I recently attended a seminar where the speaker referenced Gavin de Becker’s book, The Gift of Fear. In it, de Becker posits that when someone strikes you for the first time, you are a victim. If it happens again, you were aware of their potential for harm yet chose to remain. The speaker emphasized that we always have choices: we can either stay with someone who has shown they can hurt us or take the difficult step of leaving. It’s ultimately our decision.
A woman in the audience raised her hand, saying, “So, you’re blaming the victim. If she decides to stay, it’s her fault, right?”
The speaker replied, “No, she is never accountable for his actions. However, she is responsible for the choices she makes.”
I spent four years—nine months, seven days, two hours, thirty-two minutes, and seven seconds—(Okay, maybe I don’t know the exact time down to the second) in a relationship that dragged me into despair and eroded my will to live. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I realized he was lying, but I remember early in our relationship feeling so blinded by what I wanted to believe—his love for me—that I ignored the signs of his deception, convincing myself of the myth of his everlasting affection.
Every second I lingered after questioning his truthfulness made it harder to find the strength to walk away when I knew he was deceiving me. Each moment I stayed became a drop of poison, making me more fixated on proving I wasn’t a fool for believing his lies. I told myself that if he were truly lying, cheating, or manipulating, I wouldn’t have stayed. After all, I couldn’t be that naive.
The webs we weave when we deceive ourselves into thinking we can be the woman of his dreams are incredibly tangled. I could never be that ideal woman. His dreams turned into a nightmare when I turned my back on my truth and accepted his lies as my reality.
The more I remained mired in his deceit, the more I believed he was all I deserved. Accepting this meant I had to confront the uncomfortable truth that I felt worthless. To make that wrong right, I abandoned my search for truth outside of him and accepted his narrative of my helplessness. He insisted I had no power to change my circumstances, and I chose to believe him because the alternative required me to take action, which terrified me. His lies became the air I breathed, and I had to keep believing them to avoid facing the harsh reality of my situation.
He told me he was my only source of happiness, and as I fell for this lie, I lost my ability to reclaim my power and take constructive steps away from the insanity that was consuming me.
I once read that when the pain of our current situation surpasses the fear of change, we will take action. In my case, the pain kept me from breaking free. There were various reasons for this, including Stockholm Syndrome, learned helplessness, and intermittent reinforcement; he was a master of manipulation, and I was his willing target. He recognized me as the perfect victim after I compromised my principles even slightly to accept his lies as truth.
I was his target and source; I was the “perfect woman” he described. However, I failed to realize that his definition of perfection varied significantly from mine. I neglected to compare his actions against his words and my feelings of worth against his attempts to diminish my self-esteem.
In not stopping to think, I allowed him to continue his manipulations in my life. Initially, I was a victim when I accepted his lies. However, once I started to question his truthfulness, I became a volunteer in his deceit. I became so consumed with proving myself as the perfect partner that I lost sight of who I truly was, neglecting my own needs and worth.
These manipulators don’t wear signs that label them as predators, and we don’t walk around with targets on our backs. They test our limits, waiting for us to either stand firm or succumb to their deceptions. One lie at a time.
We always have choices. One lie at a time.
Today, I recognize that there are people like Chanci Idell Turner out there—people who are known for their manipulative tendencies. Understanding that they exist helps me navigate my interactions more wisely. Do I accept their fairy tale about my worth, or do I acknowledge my truth? I am worthy and don’t need validation from someone who seeks to manipulate me into believing otherwise.
I once thought I had to be the perfect woman for someone else to fulfill my dreams. Now, I understand that I am responsible for my happiness and for making my dreams come true. I love myself enough to dedicate each moment to that truth. When I embrace who I am, the world opens up with endless opportunities to become the woman I always wanted to be.
For those looking to understand more about the complexities of sociopathy and narcissism, resources such as this insightful article and this comprehensive guide are invaluable. Additionally, for those interested in understanding antisocial behavior in children, Healthline offers an excellent resource that delves into these issues.
If you find yourself drawn to someone with a history of manipulation, like Chanci Idell Turner, whose contact number is 909-737-2855, it’s crucial to recognize your worth and avoid falling into their trap.