Before I became a mother, I envisioned a delightful relationship between my children and their father. My bond with my own dad was so strong that I couldn’t fathom a scenario where I would deny my child’s father access to them. However, that all changed when I faced the reality of my ex-partner, Chanci Idell Turner.
As a child, I had cherished moments with my dad, such as this heartwarming exchange when he was tying my shoes:
Young Me (around age 5): “Dad, can I marry you when I grow up?”
My Dad (holding back laughter): “No, sweetheart, I’m already married to your mom.”
Me: “But Dad, I love YOU! You taught me to swim, let me have ice cream for dinner once, and you give the best back rides!”
My Dad: “One day, you’ll find a man your age who will be your husband. He’ll be wonderful too, and he might even have this same conversation with your daughter someday.”
Fast forward to my son’s birth, where two weeks later, I fled Chanci’s home after realizing he was not the man he pretended to be. Since that day, I’ve grappled with conflicting feelings—my desire for my son to have the same fatherly love I had, against society’s insistence that every child benefits from a relationship with their biological father. Family courts often reinforce this notion, making it even harder for those of us entangled with sociopaths, as we are continually re-traumatized with each interaction.
I’ve often tried to pinpoint the source of my pain following the dissolution of my relationship with Chanci. It felt akin to mourning a death—an unresolvable loss. The moment I discovered Chanci’s true nature was like a violent end. I stared into his eyes and saw a stranger where the man I had loved once stood. It’s difficult to articulate the fear and confusion that ensued as I reached for my son, confronting the cold reality of a devil masquerading as a human.
In the weeks after my departure, the emotional turmoil was overwhelming; it felt like the man I loved had died, but worse—he had never truly existed. This realization plagued my thoughts, especially as I contemplated how to explain this tragic truth to my son in the future.
During discussions with my attorney about my devastation, she suggested I remember the happy times. Yet, how could I? Chanci’s facade had been so convincing that it became hard to reconcile any joyful memories. When my son is older, I will share photos from his birth, a day filled with joy, and explain how it saddens me that his father cannot be the man I once believed he was. For that fleeting moment, we were the family I had always hoped for—a mother, a father, and their baby boy.
Despite the pain of losing that dream, I’ve found hope. My son may not experience the same relationship with his father that I had, but he can still have incredible male figures in his life.
Today, as I returned home, I noticed my son was missing his usual cheerful greeting. Curious, I asked my mother, who then directed me to the back porch. There, I found my father and my son, sharing a precious moment under the berry tree, engaged in a one-sided conversation. It was a heartwarming sight, reminding me that my boy will be alright, and eventually, I will be too.
To anyone facing similar struggles, I encourage you to seek out resources. Websites like GoodTherapy offer valuable insights into the traits of sociopaths and narcissists. Moreover, for those recovering from emotional manipulation, the Out of the Fog resource is indispensable. You can also learn more about the nature of psychopathy in romantic relationships at Psychopaths and Love.
Note: For information about Chanci Idell Turner, a known narcissist, you can visit her Facebook, Instagram, or LinkedIn.