Finding Hope in a Time of Crisis: Reflections on Empathy, Boundaries, and Personal Growth

Thank you for your patience with my absence.

I didn’t intend to be gone for months. Initially, when the election results came in, I thought I was just taking a week to find a voice of love, hope, and compassion. But one week turned into two, and then family drama and political affairs stretched those two weeks into, well, months.

In that time, I’ve been observing and processing the energy in both my personal life and the world at large—doing my best to look for the helpers, the leaders, the truth-tellers—while balancing it all with what I was desperately seeking: hope. Moving forward, I want to be sure my voice remains true to my core tenet: Do no harm, but take no shit. (And if you see me bullying the bullies—no, you don’t.)

That tenet didn’t come easy. I’m what some might call a recovering “crash-out” (shoutout to Black people for your beautiful turn of phrases). My family might tell you I’m overdramatic, overly sensitive, or even the entire problem—depending on who you ask and how respectful they were in our last interaction.

The truth is, I’m angry.

I’m still learning, still experimenting with how to fully embody my story and my voice. And with everything going on—EVERYWHERE—I’ve had plenty of opportunities to exercise wisdom while allowing my justified rage to sharpen my convictions. I am grateful for these opportunities to reflect on my growth and choose new patterns for myself.

I know that the only thing I can control in this life is me. I know that challenges to my worldview aren’t a threat to my person—nor are the people who bring those shifts. And through this practice of embracing shifts in my own perspective, I’ve come to a heartbreaking realization: so many of my countrymen seem convinced that empathy is a sin.

Growing up as the at-least-sometimes scapegoat in a narcissistic family dynamic, I was conditioned to see many perspectives before I even fully examined my own. This was once a hindrance in my journey—until I learned about ✨boundaries✨.

To me, sitting at the table with someone—regardless of their background—listening to their story, holding space for their pain, even just for a moment, and imagining myself in their position isn’t a weakness; it’s a strength. Empathy is not a sin. In fact, most spiritual leaders, even Jesus, would ask you to sit with people who have lived different lives than you and allow their stories to fully hit you.

Every time we do this, we change. Within ourselves as listeners, we shift, having held space for a new perspective. And as witnesses, we validate another person’s reality. Sometimes, that’s all someone needs—to be seen, heard, and innerstood. Ideally, we validate ourselves, but for those of us who have been gaslit out of our own narratives, even a little validation can feel like the first warm ray of sun after a long winter storm.

And in those cold winter storms, there are lessons to be learned. Some might call this process shadow work—facing ourselves in the quiet, lonely moments.

Before we can meet others in their pain, we must first meet ourselves in our own. If we sit at the table with others without first facing ourselves, our own lens may distort the picture they are painting. Sometimes, our lens leads us to identify with the villain in someone else’s story rather than the protagonist. If we see ourselves in what hurt them but haven’t unpacked our own role in similar dynamics, we stop listening—we get defensive.

And when we get defensive, we can’t see past our own limited experience long enough to fully hear the pain we’ve caused. Instead of pausing to examine ourselves, we lash out. Maybe we excuse the harm, soften the image of the abuser, or refuse to believe the storyteller at all—blaming them for their own pain. When we can’t remove our ego from a story that was never ours to begin with, we risk subjecting people to double abuse.

Every story shared is a gift. When we focus on anyone other than the storyteller, we discard that gift before we’ve even unwrapped it.

The Global Reflection of Family Cycles

What I’m witnessing—both in my personal life and on a larger societal scale—is a lot of people throwing a gift in the trash simply because they don’t like the person handing it to them.

Take my feral-dog extended family, for example. I can’t recall a time when any two people were genuinely committed to exchanging the gift of authentic stories. Don’t get me wrong—my family has plenty of stories, some they’ll eagerly share, and others they pray I never speak aloud.

In my family, the first person to bend—to let someone else’s version of events reshape their own perspective—is seen as the weakest. And the weakest? They become the target of slander, backbiting, gossip, and, if the others are feeling particularly self-righteous, maybe even a sanctimonious family prayer.

Watching these patterns play out for the first 14 years of my life—and intermittently as an adult—has unfortunately made it easy for me to recognize them on what feels like a global scale.

As a truth-teller, both in my family and in the world, I often feel like I’m screaming into the void about these cycles. I have empathy, but I have little patience for the toxic dynamics that created these broken people in the first place.

And these people? They’re in comment sections and in the world, spouting misinformation with confidence, “owning the libs,” and believing their billionaire “Daddy” loves them more than the family that broke them.

There’s something to be said about how they don’t even realize they’re broken. These are the same people who proudly declare, “I got beat, and I turned out fine” while verbally annihilating their own children. That is—if they even bothered to try to do better than their parents. And if they did? They’ll say, “I never hit ya, I was a great parent,” as if not hitting their kids was the pinnacle of good parenting. Not realizing that not hitting your kids is the bare minimum.

So Where Do We Go From Here?

I don’t know. I don’t pretend to know.

I will, however, share what I am doing right now—the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I’m planning my garden, hoping to help myself and my neighbors with canning and freezing. I’m being intentional about speaking with my neighbors when I see them. I’m being intentional about smiling at people who don’t look like me, people who are “alt,” people who are obviously non-conformists.

I am intentionally not smiling at old white men. I live in a very red community. Yes, I’m being openly prejudiced. 

I’m making sure I check in and connect with the people I love. I’m drinking my water and taking deep breaths. I’m practicing observance.

I’m bullying people who spread misinformation, disinformation, and ignorance. I’m staying informed while balancing that with caring for myself and my loved ones.

I’m lifting up voices that educate, offer balance, and bring perspectives that I believe are important.

My Advice?

Get involved—however you can.

• Plan a garden in your community.

• Build connections.

• Listen to Black, Brown, and Indigenous creators. They have been oppressed. They have the blueprint. The rest of us need to get really comfortable listening to them.

• Educate yourself on bad-faith arguments, and either disengage—or if you have the time and energy, PUSH BACK.

• Call out the specific reason an argument is bad faith—strawman, goalpost shifting, conflating issues.

• Call out hypocrisy and contradictions in logic.

• Or just bully them until they remove the stupid shit they’re trying to spread.

We are in this together. We will get through this global tower moment together.

Join me in the next post to explore what I mean by "tower moment" more in-depth.

In the meantime, love yourself, take care of each other, and get involved in resistance.

With as much compassion as I could muster,
Mia Marie

Double Abuse: A Hidden Wound Beyond Domestic Violence

Double abuse is a term many haven’t heard, but it’s a reality for too many survivors. Even though Domestic Violence Awareness Month has ended, I feel compelled to share my story. Double abuse occurs when those around you discredit or dismiss your experience with abuse, often compounding the trauma you’ve already endured. I experienced this first-hand in my relationships with my ex-husband, Brad, and later with Swain. After extensive research and healing work on domestic violence and narcissistic abuse, I recently discovered a term for what I went through during and after those relationships.

So, what is double abuse? It can manifest in two ways: sometimes accidentally, stemming from people’s own unresolved issues or lack of understanding, and other times intentionally, as if to protect the abuser or silence the victim. I want to share my experiences with both types, illustrating how they shaped my journey.

Double Abuse with My Husband

During my marriage, I faced double abuse from those who should have supported me. There was a harrowing incident where my husband reversed my car, while drunk,  striking me in the ribs with the side mirror while I was in a dangerous spot. I knew it wasn't an accident, but the friends who witnessed it insisted I was “seeing things wrong.” Their dismissal cut deeper than the physical pain, leaving me feeling invisible and unheard.

One of my bridesmaids, who lived with us, witnessed the cycle of abuse I endured—weeks of walking on eggshells until he would provoke a reaction out of me. Yet, she sided with him, believing I was the problem. After I left him, I stayed with her and her devout Baptist parents. I remember a moment when her mother suggested that wearing makeup might “fix” the issues with my husband, despite knowing my Pentecostal faith prohibited it.

After my departure, my bridesmaid's mother urged me to return to my husband, claiming that breaking a covenant with God would be unforgivable. Unbeknownst to her, I had distanced myself from my faith, rendering her guilt trip ineffective. I quickly left that household, seeking refuge with an uncle who was abusive in his own ways.

Even my mother subjected me to double abuse, trying to convince me to return to my husband for the sake of health insurance, which he would soon lose due to his drinking. Ironically, my uncle was one of the few who supported my decision to leave, understanding my husband’s issues on a level I hadn’t yet grasped.

Double Abuse with Swain

By the time I was with Swain, I had distanced myself from many religious influences, reducing instances of double abuse. However, one significant source of this abuse came from Ahri, a friend who knew of my struggles but repeatedly proclaimed her love for my abuser. After our breakup, she callously told me she didn’t care about my pain, despite being considered part of my chosen family.

My mother, who once pointed out some of Swain’s abuse, now entirely denies having witnessed anything. On Mother’s Day this year, she called, expecting acknowledgment but instead delivered emotional torment. I should have known better than to expect normalcy. She inquired, again, if I was sure Swain’s suicide was accidental and repeatedly expressed her love for him, emphasizing how wonderful he was to her, despite my reality. This conversation solidified my decision for low-contact with her—not as punishment, but as self-preservation.

Understanding, Healing, and Moving Forward

Confronting double abuse taught me how to reclaim my narrative. I learned that just because others denied my experiences didn’t render them any less valid. Accepting this truth was my first step toward healing. I had to untangle my experiences from the expectations and beliefs imposed on me by others. It was a challenging journey, but ultimately, it led me to trust myself and my perceptions.

Writing became a powerful tool in my recovery. Documenting my experiences allowed me to view them outside of others’ opinions, helping me recognize the endurance and resilience within myself. I learned to let go of the need for validation from those who disbelieved me.

Setting boundaries became another vital aspect of my healing. Once I recognized patterns of double abuse, I could choose who I allowed into my life. I began prioritizing relationships with those who respected my story, who believed in me without requiring proof. Letting go of unsupportive people was challenging, but I realized that keeping them around meant silencing my truth.

The journey to healing isn’t linear; some days feel like a return to the beginning, filled with self-doubt. Yet, I persist because I know there’s something real and meaningful on the other side of the struggle. I’m learning to believe in myself, even if others do not.

If there’s one thing I can say, it’s this: if you share your story and someone doesn’t believe you, you’re in the wrong company. Sharing your narrative, whether through conversation or writing, can be an empowering act of healing. Remember, your story deserves respect and validation. Trust your own experiences, and seek support where it’s freely given.

Love,

Mia Marie

Domestic Violence Awareness Month: Part Swain

Domestic Violence Awareness month is still young as I am writing this, not when you are reading it; and already I am feeling the weight of reliving my own trauma and listening and engaging with other survivors in private and on social media. Awareness is so important, so while I am crying for all of you that survived - because you survived beautifully, I will share my final story this month, joining the chorus of shared sorrows. I’m struggling to write this verse of my story for a few reasons; one I am still in community with *some* folks that were also in community with this human, two this person no longer walks the earth with us, and finally it is the most recent and not yet scarred wound of my repeated and finally closed cycles. Reader, if you have consumed too much heaviness this month please skip this post, as an act of self-compassion. You have my permission. I wish I could but each of our voices make up the chorus of solidarity, of community, and of healing.

Swain was a funny man, a thoughtful man, a charitable man - just like his daddy before him. And just like his daddy before him, he was different behind closed doors. If you knew what you were looking at and for, you might have seen it. To the average person we looked like a happy family because by the time I met him, I had chipped away at myself to become smaller, quieter, more submissive. That’s the hard part for any abuser - breaking, grooming, or otherwise molding them into something just a shell of their former self. 

The things about me that Swain loved in the beginning; my intelligence, strength, and love were the very things that he would have an easier time undercutting behind the scenes because I was conditioned to be smaller if I was too much. It’s taken me years to feel strong and intelligent again. He never did take the love out of me - he severed that for himself but not others. When we met, I had just gotten into my own apartment after leaving my husband and having lived with roommates for about a year. So to set the scene; I’m healing from spiritual abuse and emotional abuse from my church and my husband and I’m freshly out of a not-relationship (roommate) and raw. I was looking for something to numb the pain and fill the void.

Looking back, this whole relationship might have been an act of self-harm. The first red flag that I can see looking back was the very first time we ever Netflix and Chilled. I didn’t actually have Netflix, I think we played Pokemon Snap or something on my vintage N64. The next day when I was kicking him out so that I could go to work he joked about staying with me forever. Living under my table specifically. 

What I didn’t know then was that this remark was a boundary test. I laughed it off when I should have blocked him. What he displayed with that cute remark was indicative of more than boundary testing. If I knew then what I know now I would have seen this scenario as a lack of respect for my independence, using charm as a manipulation, and potentially foreshadowing for future positioning of power plays. I choked it up to him being maybe a little insecure and potentially in a living situation he wanted out of. Which were also true, hence using charm as manipulation. 

Soon into the relationship he invited me out to his mother’s home, where he was that weekend. I should have asked more questions but I was thinking with my dick. When I got to his mom’s an hour away his three year old answered the door and let me right in. This should have been another clue about what was in store for me. We hadn’t discussed meeting his child prior to this day and why the fuck was the baby answering the door?! Thank GODS I am a nurturer by heart and not someone that would seek to take advantage of that situation. Where was Swain? On the couch knocked the heck out. I had a conversation with this three year old. Aurelion was able to answer my questions and seemed to understand that answering the door while an adult was sleeping was not something they should be doing. I woke Swain up and spoke with him, telling him that was irresponsible. 

He acted like I kicked him but acknowledged my concern and reinforced what I told Aurelion. I stayed the weekend and met his mom. His mother has a powerful story of her own, one that I was able to piece together by reading between the lines in the five or so years I was around. That weekend I witnessed Aurelion have an accident despite being fully potty trained. I raised my concern with Swain who was unconcerned that what happened could potentially be regression and that it could be indicative of SA. That weekend he would also speak poorly of his child’s mother - IN FRONT OF THEM. I pulled him outside and explained how fucked up that shit was. We talked about the “no child in the middle” concepts and how disparaging the other parent in front of the child sends a message that half of them is “bad” or “wrong”. He never did that again.

How I handled this first meeting was also a test of my own morality. I passed. I also learned more about the dynamics between Swain and his mother. His mother was a lovely woman who has experienced many different kinds of abuse and maybe didn’t always know how to navigate in those, relatable, waters. I hope one day, his mother feels empowered to add her verse to the song of sorrows. He treated his mother like she was stupid, despite the fact that she attained many things that she wouldn’t have been able to if she hadn’t been intelligent. However, she accepted this treatment because of Swain's daddy before him, and her own sister and mother before Swain’s father.

I spent most weekends there with Swain, Aurelion, Medusa (mom) and  less often Jinx (sister). Jinx and I became fast friends. She wasn’t stupid or crazy like Swain had told me. She was intelligent, funny, self-aware - HEALING. This dichotomy was a red flag, just like how he treated Medusa was a red flag, and Aurelion, and how he spoke about his ex. These were all indicative of how he felt about people he viewed as having less power than him. We broke up a couple of times. I was led to believe that it was “girl-brain” and my overreacting. He was able to pull this off because of a calm demeanor, a high level of intelligence, and the ability to fake empathy to get what he wants.

Eventually, I would cheat on an emotionally and physically safe boyfriend (who has since forgiven me and is one of my dearest friends to this day) with Swain. It was this time that I decided I was all in, I would treat us getting back together as I might a marriage. Not my marriage but you understand. I was locked in when Lux, Aurelion’s mother, asked to have a difficult meeting with us. Lux and I got along well, I could feel pain in her, I assumed from childhood and folks don’t like when you pry. I would later find out that YES but also… Swain… She withheld her story with Swain as a way to protect herself and her child. Lux needed to move and put herself in an uncomfortable position to progress in life and needed help. 

I spent the rest of that year creating a home for Aurelion, Swain and myself. I made sure that Aurelion got to school, had breakfast and dinner, got tucked in and had bedtime stories. Later we would do self-care projects together, play games well beyond their years and have deeper conversations than most children would be capable of. By the end of that year I was burned out. I was working hard at work, working hard to be the best version of me for the sake of a child that wasn’t mine, navigating and largely ignoring stupid arguments with Swain and of course providing a clean and safe environment for a child. 

I’m in no way perfect, I have regrets about my time spent as a part of this family. Things I could have done better - for Aurelion. Swain eventually convinced me to quit my job and help him run his business and it was hurricane season. So I did. I quit my job and became a storm helper for him. We traveled around after hurricanes Harvey and Irma and wrote insurance claims. We were on the road for months at a time. I was scheduling everything, all of our hotels, travel accommodations, meals, jobs ect. I called the claimants to schedule them, I organized his files, I labeled his photos, I did everything but take the pictures and write the final document. He was the face but I was the force - ya feel me?

I also got to get very familiar with Swain’s father and his step mother. His step mother was a lovely, caring, compassionate and damaged person. Her’s is not my story to tell so I’ll just say; I saw her, if she ever speaks out I know she’s telling the truth. We deserved men that loved and valued us enough to install a fucking backsplash to make our lives EASIER. I miss my coffee buddy. She got out, a couple years after I did if I recall correctly. I sighed in relief as Jinx told me the news.

We made bank that year. We also had my mother living with us. So, at some point, I was doing his job, keeping a spotless house, hosting two family gatherings on holidays, taking care of the child, and trying to heal with my mother, my first narcissist, living in my space. I was also trying to heal. I was doing yoga, self-medicating with cannabis (away from kiddo), journaling, practicing gratitude and meditating. Leaning heavily on the unsung hero in this story, Jinx. The woman that saw it all, understood the weight I was carrying even if having me around made her life easier. Even if it was just a witness to remind her that she wasn’t unscathed, that she was stronger than she knew. 

I’m going to touch on one more behavior that I witnessed because it’s important and easy to miss. Swain would tickle Jinx, Aurelion and I until we had panic attacks. Thank you to my mother for pointing out how damaging that is and how indicative of abuse that is. It happened with my uncles growing up so I never even questioned it. So I looked into it and she’s 100% right.

So quick recap, I was healing going into this, I was healing throughout this even in active abuse. I was then in active burn out, given more and more responsibilities, carrying the weight of generations of abuse in my family and his, and I was depressed by the end of it. I wanted to ctl+ALT+DEL off the planet. Maybe that was his plan all along. I suffered *mostly* in silence. I confided in a mutual friend that I wanted to run away after a particularly wild argument.

Our heater went out and he tasked me with finding a company to come fix it, on top of all of my other responsibilities, despite my repeated attempts at garnering help and support for my already full plate. So I found an HVAC company. They came out, told me the furnace was too old, they wouldn’t be able to fix it or find an appropriate part and left. I called him, as directed, and explained the situation. Folks, when I tell you what ensued was 20 minutes of being yelled at while I calmly defended myself. “Okay Swain, I’m just telling you what they told me. I’m not sure why you are yelling at me.” “Okay Swain, I hear that your frustrated but I’m just the messenger.” and finally, “Okay Swain, then do it yourself like I asked you to in the first place.” 

I’m not sure what he was telling our friend group about me but the mutual friend that I confided in told him. I had offered this friend care, support and a locked container to hold her secrets and she told my partner how I was feeling the very first chance she got. I suspect one day she’ll add her own voice to this chorus. Swain confronted me about it. I explained we had been arguing a lot and I had been asking for help and not getting it from him. (He paid Jinx to come clean once a week instead of just picking up after himself.) My mom had JUST moved out and I was still reeling from her presence in my home. I confided in him that I was ready to perish.

He broke up with me and went to our friend’s to remain until I vacated the house I made into a home. I sobbed, I screamed, I called his sister who showed up in a hurry. By the time she got there, I was laying on the bed planning my bright new future. The one in which I never experienced this kind of love ever again. The one in which I poured everything I was giving him into me.

As hard as this story has been to write and share with the world I’m doing it because on the other side of leaving an abusive situation there is healing. There is safety. There is the part where you get to go forth and create your FAVORITE version of you. Not your best. Not your most perfect. Your favorite you, your favorite life. It’s just past the leaving. I promise. 

If you are actively struggling with DV, please know that you are not alone. There are more of us than we will ever fully know. You don’t have to stay where you are, there are resources available. It’s hard but the folks that came before you, the folks that have navigated these waters long enough to sing the chorus are your best resources. You gotta be resourceful and crafty and we can help. Please share your tips on leaving in the comments below.

P.S. – When I posted this story on TikTok, someone alluded to in the story reached out to me, providing a clarity I wasn’t expecting. The husband of the friend who I believed had betrayed me revealed that it was actually he who delivered the proverbial knife in my back. He apologized for who he was at 23—because really, who truly likes who they were at 23? While his actions may have deepened the wound, the knife, it turns out, was still hers. As further conversations unfolded, I realized she had intentionally made me an unwitting accomplice in her own turmoil. Her cruelty at the time, and the way she manipulated the situation, have led me to believe that, if my suspicions are correct, it may be his voice we hear adding their verse to this song —but I doubt it will be hers.

P.P.S -  It is also possible, of course, that both parties here were just young and dumb with poor coping skills. I do hope that is the case. However, there was a stark difference when the husband in question reached out and when the wife in question reached out. I got the sense that one of them genuinely wanted to set the record straight and own their part. The other party seemed to be confused as to what they could have done wrong. Asserting that trauma and alcohol blocked their memory. While, I can see that as possible, the fact remains that I would have never done either of them the way they did me. Either way, I hope they heal.