Shame Has to Change Sides – The Gisèle Pelicot Story

Ms. Pelicot’s story is one that I learned about in the news after the court hearing against her husband and other perpetrators began. She is from France. I was fascinated with the knowledge that she had requested the courtroom be opened to the public at the Palais de Justice. The title “Shame Has to Change Sides,” coincides with this. She had heard this term from a woman’s group, I believe she says in her book. It meant that instead of her facing the humiliation of being alone in the courtroom, with all of her perpetrators, instead, the room would be filled with journalists (from around the world) and women wanting to hear her story. These people, who flocked in daily once the word got out, were now facing the perpetrators, so they could not be anonymous. This was a very brave action on her part, especially as these people would also be witness to the humiliation and degradation that was done to her in more than a decade. The book she writes, “A Hymn to Life,” gives us the details of her fifty year marriage to the “monster.”

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Thank you Mr. Dahlman for that Life Changing Moment

You wouldn’t think that writing a paper on religious cults would lead someone to a lifelong spiritual journey. If you didn’t grow up in Ohio or another Mid-west state, in a very isolated and controlled lifestyle, you really wouldn’t make that connection. This is how it happened for me and this is my gratitude to one teacher, for spurring on this moment in a little farm town called Pataskala.

Mr. Marty Dahlman was the P.O.D. teacher (Problems of Democracy) at Watkins Memorial High School. He went on to other things, such as a track coach, vice-principal or principle, I forget which. Once I left Ohio, I didn’t return until 2010, when I began catching up after this long absence at high school reunions. He is now retired from Watkins and writes a blogpost, called Our America – Essays on Politics and American Life.

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Virginia Roberts Giuffre Explains My Book, Posthumously

Yesterday morning, 12/1/25, I published an ebook, seen above through Books2Read. Last night, while reading “Nobody’s Girl,” By Virginia Roberts Giuffre, I was caught off guard by a passage she wrote in her book on pages 113-114. I thought to myself, Wow! I wish I had known she wrote this amazing explanation, as it is better than mine. It explains what I am capturing in this title from a survivors perspective. Or, to put it more bluntly “From the horses mouth.” She loved horses, so I think she would appreciate this.

I want to include the passage here for your own discovery and so that you might consider reading her book – to learn more, as well as reading my book for the emotional support. I will come back here, when I am finished reading Nobody’s Girl as I want to pay tribute to this very well written book. For now:

It probably goes without saying that, given what my father and his friend Forrest had done to me when I was a child, being trafficked by Epstein and Maxwell was painfully triggering. To the extent that I saw the two of them as pseudo-parental figures, their disregard for my welfare as they lent me out for sex made me feel a familiar strain of worthlessness. But at times, that familiarity was weirdly comforting. This is complicated to explain, but that echo of past hurts was somehow bearable to me because I’d felt it-and somehow endured it-so many times before. It was like finding myself once more in a room I’d lived in for years. I hated that room, but I knew its contours-the shape of its windows, the nap of its carpet beneath my feet, the click of the door lock when it was thrown. I knew I could exist in that room because I’d existed there before. At that point, at least, this made me feel less afraid.

This is what I am trying to express in my title “The Uncomfortable Comfortableness with a Narcissist.” The familiarity was/is weirdly comforting and Virginia goes on to add how her visual and audio senses are enlisted by her hatred for this comfortableness. The shape of the windows, the nap of the carpet on her feet, the click of the door lock. She knew how to be in that place, as it was so familiar. Since it was so familiar, she wasn’t even as afraid.

In my book, I am helping you to discover the different parts of our self that are employed as our agency is taken away, while we are being lured into a relationship with the narcissist. Unsuspectingly – at first – yet somehow very comforting, very familiar, very Déjà vu. Once you are in, the uncomfortable knowledge that OMG! I am here again. Now what?

No worries, I am providing you with psycho-education to become more conscious of this process, along with six helpful homework assignments to begin re-discovering your sense of self. When you use these tools, along with a psychotherapist of your choosing, whom you can find to support you on this journey, these are the keys to moving forward in your life. To having a healthy relationship and never going back to the uncomfortable comfortableness ever again.

Parental Narcissism

Me and my pal in the hat, Middle School

Growing up with a narcissistic parent, you make do. You try to follow the rules, deal with the lack of boundaries, cry a lot – even though your told not to, become a scapegoat when you are the oldest (often but not always), get yelled at, compared to, and told things like “Why can’t you be more like…” When I looked back at my “diary” in a little pink book from this middle school time period, I never said a word about physical abuse or emotional abuse and certainly nothing about narcissism. How did I know? I complained about not being allowed to do something or what a day I had had or whether I was going to my friends house to hang out. You would never know from the outside looking in and you would not know from the inside looking out. You are a kid with no psychological training.

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Borders of Love – Sexual Manipulation of the Male

This Czech-Polish (2022 – Kanopy) movie could be seen as a modern day love relationship and it is billed as an erotic-drama. But, since it is so important to me that we watch movies consciously – and I use films for homework with my clients – so that we are more self-aware and do not go into a romantic delusion that this is healthy and fun. It is not. The director is very clear of this throughout the film showing us somatically that Petyr is not enjoying this and is being manipulated by his girlfriend Hanka. Here is my fantasy session with Petyr after he comes to see me at the end of the film.

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Who Can We Trust

This week has been a difficult and challenging week for me. I had to trust someone, an attorney, who luckily was able to help me get through one challenge. On another situation, an organization I belong to, decided to strip away my trust by changing their bylaws and not informing their members. I found out by reading about it in the Daily Wire. My local branch had changed their by-laws last year, I voted “No,” because it smelled fishy to me. The chapter regent beat around the bush when I declared my concerns to her after the meeting. She “would get back to me on it, after talking to some people higher up.” She never did. I resigned from the organization this past weekend, after reading this article and knowing that it was correct.

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Destroying America, One Value at a Time

Yesterday, our former president was the victim of a second assassination attempt by someone who, in the least, suffered from Anti-Social Personality Disorder. ASPD is a given when an adult commits a crime. With a child, it would be called Conduct Disorder. My thinking right now is – bad luck comes in threes – the Secret Service (and other law enforcement) did a great job yesterday, now they should be even more prepared, no matter where he goes. However, crime in America is worse than it has ever been. A lack of values, a division of people, anti-Semitism not seen since WWII, attacks on freedom of speech (usually conservative), a lack of professionalism in the workplace (all the way to the political debates) and then political lies that go unchecked from a biased debate.

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An Ode to Gabriel Garcia Marquez

After 10 years of solitude, Carlotta had all but given up on the ability to imagine life with a man once more. This time of absence was her own doing, though it was largely the fault of the menopause; which was now nearing its end.  The curse had turned into a bitter coming of age story. As her words shot out of her mouth, laced with turpentine just at the tips of the letters, that would leave a mark on anyone she had an opinion about. And these days this was just about anyone. Her pheromones would emit a scent, that was not enticing any more than if she had been a rotting corpse left out on a table to dry. One by one her friends had walked away, too tired of the dark energy that stood near her, even though they too were in the crisis of aging.

Each woman can only tolerate their own pain and each man is looking for one who is not yet touched; if he is lucky. She saw herself as a hag, up in a tree in an apple orchard, throwing barely ripe fruit down; on people who came near her. She tried to explain to people what was going on; to no avail. How could anyone understand a personal crisis which is designed for the individual? While they all know that the Grim Reaper, with his sickle, can come to call any day, and this is expected, most try not to think about it until the time comes; and then it is too late. When the old woman begins to emerge, it is like looking out your window one day and noticing the neighbor has installed a new walkway, that he had been working on for weeks and you had ignored. One day Carlotta had looked in the mirror and wondered who had suddenly appeared before her.

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