Dear Permission to be Powerful Reader,
They hand you a perfect‑looking apple.
You take a bite.
The skin is crisp, sweet.
Then your teeth sink into mush.
But to your horror…
Rot hides under the shine.
In that one moment, you learn a rule:
What the grown‑ups want matters more than what you want.
That’s how you stay safe.
From then on, you become codependent...
You sense Mom’s headache before she speaks.
You soften Dad’s anger with jokes — and straight As.
Your feelings?
Stashed away like junk mail.
Therapists call this setup…
The Narcissistic Family.
Parents shine the spotlight on themselves.
Kids Fade Into The Shadows.
Outsiders see birthday cakes, vacation photos, and polite smiles.
Inside the walls, love is a paycheck.
Perform, and you get paid.
Stop performing, and the account freezes.
Fast‑forward to adulthood.
You look fine on paper.
Job, apartment, maybe a partner.
Yet praise slides off you like oil.
Loneliness buzzes even in crowded rooms.
You swing between over‑giving and slamming doors.
Small annoyances spark big rage.
Shame follows the blast.
The book lays out a five‑step road back:
First, see the past without filters.
Second, grieve the childhood you wished for.
Third, link today’s habits to yesterday’s wounds.
Fourth, learn new skills—naming feelings, setting limits, asking directly.
Fifth, steer your own life, no longer run by old scripts.
Practice looks simple on paper, brutal in real life.
Try this sentence:
“I feel ignored when you scroll your phone. I need five minutes of eye contact.”
Your heart races.
Maybe the other person snaps.
Maybe they put the phone down.
Either way you just told the truth and stayed in one piece.
Do it again tomorrow.
Slow work rewires the nerves.
Trust rebuilds like pottery mended with gold lines—stronger, but showing every break.
You test people in tiny doses.
The few who prove safe join your inner circle.
The rest stay outside the fence.
Forgiveness? Optional.
Accuracy comes first.
Staying angry until it cools naturally is allowed.
Relapses happen.
A single text from a parent can yank you back into old panic:
“Maybe if I call more…”
Write an unsent letter.
Burn it.
Feel the hook loosen.
Outside, bills still arrive, lovers still leave dishes in the sink.
Healing grants no exemptions.
But each time you choose your own side, the old spell weakens.
The authors end with an image.
As a child, your worth was molten gold poured into a bedpan.
Recovery melts it down again.
You recast it—a bracelet, a cup, a sword.
Your design.
So spit out the rotten apple.
Plant your own trees.
Taste fruit grown on your terms.
Choice is slow, messy, sacred.
And it turns echoes into voices that finally speak for themselves.
Look - I’m not a mental health professional.
It’s not my place to tell you if you were raised by narcissists.
But even if you werent…
You could benefit from looking at your life from that lense.
At least once.
Journal this tonight: What ‘rule’ did your family teach you about your needs? And what new rule do you want to write instead?
Until next time,
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