I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the strange psychology of social media—especially the impulse some people have to offer uninvited opinions about things that clearly weren’t meant for them. As a writer, I’ve learned to expect that not everyone will connect with my work. But what I still find puzzling is the need to publicly announce that disconnect, often in spaces built around love, healing, or community. This essay is my attempt to unpack both the personal and psychological layers of that behaviour. It’s about why I write what I write, who I write for, and why it’s okay—necessary, even—for not everything to be for everyone.

I’ve just written an essay that I know will resonate with anyone who’s ever had the misfortune of standing up to a narcissist. If you’ve confronted one with truth, set a boundary, or simply dared to stop playing along—you’ve likely seen the fallout. The seething. The smug delusions. The outright lies delivered with Olympic-level confidence. It would be funny if it weren’t so exhausting. In The Illusion of Victory: How Narcissists Convince Themselves They're Winning—Even When They're Not, I unpack what really happens when a narcissist is challenged, why they twist the narrative to feel powerful, and how to protect your peace when you're caught in the crossfire. This one’s part personal experience, part hard truth, and 100% validation. If you’ve ever felt like you were the only one dealing with this kind of madness—you’re not. Read it. Share it. Bookmark it for when they rear their ugly head again.

I’ve written something deeply personal, raw, and—if I’m honest—long overdue. It’s about what happens when a narcissist loses control of the story they’ve built and turns their collapse into a weapon. If you’ve ever found yourself on the receiving end of that destruction, or you’re still trying to make sense of the chaos left behind, I hope these words find you. When the Mirror Cracks: Living Through a Narcissist’s Collapse is not just an explanation of narcissistic collapse—it’s a reflection of what it feels like to survive it. I wrote it as someone who thought I’d outrun the damage, only to find it knocking again when I least expected it. If you need clarity, validation, or just to know you’re not alone, I invite you to read this one.

Success is not just something I have achieved—it is something I have created, something I have built with my own hands, my own heart, my own relentless determination. It is not just about numbers, accomplishments, or status; it is about the fullness of my life, the love that surrounds me, the impact I have made, and the legacy I continue to carve out every single day. I have built a career—or rather, multiple careers—that bring me joy and fulfillment, a thriving business that supports an incredible team, a charity that is changing lives, and a family that is rich with love, loyalty, and unwavering support. And at the centre of it all, I have a love that is steady, enduring, and impenetrable. This is success. This is the life I have built. And I could not be more proud.

There is something almost artistic about the way a narcissist manipulates the truth—if, of course, you define art as a relentless, compulsive reworking of reality to serve one’s own ego at the expense of everyone else’s sanity. They don’t just lie; they curate. They hand-pick the facts they like, discard the ones that don’t flatter them, and arrange the narrative into a masterpiece of self-preservation, meticulously constructed to keep themselves at the centre of admiration and absolution. And if you dare challenge their version of events? Well, that’s just proof that you are the problem. In this essay, I take a deep dive into the psychological gymnastics of narcissists—the way they rewrite history in real time, turn blatant falsehoods into indisputable facts, and wield gaslighting like a finely honed weapon. Spoiler alert: it would be impressive if it weren’t so infuriating.

There is a particular kind of cruelty in inaction. It masquerades as innocence, as helplessness, as a man simply doing his best, but beneath the surface, it festers, rotting the foundation of love until nothing remains but resentment and loss. A father, convinced of his own righteousness, can convince himself that his silence was not a sin, that his refusal to act, to protect, to love equally was not a choice but a circumstance forced upon him. But the truth is unavoidable: inaction is action. Neglect is a decision. And when a father does nothing while his daughter begs for his love, begs for his recognition, and is met only with rejection, the wounds inflicted are not accidental. They are deliberate. They are sustained. They are unforgivable. This is the story of a daughter who carried a love that was beaten to death before her eyes, a burden she dragged for decades in the hope that it might be revived. And it is the story of how, in the end, she buried it. Because no love—no matter how deep, no matter how desperate—can survive when all it is ever met with is cruelty.