

and from ourselves.

Accountability for the pain we refuse to face.

Accountability that we are not to blame but are responsible for removing the wounds.

When we radically accept reality,

grieve the lie of the life we thought we had,

and process the pain we were trained to deny,

we find peace.

Is it hard?

It’s the hardest fucking thing you will ever do.

And it’s why some people waste years in therapy doing nothing but coping inside an alphabet-soup of prescriptions.

So what is your integrity worth?

What is the price of peace?

What does self-respect cost?

Would you like to heal or just pretend?

Prioritizing connection over integrity is the death of self.

Grieving the truth - that we were never fully loved is not cruelty.

It is liberation.

It is the why.

And it is the only way to peace.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

Trauma Recovery Expert

Writer & Coach

Dr. Ramani

#traumahealing #traumarecovery #narcissism #HealingJourney #relationships

1. Ross, A.G. (2024). Adverse childhood experiences as a risk factor for narcissistic personality development.

Journal: Journal of Personality Disorders.

Findings: Analysis concluded that Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) including neglect, abuse, and dysfunctional household environments are a primary risk factor for the development of narcissistic traits in adulthood.

2. Madigan, S., Deneault, A.-A., et al. (2023). Adverse childhood experiences: Meta-analysis across 206 studies with 500,000 adults.

Journal: Systematic Review in Psychological Science.

Findings: Comprehensive meta-analysis of ACEs showing widespread prevalence and long-term associations with adult mental health problems, risk behaviors, and psychosocial difficulties.

3. Carone, N. (2024). Influence of childhood emotional abuse and neglect on adult relational behaviors.

Journal: Journal of Interpersonal Violence.

Findings: Childhood emotional abuse and neglect were found to directly influence adult patterns of attachment and love addiction highlighting emotional maltreatment, not just physical abuse, as impactful.

SAGE Journals

4. Baldwin, J.R., et al. (2023). Childhood maltreatment and adult psychiatric outcomes.

Journal: American Journal of Psychiatry.

Findings: Large review showing clear associations between early maltreatment and later mental health problems, including mood disorders, personality disorders, and substance use, although causal mechanisms are still being mapped.

5. Yu, Z., et al. (2024). Depression risk and early life adversity: A meta-analysis of 87 studies with 213,006 participants.

Journal: Frontiers in Psychiatry.

Findings: Individuals exposed to early life adversities - including emotional abuse, neglect, domestic violence, and parental separation - were significantly more likely to develop depression in childhood or adolescence.

6. Juwariah, T., et al. (2022). Childhood adversities and ICD-10 mental health problems: A systematic review.

Source: PMC Free Article.

Findings: Childhood adversities - such as family dysfunction, parental divorce/absence, and household stress are significantly associated with diagnosable mental disorders, substance abuse, and suicidal behavior.

7. Iob, E., et al. (2022). ACEs and depression trajectories in youth.

Journal: Molecular Psychiatry.

Findings: Specific ACEs are consistently linked to elevated depression risk, with threat-related adversities (e.g., violence) showing especially strong associations with depressive symptoms.

8. Nelson, C.A. (2020). Childhood adversity and long-term health outcomes.

Journal: BMJ.

Findings: High-impact review showing that early childhood adversity - including abuse and neglect put children at risk for wide-ranging psychological, social, and biological health disorders later in life.

In a New York Times article published today, “Is That Really Narcissism?” the author writes:

“If narcissists truly want to change, they can get help from a therapist.”

This sentence gets people hurt. 

Not because it’s malicious.  But in abuse dynamics, hope is not neutral. Hope is the mechanism that keeps victims stuck.

We want to believe people can change.

That is why narcissism content dominates social media.  Most people consuming it are searching for the sliver of proof that their hope is truth - not a lie.

That abusers will be different. That therapy or time will fix it. That love will reach them.

But decades of clinical observation and longitudinal research prove:

There is no evidence that medication, insight, or traditional psychotherapy produces reliable, sustained change in narcissistic abuse patterns - especially under stress, conflict, or intimacy.

Temporary improvement can occur.  Compliance can occur. Charm can return.  But under stress, behavior predictably reverts.

This is why clinicians describe narcissistic change as situational rather than structural - elastic, not integrated. 

@DoctorRamani has repeatedly described it as a rubber band: briefly stretched, then snapping back under pressure.

So what happens when a victim is told:

“If they really want to change, therapy can help”?

Hope becomes a delay tactic.

Danger increases.

Exit windows close.

The victim is no longer responding to reality - they’re negotiating with potential. And that potential is a lie.

Articles like this are meant to foster compassion.  But compassion without accountability becomes collusion with harm.

Trying to “find the good” in an abuser is like looking for a bunny tail on a polar bear.  It misunderstands the danger of the animal and the absurdity of the risk.

Hope doesn’t just hurt people. In articles like this, hope lies to victims through cherry-picked credentials.

For many survivors, accepting the truth means confronting something devastating:

That entire relationships, marriages, careers - even childhoods - were not misunderstood chapters. They were a lie.

And yes, it’s easier to cling to hope. It is easier to cling to a lie. 

"Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate." - Carl Jung

And yet we say to ourselves.

"They didn’t mean it."

"Maybe I’m overreacting."

"They were so amazing in the beginning."

"Maybe this is just stress."

We’ve all been there.  But those who radically accept reality - who break up with hope - don’t just survive.

They can get free.

And here is the question articles like this never answer:

How does a victim get to safety when they are told their abuser can get help from a therapist?

Hope has crossed a line. It is no longer kindness. It is harm.

As a society, we need to stop softening reality and calling it compassion.

Truth can feel like swallowing barbed wired.  Breaking free can scratch and cut.  Wounds heal.  But lies - steal. 

Stop giving victims hope. Tell them the truth. Let the unconscious be conscious.

Because believing abusers can change doesn’t just put people at risk, it ruins lives, wastes decades, destroys potential, and for many, costs them their life.

Break up with hope.

Marry reality.

Because hope isn’t just a dream.

In abuse, hope is a lie that kills.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

Trauma Expert

Writer & Coach

#narcissist #traumahealing #traumarecovery

Campbell & Foster (2007); Miller et al. (2010) Narcissistic traits are associated with low treatment adherence, poor insight integration, and defensive hostility under challenge.

Ronningstam (2011, 2016) Even in treatment, narcissistic patients often show surface compliance without internal accountability; progress is fragile and stress-dependent.

Dutton & Goodman (2005); Stark (2007) on coercive control Abuse persists through cycles reinforced by hope, apology, and intermittent reinforcement -not ignorance.

Clinical consensus (Dr. Ramani Durvasula, 2019–2024) Insight ≠ change. Therapy does not make abusers safe partners. Victim safety must always supersede abuser potential.

• Why does anger have to be managed at all?

• Why is reaction considered the problem?

• Why are emotions socially unacceptable?

• Why are we taught that suppression is maturity?

If anger management meant feeling, integrating, and choosing action, then by all means - let’s embrace it.

But - it doesn’t.

Anger management, as it is commonly taught, embraced and enforced, is about suppression.

• Erase.

• Contain.

• Silence.

Yes, we shouldn’t blow a gasket in the Starbucks drive-through lane.

But the idea that we shouldn’t feel anger in response to injustice, humiliation, or being wronged is absurd.

• Why isn’t the humiliation we are reacting to the focus?

• Why is it always our reaction under scrutiny?

Herein lies the problem across families, institutions, religion, and society itself:

• Maintain the illusion.

• Suppress truth.

Until we radically accept that suppressing truth IS the root of suffering - nothing changes.

Emotions are truth. Shame is truth. Childhood shame from abuse is the internalized truth of injustice.

Tears, anger, rage, shame, emotions - all truth.

Yes, abusive people rage.  I’ve covered that elsewhere.  This is not the same.

Unhealthy rage is a response to intolerable truth; truth that threatens a false self.  Truth that means they are wrong and need to change.  Because character development is psychologically impossible for them.

When narcissistic individuals cannot process the truth of shame, they project it outward.

And somehow, that is often socially acceptable.

• “Don’t react."

• "You know how they are."

• "She didn’t mean it like that."

• "Stop being so emotional."

• "He is under a lot of stress."

• "Why do you have to make this a big deal?"

And my personal favorite.

• "You know she loves you."

Anger management feels like being eight years old at the dinner table all over again.

When you’re expected to sit quietly, smile politely, and swallow reality even when every cell in your body is screaming that something is wrong.

When you want to just stab a fork in their eye.

And let’s be honest - that impulse exists because abuse is wrong.

But we live in a world of social constructs, so we cannot assign punishment or enact justice like this without legal repercussions.

Yet silencing the reaction is how abuse thrives.

So verbally naming reality? Saying it back to them - plainly, accurately, without apology?

• Let’s say for a moment that it is acceptable. 

• Let’s say it's acceptable for you to tell them exactly who they are and what they did.

• Let’s say you follow that with severing contact with them and anyone who supports them.

Because we know they would rather saw off a limb than offer apology to repair.

Could anger with action be the model for intolerance for abuse?

Would someone dare call that a boundary?

What a concept! 

Would we lose relationships?

Families? Jobs? Marriages?

Yes. Yes, we would.

And maybe that’s the point.

Because anger management, as it is culturally enforced, isn’t about healing - it’s about cohesion.

Keeping families together. Corporations intact. Systems functioning.

Without consequences. Without truth. Without voice.

Anger is not an overreaction. Anger is a signal. It signals a violation, not a character defect.

It is our body's last announcement to reject harm before the mind catches up.

Anger must be completed.

When anger is not met with action, it turns inward... depression, addiction, illness, or a false self.

Anger management doesn’t just fail survivors.

It fails because it asks us to betray reality.

And deep down, we all know it's just a big fat lie.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀 Trauma Recovery Writer

Expert & Coach

@DoctorRamani #narcissist #traumarecovery #traumahealing #emotionalabuse #trauma

Why are feelings wrong?

Frowned upon?

Even shunned?

Because feelings are truth.

Rage is truth.

And society hates truth.

Righteous rage, a term coined in an attempt to justify what shouldn’t need justification, releases one of the most extreme forms of truth.

Rage is not inherently wrong, but perhaps shouldn’t be expressed in the aisles of Target.

In trauma recovery, when we accept, and truly feel reality, rage is often the first release.

It’s something we have all either felt, expressed, or buried.

And what happens when we bury rage?

Suppress truth?

Deny the relief of release?

It either pours out sideways or collapses inward, into addiction, mental illness, or worse - adopting the false self.

Think of how you reacted to witnessing rage in others. And think of how rage felt releasing for you.

Not narcissistic rage.

Let’s shelve that.

But rage at injustice.

Rage at disrespect.

Rage at being silenced.

Dismissed.

Overlooked.

The feeling of them rolling their eyes. The feeling when they laugh at you. The feeling when you bite your tongue so hard you taste blood.

It’s the space between humiliation and ambiguity where rage feels embarrassing, yet their humiliation is somehow socially acceptable.

So we shut down.

Silence ourselves.

And that is the moment trauma compounds.

Yet those who seek control and power through humiliation remain protected, if not encouraged.

When we reflect on experiences like this, it begs the question: why?

Why do we tolerate abuse?

Why are we encouraged to tolerate abuse?

And discouraged from expressing any opposition?

Society’s greatest risk is illusion.

The illusion that we are all fine.

That we must constantly prove how above it all we are.

How strong we are.

How at peace we are.

How beautiful we are.

How successful we are.

How popular, wanted, and accepted we all are.

How flawless we all are at pretending.

How flawlessly we all lie.

And ultimately, how much we must hold our true self, our inner truth and feelings, back to comply.

Rage is when our true self peeks out and finally screams.

Enough!

I’ve fucking had it!

I am done being quiet!

This is wrong!

This is evil!

And everyone is insane for accepting this!

Then comes the relief.

Followed immediately by judgment, from ourselves and from everyone else.

It is only when we make peace with that relief and choose action that rage resolves.

When rage is not met with action it spirals back inside us.

Rage must be completed.

Take the step.

Leave the job.

Divorce.

Move.

Sever ties.

And accept that we can trust our own judgment. Our own truth.

That yes, we are right.

And yes, we must act.

Because rage is a dire warning that we are living a goddamn lie.

Narcissistic rage is different, though often confused with this. Narcissism exists on a spectrum with common traits:

False self called the ego.

Intolerance to shame, which is simply truth.

Lack of empathy due to little or no connection to an inner self.

And the inability to change.

When narcissistic individuals experience rage, it is because they are confronted with truth and it becomes unbearable.

So they project their truth onto you, a narcissistic rage response known as projection.

Understanding the difference between these forms of rage is critical. Something society must grasp.

Perhaps anger management is often just a class in how to suppress truth and how to better comply with the illusion of society.

Perhaps it is an education on how to lie.

But it is up to us to listen to our inner self.

To trust ourselves enough to express truth.

To feel the relief.

To take action.

And forge a path where rage does not have to become the final escape hatch to live honestly.

Maybe living authentically isn’t the absence of rage.

Maybe living authentically is the result of surrendering to - The Power of Rage.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

Writer & Trauma Recovery Expert

As Seen on Dr. Ramani

#narcissism #traumahealing #traumarecovery #mentalhealthmatters #relationships #rage

Betrayal is clear as ice yet burns like fire.

In our bodies. We know what it tastes like.

It’s blood.

Even when we try to bury it, pretend they didn’t mean it, rewrite the story to make it hurt less.

We know.

We always knew.

We just needed to remember.

When we heal - when we drop the masks, trauma haze and step into who we really are -

We start seeing.

We understand.

We remember.

We know.

And the knowing is almost sickening.

Because suddenly you can feel, with brutal accuracy, who is in your corner…

and who never was.

Even when the lines look blurred.

Even when the story doesn’t make logical sense.

Even when society calls you dramatic, unethical, unhinged, or wrong.

You see the invisible.

You understand the unknown.

You recognize the moral truth hidden beneath situations that look “messy” from the outside.

Connection stops being social currency.

They become survival.

And choosing that kind of connection is rare - rare like diamonds pulled from fire.

It’s like sorting through thousands of applications and choosing only a handful.

Or maybe just one.

Trust isn’t earned.

It’s recognized.

It’s felt in your bones.

It’s knowing who will never betray you - not because they’re perfect, but because they never have.

Someone who never cut you down.

Never mocked your wounds.

Never tried to shrink you.

Even with their own limitations.

That kind of person becomes your compass.

Your internal code.

Your true north.

And maybe - just maybe - that’s why people reappear in our lives the moment we finally understand what loyalty actually tastes like.

Betrayal is blood.

Loyalty is oxygen.

And loyalty is always...

Known.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

Trauma Recovery Writer & Expert

@DoctorRamani

#narcissism #betrayalrecovery #traumahealing traumarecovery loyalty

They did the best they could.

Why is this not enough?

Because it suggests we weren’t enough.

It insists they were.

But we were enough.

And we are enough.

They weren’t.

And they could have been.

And they chose not to be.

That is the betrayal.

The lie that soothes the edges just enough.

Just enough so we don’t gag.

Yet enough that eventually, we do.

That’s the thing about abuse.

It wasn’t trauma. The fancy word we now use instead of the real one.

Abuse.

Neglect.

Intentional betrayal.

It was a conscious choice.

A choice to love other things more.

They chose to dismiss us. They chose to roll their eyes at us. They chose contempt.

We know the ache of disappointment we learned to hide and swallow down with Chardonnay.

We feel it in the pit of our stomachs. Like nausea before we flinch, that tastes like bile. 

It’s why we spend our lives chasing validation.

Proving we are enough.

Because the truth feels impossible to face. Even though it isn't.

That our caregivers, parents, families actively chose:

Not to heal their own pain. Not to be present. Not to comfort us. Not to love us unconditionally.

But what did they choose?

They chose cowardice.

They chose to sweep away the truth of their pain. 

They chose to look away from their own truth.

They chose to look away from vulnerability in the eyes of their own children. 

They chose to lie.

And they chose anything other than doing the right thing.

They chose not to do the best they could.

But we tell ourselves they did.

We tell others this, too.

To seem evolved.

Above it.

Above the abuse.

Above the neglect.

Above the betrayal.

Above the word trauma - we now wear like a Gucci belt.

Above our God-given right to love, right to their accountability, and right to justice.

“They did the best they could” really means:

They didn’t. They never really did.

Their best was just a glimpse that they could.

Many of our parents are still living, breathing adults.

Capable of choosing accountability.

Capable of repair.

Capable of reconciliation.

Capable of getting it right.

Capable of saying, I’m sorry.  I failed you.

But they choose the lie.

They still choose the lie.

Because if they were innocent, a genuine apology would come easily.

Instead, they leave us to clean up their mess.

Then society applauds.

Good job swallowing reality.

Good job pretending like us.

Fitting in.

Lying.

Letting our parents lie.

And then we pass it on.

To our children.

When does it end?

It ends when we decide to be brave. When we feel the truth.

When we face our pain in order to heal instead of lying that we have been.

When we face the whole truth.

When we grieve the lie and feel the reality.

When we choose - this time.

Their accountability or closing the door when they refuse.

Not by force. By self-respect.

By loving the child in us they refused to love.

By getting it right this time.

Because the truth is we cannot have it both ways. 

Having it both ways sacrifices our dignity.

And dignity is all we have. 

Avoiding truth doesn’t make us virtuous.

It makes us complicit.

The socially acceptable version of forgiveness is bullshit.

Because that version of forgiveness requires us to sacrifice.

Not them.

In what world is forgiveness without accountability okay?

It isn’t. It never was.

Yet no one says it.

So we marinate in it.

We cheer it on.

We reward the choke.

We reward silence.

We reward anesthetized forgiveness sold as virtue.

Forgiveness without accountability is permission.

Complicity.

And this gross, unequal calculus is normalized, prepackaged, and sold as healing.

While we buy more bottles and down pills to cope with the cold lie.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

They can apologize. Repair is possible.

Love can still grow - if they choose it.

When we finally allow ourselves to get it right.  To stop choking and lying to everyone and the dog. 

They never did the best they could.

But they still can.

And maybe one day one of them will own it.

So a few of us could say:

They did more than the best they could.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀

Trauma Recovery Writer

Expert | Coach

As Seen on Dr. Ramani

#narcissism #betrayal #traumahealing #traumarecovery #relationships #trauma