Atmospheric scientist, storm chaser, adventurer, teacher, author. Senior meteorologist in Washington DC.

The totality has just concluded here in Tórtoles de Esgueva, Spain. We were baptized by the shadow of the moon, which passed over us at more than 7,000 mph (10,000 km/h).

It was transformative and ineffable; spirituality and science intertwined for a few fleeting instants.

The sensation of the totality's approach is unlike any other. It is unsettling, looming like an ancient and supernatural presence, older than time itself. It is earthly, ominous, and terrifyingly telluric. The waning sunlight seems sinister. The anxiety is inescapable.

The totality itself is a total contrast. Its occurrence is calculated to the millisecond, and yet it always manages to arrive like a surprise. The sudden fall of night is disorienting and shocking, but it comes accompanied by an inexplicable beauty.

The moon's erasure of the sun appears as a perfectly circular void, jet-black in the sky: darker and more hollow than anything a human being can otherwise see. It is an abyss. But behind it emerges the corona: the sun's atmosphere.

Soft tendrils of gleaming white radiate into space like the hair of an angel. Pencil-thin lines are contorted by the ever-evolving magnetic field of a massive nuclear fusion generator located 93,000,000 miles away. It projects like a promise that the light will return.

It is impossible not to be moved or overwhelmed when receiving such majesty. The totality is somehow both eternal and instantaneous; for a few moments, existence itself seems to change. The spectators are transported to a surreal reality; the sky becomes a portal to another universe.

In a certain sense, it is: barely 1 percent of the world's population will ever stand under the shadow of the moon. For just one minute and 40 seconds, we were at the center point of a perfect planetary alignment: the sun, the moon, and us tracing a line through the cosmos.

The totality itself is like a celestial blessing. It is comforting and reassuring, like the visit of an old friend long gone. It feels purifying, like a turning point in life.

Personally, eclipses feel like markers between chapters; as the darkness takes hold, one chapter closes. The reappearance of the bright daylight marks a new beginning. This was my sixth time under the shadow of the moon, the fourth with a clear view of the corona, and the second accompanied by a bus full of friends and family.

The next total solar eclipse is in 355 days; I'll be there. I look forward to reuniting once more with my long-lost friend.

It did not.

It started long before that.

It started every time I tried to tell you that something hurt me and somehow ended up apologising for saying it.

It started every time my pain became your pain. My honesty became disrespect. My boundary became cruelty. My memory became an attack.

It started when I realised I could come to you bleeding and leave feeling guilty for making a mess.

That is what you still do not understand.

I did not wake up one day and decide to become distant.

You trained me to stop reaching.

You trained me to think before I spoke, soften before I told the truth, prepare for the defence, manage the mood, predict the reaction, and make my own pain small enough for you to survive hearing it.

And after a while, something in me stopped believing you were a safe place to bring what hurt.

Not because I stopped needing you,

But because needing you kept becoming another place to be wounded.

So when people ask why I am distant, I do not know how to explain that I did not leave one conversation.

I left the pattern.

The denial.

The blame.

The silence.

The guilt.

The way you could hurt me and still somehow become the victim of my reaction.

I left the version of love that required me to betray myself just to keep access to you.

And maybe that is what makes you angry.

You want the story where I am cold

Ungrateful.

Selfish.

Influenced.

Cruel.

Because that story is easier than the one where I stayed for years trying to be understood by someone who benefited from misunderstanding me.

But now I know the truth.

I did not walk away because one thing happened.

I walked away because the same thing kept happening, and every time it did, a little more of me learned not to ever come back.

You did not lose me when I left.

You lost me in all the moments I needed you to care and you chose to defend yourself instead.

- The Narcissistic Mother group

Please watch:

https://youtu.be/3PQKAajqvlk?is=aW-Qbr-2UOzVWKGK

In life after life, in age after age, forever.

My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,

That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,

In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age old pain,

It's ancient tale of being apart or together.

As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,

Clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time.

You become an image of what is remembered forever.

You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.

At the heart of time, love of one for another.

We have played along side millions of lovers,

Shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting,

the distressful tears of farewell,

Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you

The love of all man's days both past and forever:

Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.

The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours -

And the songs of every poet past and forever.

~ Rabindranath Tagore

~ Stephanie M. Kriesberg, PsyD

Female narcissists are more rare in society, between 20-25% compared to 75% that are male. But the narcissistic mother is a truly baffling and heartbreaking concept. Women typically are empathetic and the bond of mother and child is usually unbreakable. A mother is supposed to love their child and promote them in their formative years. But when they have a disordered personality and especially with their first born (from lack of experience) this can go horribly wrong. The young child has no option but to accept whatever the mother states and displays about them, as truth. Who will protect and provide for the child, if they could even rebel?

After a few decades of this brainwashing the child is launched into the world with a distorted incorrect self-esteem. The lies become the basis for all of their decisions going forward.

I personally remember the first time I felt horrible about myself because of things my mother repeated to me, I was 6. Unfortunately the therapy practitioners weren’t very informed about narcissism, like today. But after my last involvement with a malignant narcissist 8 years ago, I did obtain abuse recovery therapy. It has allowed decades of painful memories to be linked to the fact, that my mother was a narcissist.

I was now clear why my mother would not visit me in my apartment. She said it was too depressing of a place. It had no heat but I was newly divorced and it was all that I could afford. Yet she would ride past my apartment to go visit my woman cousin, who lived down the road. She wouldn’t let my dad visit me either, but he did manage to come a few times, to fix broken things for me.

There is recovery from this type of all-encompassing abuse, to learn ways to manage the lifelong c-PTSD that comes with it. But it is a constant process of learning that you have value and your needs are valid, to be both expressed and met.

I want to share two books I have found to be excellent “manuals” of recovery. May all the women who struggle from this, perhaps not knowing that they are very much worthy of breathing. I am with you! ❤️

This prolonged stress can manifest in physical ailments, such as fibromyalgia, which involves widespread pain and tenderness throughout the body.Fatigue and sleep problems are also common, as victims may struggle with insomnia or restless sleep due to anxiety and hypervigilance. These sleep disturbances can further exacerbate feelings of exhaustion and impair daily functioning.

Additionally, eating disorders may arise, with individuals either losing their appetite due to emotional distress or turning to overeating as a coping mechanism.Headaches and gastrointestinal issues are frequent complaints among those who have endured narcissistic abuse. The body's stress response can lead to tension headaches, migraines, and digestive problems, such as irritable bowel syndrome.

Moreover, the emotional toll of the abuse often results in anxiety, depression, and Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD). These conditions can cause pervasive feelings of fear, sadness, and hopelessness, significantly impacting the victim's quality of life.In summary, the repercussions of narcissistic abuse extend far beyond emotional scars, affecting victims' physical health and overall well-being in profound ways.”

Survivors often experience anxiety, depression, and PTSD symptoms, making everyday life a struggle. The emotional scars run deep, and the healing process can be long and arduous. It's not just about moving on; it's about reclaiming your sense of self and rebuilding your life.

The narcissist may be gone, but their impact remains. Survivors often grapple with self-doubt, shame, and guilt, wondering if they were somehow to blame for the abuse. They may struggle to form healthy relationships or trust others. The emotional aftermath can be overwhelming, and it's essential to acknowledge the complexity of the healing process.

Support from loved ones, therapy, and support groups can be crucial in the healing journey. Survivors need a safe space to process their emotions and work through the trauma. With time, patience, and support, it's possible to heal and rebuild a fulfilling life. However, it's essential to recognize that the journey is unique to each individual, and there's no set timeline for recovery. Survivors deserve compassion, understanding, and support as they navigate the complex and often painful process of healing.”

via: The Narcissistic Mind, an online recovery group

“Reflections on Some Very Tall Neighbors

One day in a golden summer only recently past but already faded into memory, I took a walk. Craving fresh air, sunshine, and human company, I set out from my home and workplace and began strolling. Just a couple of blocks away, I was stopped in my tracks by some familiar and beloved music. An orchestra rehearsing for its evening performance on an outdoor stage was playing Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue." I paused and sat on a bench, taking in the sounds and sights surrounding me…a circular fountain splashing out in all directions, a riot of well-tended flowers blooming around it, people from many places chattering in many languages, sunning themselves, and reveling in the soaring strains of the music. As the warmth of the sun soaked into my body and suffused my spirit, I made a mental note of this interlude as one of those rare, perfect moments that reminds us how very good it is to be alive.

The setting for this perfect New York moment was the plaza of the World Trade Center. I had the good fortune to live in the shadow of the Trade Center's grand, stark towers for nearly six years, and to experience them and their five smaller siblings intimately. It's a New York truism that many of us don't know our closest neighbors. I didn't know many of mine, but I did know the really tall ones across the way. After September 11, hearing reporters and officials call them "Ground Zero" felt as strange and wrong as hearing a well-meaning funeral director refer to a loved one as "the deceased." In my memory, my steel-and-glass neighbors are still very much alive, and I am frequently visited by memories of them, and of the life that pulsed through and around them, until recently.

Like many New Yorkers, they were hard to ignore. Looking out from my living room, Numbers 1 and 2 loomed just across West Street, their in-your-face presence almost too close to constitute the "WTC view" trumpeted in real estate ads. I went to sleep each night with the red neon Marriott sign on Number 3 glowing through my bedroom window like the city's biggest nightlight. Through their bowels ran the three subway lines that connected my neighborhood with the rest of the city. To get virtually anywhere, I had no choice but to cross the footbridge linking the World Financial Center with 1 World Trade and pass through the great tower's lobby. I studied the sidewalks, footbridges, and escalators that connected them and their sister buildings, and mapped out varied routes to break up the monotony of following the same well-trodden paths through them every day.

Passing through the lobby of Number 1 on a typical day, I would encounter people who could be grouped into two broad categories: the assured, purposeful workers for whom the building was a second home, and the quizzical, hesitant tourists looking for signs that pointed the way to the observation deck or Windows on the World. During the morning and evening rush, I fell somewhere between the two. I would set out confidently, only to be rattled by the swarm of onrushing humanity.

But these buildings were much more than bustling centers of commerce and tourism. The North Bridge was often lined on either side with booths set up for a holiday craft fair or photo exhibit, and once a year, with Girl Scouts selling Trefoils, Samoas, and Thin Mints in the eagerly awaited Corporate Cookie Connection. On quiet, sunny weekends, the bridge would assume an even less businesslike aspect, as toddlers turned its broad, sloping windowsills into sliding ponds, zooming down on their diapered bottoms again and again as their exasperated parents waited nearby.

The human face of the Trade Center was also on display in its retail shops. For many from my neighborhood, the mall was our downtown, an extension of our Main Street. Mementos of that mall fill my daily life. I consult my wrist for the correct time and my gaze falls on the leather watchband from Tourneau. I take out my house keys and read the inscription of the locksmith, "D. Pehr, 5 WTC-Lobby." I open a dresser drawer and out wafts the clean, powdery scent of the drawer liners I purchased at Crabtree & Evelyn—after endless sniffing and deliberating—the weekend just before the attacks.

Our tallest neighbors served us well as gathering places, too. All summer long, the World Trade Center plaza opened its wide arms to embrace concertgoers enjoying events like the Gershwin performance whose rehearsal I witnessed. Some evenings, fiddles and whistles rang out in a Celtic music celebration; other nights it was the weekly Salsa Dance Party, when entire families would fill the plaza, moving in joyful rhythm. Twice a week, a farmers' market would wrap around the corner of Liberty and Church, just outside Number 4, bringing a taste of the country to our corner of the city. Last summer, I became a regular customer of the couple who sold mouthwatering pies that paired peaches with every other imaginable fruit (by September I had worked my way through peach-blueberry, peach-blackberry, and peach-plum). Inside Number 5, readings at Borders Books—often on business- and finance-related subjects—drew the Wall Street "suits," and upstairs in the children's section, storytime was a magnet for kids and parents from the neighborhood.

As we move forward, architects, urban planners, and politicians will continue to advance their visions for the future of the World Trade Center site. They will seek to balance the business and real estate realities of downtown Manhattan with the imperative to incorporate emotional and spiritual elements. As a New Yorker who lived with and came to love the World Trade Center, I have one additional plea to those who will decide the site's fate: Whatever stands in the stead of the towers, make sure it is as good a neighbor—to the community, to the city, and to the world—as they were.”

© Copyright 2001, Nancy Arnott