Chapter 8 - Reclaiming My Humanity
From THX Series Hub: The Narcissist’s Playbook & The Life After
Healing After Narcissism
(Framed by PERMAH: Positive Emotion, Engagement, Relationships, Meaning, Achievement, Health & Wellbeing)
Author’s Note: This post is about healing—not through perfection, but through reclaiming joy, connection, and identity after years of emotional and psychological abuse. It draws on the PERMAH framework, which defines human flourishing. Please take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.
After survival, there’s a strange quiet.
Not peace exactly—at least not at first.
But silence.
The silence that comes when you no longer have to defend your reality.
When your nervous system begins to scan the room and finds… nothing threatening.
Just air. Space. Calm.
It’s in that quiet that I started to ask:
What does it mean to reclaim my humanity?
Not just to be free from harm—
But to be alive, engaged, hopeful… whole?
The answer came, slowly, in six dimensions.
Together, they form what positive psychologists call PERMAH—the elements of flourishing.
Here’s how they showed up in my life.
1. Positive Emotion – Letting Joy In Again
After years of tension, joy felt suspicious.
Laughter was once a setup for shame. Smiles often preceded control.
So when I first caught myself smiling—really smiling—I almost flinched.
But slowly, joy came back:
In kitchen dance parties with my daughters cheering me on.
In chopping vegetables for their favorite homemade soup.
In weekend brunches and late-night takeout and early morning coffee runs.
In thousands of “I love yous” freely given and received.
It wasn’t forced. It arrived in micro-moments.
And every time it stayed a little longer, I knew something in me was healing.
2. Engagement – Losing Myself in the Moment
Survival requires hyper-awareness. Healing invites presence.
I found it again when:
I was deeply engaged in client work that aligned with my purpose.
Or when I was driving with the girls, windows down, music loud, and we were just being.
Or chopping those veggies in a rhythm that felt like meditation.
Or reading quietly while they did homework nearby.
That was flow. That was life lived without flinching.
3. Relationships – Choosing Connection That Heals
We were a home rebuilding trust from the inside out.
My daughters learned that love wasn’t a performance.
I learned that showing up consistently—without control, without ego—was enough.
We shared hugs, inside jokes, midnight tears, and quiet “just be here with me” moments.
Slowly, I began forming new friendships again—with people I didn’t have to perform for.
Not everyone came with us.
And that’s okay.
Safety isn’t built on quantity. It’s built on truth.
4. Meaning – Turning Pain Into Purpose
I didn’t go through this for it to end in silence.
I shut down several businesses to focus on the one that mattered most: TCX consulting—work grounded in human experience, transformation, and healing.
I later took a full-time role with one of my clients. It gave me stability, insurance, benefits, and the freedom to be present.
I started writing again—this series, this truth.
I showed my daughters, through my choices, that they never had to stay in harm’s way to protect an illusion.
I used my story as compass, not anchor.
And I gave it meaning by using it to build something better.
5. Achievement – Redefining Success on My Terms
For years, “achievement” meant keeping the peace.
Avoiding her rage. Surviving the day.
Now?
It means making my therapy appointments, and making progress between them.
It means focusing on my health, which I had neglected for years while prioritizing my daughter’s complex medical needs.
It means living a beautiful life—one aligned with who I truly am.
It means integration: no more code-switching, no more living separate realities with different people.
Just one me. Whole. Seen. Safe.
And perhaps most radically—
I finally allowed myself to seek mental health support.
I got therapy. I received a diagnosis of autism.
And for the first time, I knew it wouldn’t be used against me.
6. Health & Wellbeing – Living in a Body That Can Exhale
Trauma lives in the body. But so does peace.
I stopped waiting for the crash.
I let myself rest without guilt.
I returned to doctors without her sabotaging my care.
I chose food, movement, stillness, and support with intention, not fear.
And slowly, my body stopped bracing for the blow that wasn’t coming.
I began to live in a body that could finally exhale.
This Is What Flourishing Looks Like
It doesn’t mean everything is perfect.
It means everything is mine now.
My choices. My voice. My joy. My peace.
I reclaimed my humanity.
Not through one big act—but through the daily, ordinary work of choosing presence over performance, peace over perfection, and truth over silence.
Reflection Prompt
What does flourishing look like for you right now—not someday, not when it’s all fixed—but today?
Which piece of PERMAH feels within reach?
Even if it’s small, even if it’s quiet—begin there.
