FATHER WOUND
As I grew older, I began to understand the concept of the father wound — the deep psychological imprint left by an absent, emotionally unavailable, and unsafe father. That wound followed me quietly into adulthood. It showed up in the relationships I chose. In the treatment I tolerated. In how often I confused intensity with love and abandonment with familiarity.
I accepted the unacceptable. I stayed too long. I searched for approval in places where it would never be given. Not because I was weak — but because part of me was still that little girl, trying to earn the love she never received. Even today, years later, I am still learning. Still unlearning. Still confronting the ways trauma shaped my nervous system, my choices, and my sense of worth. Healing is not a straight line. It is messy, confronting, and deeply human. What I do know now is this:
Domestic Violence
That unresolved father wound made me vulnerable in ways I did not yet understand. It is how I ended up in the hands of a narcissist — a young man who did not love me, but studied me. He recognized my longing for safety, approval, and connection, and he used it as a point of entry. What looked like affection was control. What felt like intensity was manipulation. What I believed was love was, in reality, the beginning of captivity. Narcissists do not arrive as monsters. They arrive as answers. What followed was something I never imagined could happen to me. During a trip to Morocco, the mask fell completely. I was isolated, controlled, and stripped of autonomy. My movements were monitored. My fear was minimized. My reality was distorted. I was no longer a partner — I was a possession. I was kidnapped, not by strangers, but by someone I trusted. The abuse escalated quickly. Psychological violence turned into physical danger. There were moments where I genuinely believed I would not survive. Moments where my body knew, before my mind could accept it, that I was in mortal danger.
He almost killed me.
