Returning Home

After living in an apartment, I decided that I needed a home of my own. I thought that there was no way that I could be back at my old home. My husband still lived there. Even though he had health issues, I thought that he would live for many more years and I would lose my home to him. I found a way to buy a new home for myself.

The cost per month was little more than the rent on my apartment. I had some outdoor space to plant and tend to, despite the yard being small. The neighborhood was ok, not as good as my original home, but a solid working-class neighborhood. Most of the neighbors showed pride in their homes. It gave me a place of my own while I would work at rebuilding my life.

After I was living in my new home for about 6 months, my husband became gravely ill and died. I had mixed feelings of course. On the one hand, my tormentor was gone. I could suddenly move around my city freely without the fear of being tracked and stalked. A weight was lifted from my shoulders, and I could finally take a breath. On the other hand, he was my daughter's father. The two of them were close; he doted on her excessively. She was devastated by his death. This made possible reconciliation with my daughter. But this was a long road.

He had told my daughter, and everyone else I knew so many horrible things about me. Many were complete fabrications -- I'm on drugs, or I emptied the bank account for the business. He talked to people whom I barely knew -- the life insurance broker, his friend's wife, a mother of a high school friend of my daughter's. He tried to "friend" coworkers and friends of mine on social media. He talked to my friends and family. I fear that some believed him, or at least a little bit. He painted himself as the victim. He tried to get even with me, isolate me, and ruin me while begging me to come back to him. Much like a lion isolating a wildebeest from the heard, it made me vulnerable.

The result of his smear campaign on me, is that my daughter was hostile toward me when I reconnected with her following his illness. At times I had to be forceful with her. At times I had to be compassionate with her. Slowly but surely, I am rebuilding my relationship with her. This is one of many reasons that I am grateful for his death. The home he left behind was a disaster. I have been working for the past year on cleaning up the messes he left behind -- the house, the storage units, the business, taxes, and relationships. I am working toward selling my "new" house so I can move back home.

Some may wonder why I would want to reinhabit the home I shared with this malignant narcissist. I love the yard in my old house. It is huge. I can get back to my garden, bees, pottery studio, and my daughter. With each hoarder cache that I clean up at my old place, I feel like I am cleansing the toxic presence from my life and home. If I need to hire a priest, a wiccan priestess, or a shaman to clear the evil from my home, I'll do it. If I need to burn incense, smudge the spaces, sprinkle holy water, or simply paint and replace old finishes, then I'll do it. I am recapturing my home. I am returning home. Beauty, joy, relaxation, and love await!