I was in my car on the way to work and the song “Tolerate It,” by Taylor Swift came on. I listened and then listened to it again. If that isn’t the anthem for victims of narcissists, I don’t know what is. Here is a portion of the lyrics:

I wait by the door like I’m just a kid
Use my best colors for your portrait
Lay the table with the fancy shit
And watch you tolerate it
If it’s all in my head tell me now
Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow
I know my love should be celebrated
But you tolerate it

While you were out building other worlds, where was I?
Where’s that man who’d throw blankets over my barbed wire?
I made you my temple, my mural, my sky
Now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life
Drawing hearts in the byline
Always taking up too much space or time
You assume I’m fine
But what would you do if I, I

Break free and leave us in ruins
Took this dagger in me and removed it
Gain the weight of you then lose it
Believe me, I could do it
If it’s all in my head tell me now
Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow
I know my love should be celebrated
But you tolerate it

I am so glad I have moved past the “wait by the door like a little kid,” phase. This was my for years. Begging him to come home from work, he said I was being controlling because I wanted him to come home. Then, this past year or two, I actually rather he not come home. Life is easier. Parenting is easier. Now that I’m not begging him to be home, he says, “I don’t love him.” Imagine, no matter what I did I was going to be the villain in his story. Imagine what a horrible villain I will be when I finally file for divorce.

Imagine…