Not having closure in a romantic relationship is like a hangnail. It makes everything hard and painful.

The good news is, I finally removed the hangnail.

That’s what closure feels like.

Still tender.

But better.

©2018 Vanessa Elle Wilde. All Rights Reserved.


Now that narcissism is firmly rooted in our collective consciousness and vocabulary, it’s starting to get a little annoying.

Initially, I think it’s an important distinction, a characterization for someone who is frankly, acting like a jackass, leaving those around them totally confused and frustrated. It was helpful.

The first time I heard this word used in regular everyday life, my life, was from my mother’s cancer doctor. I struggled to understand her behavior well before her diagnosis and talked with him about it. He suggested she was a narcissist. It was helpful.

Now, narcissism is the thing that Meetups are made of, headlines run across newspapers, countless articles are available on Medium and even more YouTube videos explaining narcissism, it’s traits, what to look out for and the myriad causes. Oh let’s not forget the copious amounts of counseling sessions I’ve since attended, reiki, meditation and yoga, to clear my energy, balance my chakras and digest the fact that we’re pretty much swimming in a cesspool of fucked up people, including sometimes our parents.

Honestly, I think the word is being overused and it’s a little ridiculous now. But the truth is, it’s helped explain a lot of very hurtful and confusing behavior. The other side of it, is that anyone with a character flaw, emotional outburst or poor social behavior is being a narcissist, and I say “it just ain’t so”.

Narcissism is a serious hurtful condition for those who aren’t narcissists, and a totally fucked up experience if you’re the child (adult or not). It’s crazy making.

So I decide to dive in and read as much as I can in order to understand my mother, not just her behavior, but the root cause. I want to understand her pain. As I am reading and absorbing this new information, the guy I was married to seemed like one, and the guy I’ve been with the last couple of years both seems like they could be as well.


What the hell am I trying to work out by marrying and dating narcissists. It’s been years since this word entered my vocabulary. I love psychology and trying to understand how trauma affects the brain, and the impact and disorderliness of a modern lifestyle. In my experience, most people have suffered some kind of trauma, some people get stuck in that trauma. Some people develop narcissist traits while others don’t. But is everyone who is sad, angry, violent, obsessive or otherwise poorly behaved a narcissist? When is someone just angry? When is someone just afraid? When is someone just totally into you? When is someone a know-it-all and not a narcissist?

These questions have plagued me as I try to wrap my brain around the implications. I went to my counselor one day and asked her If I’m one too. I was terrified that my traumas had me so stuck, that I might be a narcissist too, capable of manipulating the world around me with delusion and intention and that my charm was a terrible thing instead of, well, charming. She assured me I am not one, but only after I made her promise she would be honest and tell me the truth. I trust her. So I believed her.

In my sessions we mostly work on childhood traumas. I want to free up my disk space for more entertaining patterns and fun and if there’s a glitch in my hitch, I want to fix it.

In all seriousness, narcissism is dangerous. Being involved with someone of this particular malfunction, is crazy-making. Until the strength builds to steer clear, it’s a messy ride that requires years of untangling, self-love and support.

I don’t throw the word around lightly anymore. When the red flags start flying, I’m the first to do a little research. I now understand the extent and impact of narcissism in my life and only now understanding how I was the perfect partner for a narcissist.

Understanding it is helpful. The extrication process is a bitch.

If you’re in a relationship that makes you feel crazy, good luck to you.

There’s lots of support. Find it. Use it. Trust it.

Till next time.


©2019 Vanessa Elle Wilde. All Rights Reserved.


From an early age, I learned to perform, kind of like a circus monkey. Do this, do that, go here, wear this, color it this way, think this or else, say this not that, be like this, put this on your head, that’s not how you should feel, think, be, look like, dress like…

And on and on it went.

I am also a survivor, which is to say, I adapt, quickly and easily. Put me on the crazy stage and I’ll embrace the role no one else is willing to take on. In my childhood, that role was the “trouble maker.” I performed the role whenever it was needed, and for whatever reason it was appropriate. I wanted to be part of the troupe, to blend in, to survive. I managed this for awhile. And eventually, I found a way to escape the elaborate circus of my childhood, but it took some bending, twisting, and becoming something I am not naturally, defiant as fuck.

As a kid, my only real escape was defiance. It set me apart, it was my go to survival skill. It made me different. Someone fucked with me, I played the role of an impenetrable, rude, loud, defiant female. You see, I’m not made of “fuck with people” ingredients. It’s takes some creativity to fight back against meanness, ignorance, bullying, hypocrisy and people who seem like they not only hate themselves, but you as well. Defiance may not have been a natural talent, but creativity was, and I did find my way out, and into my life. Eventually.

Defiance is an act of rebellion. A standing in one own’s power, for good or bad. To be defiant is to defy, reject or fight against something or someone pushing something, an idea, a way of being, that is fundamentally incongruent with who you are. It’s an important act of self-expression, self-preservation, and self-actualization.

While the dictionary may say something different, this is my own definition, based on my experience and reason for being defiant.

As a child who was defiant, this skill developed as a response to ideologies that included making women feel like total shit about themselves, so pervasive and convincing, that those beliefs were unquestioningly taken on and owned by women themselves. Then taught to the hundreds of girls being raised in tucked-away ashrams, with very little outside influence.

The visual orgasm of americanized-indian culture hid any signs of abuse. Flowers, incense, melodic sanskrit mantras, beautiful fabrics and out-of-this-world delicious food were the intoxicants of the masses . The pleasure of burfi, or a gulab jamun, fried properly and soaked in sugar/honey water was to the hare krishna brain as was an orgasm to a karmi (non-hare krishna person).

Alongside the beauty, a darkness grew, as immoral and unethical as any tax exempt institution gets to be in plain sight, at least here in the U.S.

Defiance was, and still is a powerful way to stand against the worst of it, and for something better. We see it in our current state of corporate leadership and political theatrics. Advocates are typically the defiant ones, those who stand up for something or someone, and against oppression, in whatever glorious manifestation it takes on.

Now, smattering an entire tube of toothpaste in the girls bathroom may not be comparable to a jedi defiantly refusing darth vader, or harry potter fighting against voldemort, but in that moment, at the age of 11, the toothpaste was my weapon and it was messy. It was a good enough weapon, and made a point. I was uncontrollable. Enough said.

That was one of many times I took a stand against the system, and it was a fun one!

The best part, my favorite memory of this, was standing in front of my rapid-spitting, finger-pointing ashram teacher and defiantly telling her I had no idea what happened, I didn’t do it, and it wasn’t my problem. I also added that I no longer wanted to be a Hare Krishna, and that I probably want to eat meat (honestly, I didn’t really want to, but to an 11 year old, it was the perfect way to fuck with her teacher). I also wanted to be called my karmi name. All in one act of weaponized toothpaste, not only did the toothpaste spill, my role of a trouble maker became much more than a role, it became an identity.

Smattering toothpaste everywhere was totally scary, because I knew I’d get in trouble, and it very fun because really until now, toothpaste was simply substitute vomit. This day, it was my paint. My heart beat fast, my knees were shaking the whole time - it was like I drank too much caffeine, you know that whacky feeling? I still remember it. It was the perfect adrenaline rush, a defining occurence in a moment of definane.

Defiance saved my life once.

Not long after the toothpaste incident, my mother and her guru tried to coralle me into being a good devotee (someone who worships and follows someone else, someone devoted to an ideology or belief system.) In my case, they thought marriage would cure my defiance.

Haha! If it weren’t a true story, it’d be hilarious assumption that marriage would have ever been what controls me.

That’s another story though.

For now, I’ll close with this, defiance, in its many variations: art, music, toothpaste smatterings or other such rebellious forms, is an invaluable skill, a worthy attribute in a character, a bold role to play, a valuable survival skill for circus monkeys and little girls fighting for their freedom.

Quicky: When you’re pushed against the wall, you have a choice: fight back or become part of the stagnant, stiff wall, integrating fully into the very institution that pushed you so hard, that the only way to deal was to become the wall. Sadly, this is too often what happens.

That would simply suck.

Be defiant.

Till next time.

©2019 Vanessa Elle Wilde. All Rights Reserved.