Chapter 10 - How I Realized I Was Free
From THX Series Hub: The Narcissist’s Playbook & The Life After
A Love Letter to the Quiet Moments That Told Me the Truth
Author’s Note: This post is about the subtle, sometimes invisible ways that freedom reveals itself after abuse. It is not always loud. It is not always clear. But it is always real. If you’re still in the thick of it, let this be a glimpse of what’s waiting for you.
There was no one day.
No parade. No flag raised. No switch flipped.
I didn’t wake up and say, “I’m free now.”
Instead, freedom came in moments.
Quiet, strange, beautiful moments.
Moments so ordinary they almost escaped me.
It came while lying in bed, on the edge of sleep, realizing that no one was about to enter the room with rage, manipulation, or accusation.
It came while sitting in my favorite chair, telling a friend about my day without editing myself.
It came when I looked up at my apartment and saw no clutter, no chaos—just calm, space, and stillness.
It came in FaceTime calls with my daughters—in the light on their faces, in the laughter that no longer had to navigate tension.
It came when I brought them muffins or coffee at college.
When I could do nothing—and it wasn’t punished.
When I said, “I love you,” and heard, “I love you too” back, not as obligation, but as truth.
It came in a sentence that shook something loose in me:
“Dirty dishes are not a moral failure.”
My daughter said it. And I laughed. And something inside me let go.
But it also came in bolder, messier ways:
Envisioning a new city, one I could choose without explaining myself.
Scanning thousands of family photos, reclaiming what mattered, and giving the rest back to her.
Letting go of businesses I once built not for my joy or calling, but to fund someone else's insatiable spending and hoarding.
Freedom came when I drove a U-Haul 350 miles from the only city my daughters had ever known, and built a new home. Not just a place to stay—but a place where we could heal.
It came when I sat quietly on the phone, listening to my sister share a story about her young boys—pausing to lovingly redirect them, staying present with both them and me.
No tension. No guilt. Just love.
This is how I realized I was free:
Not all at once.
But one breath at a time.
One story. One meal. One choice. One laugh.
Freedom is not an event.
It is a slow recognition.
A reintroduction to yourself.
A homecoming.
Reflection Prompt
What unexpected places has your freedom shown up?
What have you let go of—not just physically, but emotionally—that made room for something better?
What does freedom look like in your body, in your calendar, in your conversations?
Interpretation: The sunlit room, simple and still, captures the essence of realized freedom. No chaos, no surveillance—just space to breathe, rest, and be. It reflects the slow, steady noticing of peace as something earned, embodied, and now, undeniable.