What is Gaslighting?

“Where is the silverware,” I asked in a confused tone as I stood in our kitchen staring at an open drawer full of tools, receipts and other odds and ends.

Seth retorted with a snide glare, “What are you talking about?”

“The silverware. Where is it?” I repeated, even more confused.

“You are losing your mind, just like your bipolar mom. We moved the silverware across the kitchen months ago,” he stated with a look of disgust as he motioned to a different drawer and walked out of the kitchen.

I had barely slept in weeks and my cognitive functioning was definitely compromised, but I was sure that I would have remembered moving the most used drawer in the kitchen. Wouldn’t I? I stood there in a daze, holding my two-year old daughter on my hip as his words about my mother played on repeat through my head.

Over the years, Seth had become masterful with his ability to cut through me with his words. The arrogance in which he delivered digs about my mother’s mental health was palpable and he knew that her mental health struggles were both a source of trauma for me and also my greatest fear. At one point in time, Seth seemed to take pride in becoming a band-aid to my greatest pains, but now he seemed to take pleasure in forcibly ripping off the bandages while leaving me bleeding.

Our world was crumbling all around us and Seth seemed to be in a very dark place, pacing the house at night and mumbling to himself. For many years, we had lived a very affluent lifestyle and while all of these things were just material possessions to me, I was discovering that Seth’s identify and ego was dependent on the image that he had created. After being kept in the dark about our financial situation for many years, I had started to put the pieces together and the picture that was forming left me feeling powerless and paralyzed with fear.     

The more I questioned Seth about our financial reality, the crueler and more heartless he became. He taunted me on several occasions by calling me a “cripple” due to my autoimmune disease and health struggles. My diagnosis during our marriage ruined his “power couple” blueprint. He liked to remind me that my “white trash, impoverished upbringing” rendered me incapable of understanding the financials of the real world. He didn’t hold back when he drilled it into me that his superior intellect and IQ was the reason that he maintained control. Over time, I had stopped questioning him not because I didn’t care but because I was in survival mode and desperate for peace.  

One afternoon in 2008, IRS agents stood on our doorstep demanding to talk to Seth. When I called him, he was dismissive and downplayed the situation. He stated that it was all a misunderstanding and that I was overreacting. He tried to keep me in the dark however, he quickly discovered that his bank accounts were frozen and he was being backed into a corner. It was only then that Seth’s financial deceptions began to catch up to him and our world began to unravel.  

It started with Seth’s vehicles being repossessed one by one from our driveway. The cars had been a huge source of contention during our marriage. We had seven different cars and trucks which is an absurd number of vehicles for two adults. I felt isolated and embarrassed by the excess that was our life. One particular sports car was Seth’s prized possession and he told me that I wasn’t even allowed to drive it in my dreams. I felt a strange sense of relief as I watched vehicles leave the driveway on the back of tow trucks, one by one. More than anything, I craved a simple life and expressed that to Seth often. This wasn’t the way I envisioned it happening but oddly, I felt hopeful.

Over the next few weeks, I came to a sobering realization that Seth didn’t have a conventional mistress, his mistress was money, and the financial deceptions were staggering. I was devastated to learn that Seth had taken out a $100,000 loan in his younger brother’s name and when questioned about it, he spoke in calculated circles and justified his actions. Nothing could prepare me for the biggest bomb of all; we were in debt to the tune of 1.6 million dollars. Behind my back, Seth had borrowed against our home multiple times, against our business and had numerous loans with banks and private lenders.

That week, I ended up in Urgent Care with my heart feeling as though it was beating out of my chest. I wasn’t able to hold food down, I struggled to form sentences and when I was actually able to sleep, I’d wake up with drenched sheets as a result of night sweats. I was prescribed valium after assuring the doctor that I was not a pill addict but a person in absolute crisis, unable to function and unsure of how I was going to buy groceries and feel my small children.  Seth used the opportunity to remind me that my mother’s mental health condition was genetic and that he was concerned about my instability.

I begged Seth to go to therapy with me and he laughed and said that I was the one who needed therapy. He reminded me that I was the one put on medication due to my deteriorating mental health, not him. Seth thought it was a good idea that I sought therapy while referencing how forgetful I had been. He pointed out the incident with the silverware drawer and the cherry on top was his cruel dig about my mom’s lifelong struggles and her eventual suicide when I was twenty-six years old.

I began blindly calling every therapist within a 30-mile radius of my house, with no direction. I left message after message and had made about a dozen calls when a therapist named Cindy Kraus answered the phone. I was in such a continuous loop of voicemails that her voice caught me off guard and I froze, unsure of what to say. I mustered a few sentences about having a crisis situation and her response was, “I had a 1pm cancellation today, and I have a 90-minute slot available. Are you able to be here at 12:45pm to fill out paperwork?”  

A few hours later, I found myself sitting on her unfamiliar couch questioning where to even begin. I started by telling her about my mom’s suicide attempts throughout my childhood. I told her about the childhood traumas and abuse that I suffered as I made my way to my present-day issues, questioning my memory, my dysfunctional marriage and the financial deceptions that I had uncovered.

Cindy began to ask me about my pregnancies. I shared with her that my husband was furious that I was pregnant. He did not want children and gave me the silent treatment for my entire pregnancy. I described how he left me at home while I was in active back labor to drive to a family members house so that he could complete a financial transaction. Her eyes were as wide as saucers when I described camping a week after a c-section because my husband refused to miss his annual triathlon and cooking a pasta dinner for fifteen triathletes with c-section staples in my abdomen and a newborn in a sling.

I recounted standing at the triathlon finish line in 100-degree heat with my new baby and trying to find shade for us wherever I could. I knew that I would be chastised if I wasn’t waiting for him at the end of his race. To my dismay, he ignored me after the race and made his way to a friend’s campsite to drink, leaving me to find a ride with a park ranger back to my campsite because I felt like I was going to pass out. That night, I slept alone in our RV with my newborn baby girl.    

We hadn’t even made it to the similar horrors of second pregnancy when she stood up without saying a word, walked across the room and returned holding a book in her hands. She remained silent as she flipped through the pages and handed me the book while highlighting a section with her finger that seemed to jump off the page at me, “Narcissistic Personality Disorder.”        

I read the description and felt waves of relief. This was it, I thought! This is Seth! “What do we do?” I asked, eager to know how to fix my husband, my marriage and my life. I felt like she held the wisdom and the knowledge to help me as tears rolled down my hot, flushed cheeks. I eagerly leaned in as she took a seat across from me and said, “I am not qualified to diagnose your husband as I have never met him however, this is very likely what you are dealing with.”

Did she not hear my question, I wondered? I repeated myself. “Yes, this sounds exactly like my husband,” I said. “So, what do we do now?”

“Nothing. It’s a personality disorder. You accept that this is your life or, you leave. There is no fixing this. No medication and no amount of therapy will fix this.” I stared at her blankly and felt as though she has knocked the wind out of me. I wanted to flee her office but in that moment, I was afraid that my legs would fail me if I stood up.

She looked at me and continued, “You didn’t move the silverware drawer and you are not going crazy. He’s gaslighting you and I want you to start writing down conversations that you have with him and anything else that you feel is relevant in your day-to-day life. What you write down, your words, that is your truth.” I looked at her, feeling numb and confused. I paid my co-pay, booked an appointment for the following week which I vowed to myself on the way to my car that I would cancel. I didn’t want to hear that my husband couldn’t be fixed. I wanted an intact family for my daughters. I wanted peace.

That night, I waited until my daughters were in bed and I said to Seth, “She said that you have Narcissistic Personality Disorder. My therapist said you are a narcissist. She said that I accept this as my life, or I leave.” He was three beers in by this point and looked like a deer in headlines. “I have what,” he asked appearing confused?

I had never threatened to leave, and my words shocked him. Seth grabbed his laptop computer and took a barstool next to me at the kitchen counter. I watched as he typed in the words, “narcissistic personality disorder.” I sat next to him as he read several descriptions out loud and then he turned to me and said, “This sounds like my dad, not me.” He seemed shell-shocked at the thought of me leaving. I felt incredible hope in that moment because in my mind, a door had been opened. I had never felt him meet me in the middle, I had never felt heard and in this moment, I felt like he was listening to me.

“I don’t really understand feelings,” he admitted. “Maybe you can buy me books on the topic?” he continued. He looked like a wounded child as he stared at me, seemingly desperate for my response. I nodded and agreed. I felt like we were moving in the right direction because he and his father were the same person so if he recognized this issue in his dad, we were getting somewhere.  

That night, Seth agreed to marital counseling, which was a huge leap forward however, there were parameters in place that he was insistent upon: he wanted a male, PhD. I didn’t care what the rules were, I was just grateful that he was finally agreeing to therapy. Within a week, I had secured a psychologist who was willing to see us and our journey in marriage therapy began.

Seth’s behavior in the days before our first appointment with Dr. Phillips oscillated between manic and hostile. We drove to our first appointment separately and I started doubting whether he would show up for the appointment. Seth walked in the door less than a minute before our time was to begin and was noticeably uncomfortable, cracking his knuckles and bouncing his legs nervously to the point that I was embarrassed. Dr. Phillips listened to my concerns about the financial deceptions and our current state of affairs. Dr. Phillips explained that he would see Seth individually for the next session, then me individually and then us as a couple.

By our next session as a couple, Dr. Phillips explained that he would no longer see Seth individually and that he felt I needed to be present to clarify the truth because he believed that Seth had lied to him multiple times. I would see Dr. Phillips alone and then he would see us as a couple and that was our pattern for six-months. I really felt that Dr. Phillips understood the situation and even put Seth on the spot by saying, “I hear you apologizing for your financial deceptions however, I don’t believe that you really feel remorseful. Your words feel empty. It doesn’t sound authentic to me.”

In January of 2009, we met with Dr. Phillips who started the session by saying, “I feel that we have reached an impasse and I believe referring you to a colleague for a psychological examination is something that we should discuss.” Seth barely maintained his composure through the rest of the session and I could not concentrate because I could feel his rage. I had learned to read Seth very well over the course of our relationship. There were only a few times I saw him seething to this degree and I was very afraid of him when he became dark and quiet. These were the occasions where he had physically restrained me, squeezed my wrist or blocked my pathways.

Seth bolted for his car and I walked to the parking lot alone. On my drive home, I got a call from Seth and I could once again feel his anger. “Great job, Tina. You successfully manipulated a psychologist! You are so conniving. I knew I should never have agreed to you meeting with him alone. It’s over and I just called him to let him know that I’m done. I’m done with counseling and our marriage is over.”

Oddly, I felt a sense of calm come over me as I sat on the side of the road, absorbing Seth’s words. It was the same feeling of relief that I experienced as I watched cars being repossessed from our driveway. Emotionally, I had been checked out from the marriage for at least two years. I had given it my all to the point of absolute exhaustion. I wanted off this terrifying rollercoaster.

I pulled out my notebook and flipped through my notes from the past six-months and I heard the original therapist’s voice: this is your truth. In that moment, I felt more grounded and centered than I had felt in years.