A Narcissist Tried to Erase Me. And I'm Still Here.

Hi my dear,

I woke up thinking about what to write today.
Something for myself—from the deep, silent thoughts of my humanity.

I remembered that my vacation week was almost over in just a few hours.
I remembered what I felt after my trip to Boston.
(Check out my post about about it here: A letter to the me who got here.)

I remembered that I was autonomous. Sovereign.
But part of myself wanted to keep me safe from the pre-suffering of returning to work.

I was scrolling through YouTube and I found a Documentary analysis by Farid Dieck: El LADO más OSCURO de la RELIGIÓN | Iceberg | Documental
As he began telling the story about Jim Jones, I was chewing on the horror like pop corn.
Then something shifted.
I felt the ghost of a memory rise up in me

I almost didn't get this far.

A few years ago, the father of my children tried to choke me.
He was angry because I had started dating someone else—after he abandoned his family and started over with another woman.

I remember the ceiling more than his face.
The lack of air in my lungs.
The pressure of over 200 pounds of weight.
His knee pressing down my chest.
His voice calling me "whore".

I could barely whisper: "You are choking me".
My eyes felt like they were popping out my skull.
My vocal cords felt like they were tearing.
He got scared and pulled back—but he started hitting me in the face, still calling me "whore," all in front of our daughter.

I've cried that scene so may times.
But I had to liberate myself from that memory—because I had to survive.
I had a toddler and a baby to protect.

I've told close friend. Most of them didn't believe me.
Some were afraid to believe it. Because believing me meant accepting he wasn't the man he pretended to be.

He lied. Said I was lazy. That the kids were starving.
That he only "Threw a glass of water"
At least that part was true.

But today, writing this I remembered something deeper:

I almost didn't get this far

I felt my soul detach from my body.
I felt myself float near the ceiling.
I felt like I had entered another life—one where I was a ghost, visiting my own unfinished story.

I took a mint and drank some water to shake myself awake.
I wasn't happy to be alive.
I was grateful to myself for keeping me alive.

A part of me took my hand. She helped me survive that memory.
She kept it close enough so I'd never forget what kind of person he really was—but distant enough so I could function.
So I could save myself.
So I could save my children.

I see that part of me now. And I thank her.
I also see you—if you're reading this and surviving violence.
I see you. You can push through.

Any kind of violence—physical, psychological, spiritual.
You are not crazy. You are not exaggerating.
You are a human being. A beautiful one.
And you will make it—even when it feels everything is against you.

You will make it.

I am your witness.

After that day, life felt like walking barefoot through lava.
Both families punished me.
They took my children.
I had to live kilometers away and could only see them on weekends.
I had to pay for their expenses while being exiled from their lives.

And yet—he was the one who almost killed me.
He was the one who was unfaithful.
He was the one refused to parent.
And still, I was punished.

He died a few years ago. COVID.

My children don't know that part of their father. But they're starting to see it in their grandparents.
And now—they are choosing differently.
They'd rather be with me—with freedom, unconditional love—than with manipulation disguised as duty and tradition.

This year, I traveled alone to another country.
To a beautiful city, with no help.
Life reminded me: I am already free.

When I got back, I bought a laptop to build my own path.
I rewatched Bridgerton for the 10th time while eating beef jerky.
I tucked my children into bed.
And now I'm writing—without expectations.
Just hope.
Stubbornness.
And freedom.

I'll make my own way.

And you will too.

If you're here, reading this in your own weird, surreal aftermath—you're not alone.

The world tried to erase us.

We are still here.