“The Ones Who Get Away With It”
You know what’s sad?
There’s really only one kind of narcissist who ever faces real punishment—the ones who raise a hand, or use a weapon, and get caught. But what we don’t talk about enough—what we often downplay or even joke about—are the gaslighters, the stonewallers, the manipulators, the histrionic “victims.” The ones who can do just as much damage—sometimes worse—and still walk free, untouched by the law, as they generally followed the letter of the law or used the law to work in their favor.
And that’s the part that haunts me.
Now, maybe you’ll disagree, and that’s okay.
But here’s how I see it:
We’re all guilty of something.
We’ve all played “that part” at some point—whether we meant to or not.
Some of us recognize it. We own it. We try to do better.
Others? They don’t.
They call the victim crazy.
They say you’re delusional.
They dismiss you, label you, erase you.
But I believe—I hope—that there’s a God, or a Universe, or some force out there that sees it all.
And that belief? That’s what keeps me humble.
Because I know I’m not perfect either.
But I’m trying.
Trying to break the cycle.
That’s why, even though I love children—truly, deeply—I chose not to have my own.
Because no child deserves to be born into a home with broken, selfish parents.
Yes, parents are human. They make mistakes.
But the ones who never admit their failures?
They do real harm.
Even just disrespecting the other parent—
That’s a wound a child carries for life.
Because that child came from both of you.
They carry pieces of each parent, whether you like it or not.
And unless one parent was truly toxic, it’s not just about your pain.
It’s about what that child has already endured.
That’s my parental advice.
And yeah, maybe someone will say,
“You’ve never been a parent.”
But that’s not true.
I’ve mothered many.
They weren’t children anymore.
They didn’t come from my womb.
But they were damaged souls who crossed my path—
And I showed up for them.
When I die, maybe there won’t be a big funeral.
Maybe not many will come.
But I’ll go knowing this:
I fulfilled my purpose.
And I’m at peace with that.
Image Description for the Visually Impaired or those interested in understanding why this image was attached:
In a dimly lit, shadow-heavy room, a woman sits hunched over on the floor. Her posture is broken—shoulders collapsed inward, head bowed low, arms wrapped around herself as if trying to hold together what’s left. Her long hair falls forward, partially obscuring her face, but the faint light source—soft and subtle—catches the glisten of tears in her eyes. The light gently illuminates her face and shoulders, casting deep shadows that emphasize her isolation and emotional weight.
The background is stark and haunting: a cracked, aged wall looms behind her, streaked with vivid red lines that drip downward like bleeding memories or emotional scars. The red streaks are abstract—neither blood nor paint—but they evoke trauma, rage, and unresolved pain. The wall itself feels cold, almost alive, as if it’s witnessed everything she’s endured.
The overall mood is heavy, raw, and deeply emotional. The darkness doesn’t just surround her—it presses in. Yet the faint light suggests a sliver of hope, or at least awareness. She’s not invisible. She’s seen. And that matters.
Full Lyric Link to Song by Nightborde Attached to my Facebook version of this post:
https://www.nightbirde.co/lyrics/brave
For CD Apple Music, YouTube, and and/or Spotify links, just search Brave by Nightbird.
