Following my cancer diagnosis, surgery, and treatment, I was no longer the person who had once been a business owner, mother, and wife. I had transformed, gradually releasing pieces of my former life without fully understanding what awaited me on the other side.

It took nearly two months to find an apartment for Wendy and me, and it took fifteen years to leave Pacific Grove finally. I hadn’t realized how deeply rooted I’d become in that place.

I’d known for years that I needed to move, but Dennis and his attorneys restricted me, preventing me from moving more than 20 miles away or leaving the school district where Wendy was enrolled.

My time in Pacific Grove felt relentless. I constantly shifted from one rental to another, as high costs forced me to move whenever the rent went up, just as things started to feel stable. Dennis kept me in a state of constant anxiety, with his attorneys pulling me back to court over one issue after another. Knowing he was watching closely, I became consumed by the fear of making mistakes. Slowly, I felt my energy drain, leaving me feeling empty.

Living in a small town has its share of pros and cons.

Pacific Grove offered a high quality of life—less traffic, more open spaces, and a strong sense of community.

Despite limited growth opportunities, I launched a new business as an advocate and educational consultant.

I also wanted to return to school; however, there were few higher educational options.

Everyone in Pacific Grove knows each other, which can be comforting and challenging. People are quick to notice things and often share advice on how to live your life, making it difficult to maintain privacy or simply go your own way.

I did my best to co-parent and kept the emotional and verbal abuse hidden from everyone. In social settings, Dennis would belittle and mock me, then dismiss my feelings as oversensitive, asking why I couldn’t take a joke. He’d justify his words by claiming they were meant to be funny, even as they cut me down.

He made me feel invisible in response when I stood up to this behavior. Having grown up in an abusive environment, I’d grown accustomed to verbal abuse, and it almost felt normal.

We argued whenever I attempted to establish boundaries, and he accused me of overstepping.

Eventually, I gave in and surrendered my space to avoid the fights, even though it hurt because anything felt better than constant conflict. I grew accustomed to being unseen, unable to set boundaries, and lacking the dignity and respect I deserved. Feeling shut down and drained became my new normal. Narcissists may come across as having strong personalities, yet often feel insecure about their true selves.

They may fixate on appearing perfect, gaining admiration, wielding power, and being in control. Their primary concern is how others perceive them and how situations impact them personally, which can harm others, especially their children.

At last, moving day arrived on November 4, 2004. I was relocating 1,383 miles away to Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.

Dennis had been relentless with his harassment and threats over my decision to leave.

I found myself wondering, What if I just wasn’t here anymore? What if I simply disappeared?

The night before my move, he threatened me again, then told Wendy—now 18 and living with him—that I was unstable, a danger to myself and others. In a call, he claimed she never wanted to see me again. The words hit so hard that I had to sit down, feeling dizzy as if the walls were spinning around me.

Suddenly, everything fell silent, and a loud voice came from the front door.

‘Doré,’ it said. ‘Be calm and open the door. It’s the police.’

Wendy was there, too. The energy in the room was intense, and I was gripped by fear, terrified of making a wrong move. I told them the door was open and invited them in, but I still couldn’t get up. Surrounded by moving boxes, I felt frozen, unsure who had called the police or why.

As the police entered cautiously, they reassured me, saying, ‘Stay calm. We’re here to ensure you’re alright and see if you need to go to the hospital. Is there someone we can call for you?’

At that moment, the intensity in the room, their voices, and my fears melted away.

I stood up, took in the scene, and felt a quiet resolve—it was time to move forward.

A sense of peace settled over me, and I knew things would be okay. I called my friend Susanne, who spoke to them and confirmed I was alright. Satisfied, they prepared to leave, and I told Wendy I’d see her the next day. That night, I felt a sense of calm for the first time in a very long time.

When the police and Wendy left, the phone began to ring—it was Dennis.

I hung up; however, he kept calling over and over. Then he appeared at my door, and I chose not to answer. At that moment, I began to see the world differently, with newfound clarity. I realized just how much pain and suffering I’d been carrying for years, and I knew I had to find a way to heal.

 

“You can recognize survivors of abuse by their courage. When silence is so very inviting, they step forward and share their truth so others know they aren’t alone.”

~Jeanne McElvaney, Healing Insights: Effects of Abuse for Adults Abused as Children