Whose story am I still telling?
How to Write About Someone Who Hurt You Without Making Them the Main Character
A reflection on what it means to reclaim your story when their addiction—and narcissism—made you invisible.
They didn’t just hurt you. They forgot you existed. Their pain was the only story they could see, and everyone around them was cast in supporting roles—caretaker, redeemer, audience. You learned that your safety didn’t matter as much as their comfort. You became small to keep the peace, silent to avoid the next storm, watchful in ways that rewired your nervous system.
Addiction with narcissism isn’t just self-destruction—it’s erasure. Their world begins and ends at the border of their pain. Every conversation bends back toward them; every act of care becomes a mirror they demand you hold. You disappear unless you’re reflecting them.
And then, when you try to write about it, the page pulls you back into orbit. You find yourself explaining again—why you stayed, how bad it got, the ways they twisted love into leverage. Writing about them can become another reenactment of their disregard. You end up documenting their world again, instead of your survival.
This is how disregard re-victimizes us: first in life, then on the page. They neglected your safety, your time, your humanity—and if you’re not careful, the story will too.
But you can write differently. You can write like someone whose existence no longer depends on being noticed. You can reclaim the narrative without feeding their mythology.
Your story isn’t about their cruelty or chaos—it’s about the quiet persistence of your own life inside it. It’s about the invisible labor of holding everything together, the instinct that kept you alive when love became unsafe. It’s about how you learned to see yourself again, after being treated as scenery.
Write for yourself, not for the court of public empathy. Write to bear witness, not to persuade. You don’t owe clarity to people who ignored your truth the first time. The point isn’t to prove what happened—it’s to make sure you no longer vanish in the retelling.
Because what they lacked wasn’t just kindness—it was regard.
They didn’t fail to love you. They failed to see you.
Writing Exercise: Reclaiming the Frame
Step 1: Name the Disregard.
Write one paragraph describing what they ignored—not what they did. What parts of you or your life went unseen? What burdens did you carry alone?
Step 2: Center Yourself.
Now rewrite the same moment starting each sentence with I.
I noticed.
I felt.
I decided.
I survived.
No “they.” Only you.
Step 3: Trace the Impact.
Where in your body did disregard live? What did it teach you about safety? What habits still keep you small?
Step 4: Close the Scene.
Write two sentences only:
What I protect now.
What I refuse now.
Step 5: Ritual Exit.
Place your hand on the page and say—out loud if you can—
I am not in that story anymore.
Then date it. The act of naming is how you leave the room.
Prompt:
—and how can I write mine without putting my safety on trial?
📘 From the spirit of The Love & Letting Go Workbook: A Journey Through Love, Addiction, and Letting Go
Find it here: https://www.amazon.com/Love-Letting-Go-Workbook-Addiction/dp/B0F1MMR9PY
