My Journey Out of Narcissistic Abuse | From Silence to Strength

Veronica On is a Singaporean entrepreneur and mum currently living in Maresme (Barcelona). She has written her story exclusively for MumAbroad in the hope that it may help others currently trapped in emotionally and financially abusive relationships. 

“I had always considered myself confident, capable, and independent—someone who rose quickly in a competitive corporate world.  I have successfully launched and ran a retail and import/export business in Singapore/Taiwan before relocating to Spain to start over. 

So how did I end up trapped in narcissistic abuse? Because abuse doesn’t discriminate. It preys on trust, loyalty and the hope that love can fix what’s broken. Sharing my story is part of reclaiming my voice and standing for others who may still be suffering in silence”.

From Silence to Strength: My Journey Out of Narcissistic Abuse

December 5, 2005. I remember the exact day he walked into my boutique in Raffles City, Singapore. A man with a tragic backstory—failed businesses, bad luck, betrayal. He wore misfortune like a badge of honour. I was 36, confident, successful, and independent. I had built a thriving retail business on my own, travelled for work, had financial freedom—and longed to be a mother.

When I found myself pregnant, I told him I didn’t need marriage—I just wanted my baby. He insisted: “A child needs a father.” I believed him. That belief would cost me nearly everything I had spent my life building.

We married. He couldn’t stay in Singapore legally unless employed, so I made him an employee. I paid him a generous salary, bought a car he chose, converted my business to a private limited company, and—at his urging—gave him authority to sign cheques. I handed him trust. He handed me betrayal.

I noticed large withdrawals. Cheques written to himself. Vague justifications. I asked questions. He spun lies, turned angry, played victim. Later I found out he had serious debts in Turkey and was wanted by the police. When we travelled, he’d disappear for a night in every new city. And all the while, he slowly edged me out of my own company while draining it dry. I lost control—not just of my business, but of my reality.

And yet, we had children—two beautiful daughters. He could be loving toward them, and I clung to that, hoping it would anchor him, anchor us. I was wrong. The demands kept growing—more access, more power, more money. I left several times, but always returned, carrying guilt and confusion. I thought if I just worked harder at being a better wife, things would improve.

When we eventually sold the business and moved to Spain, he took control again. “What’s mine is yours,” he told me. But behind my back, he used part of the proceeds to pay off his personal credit card debts, without my knowledge. We had paid ourselves well. He should never have needed credit advances. But nothing was ever enough for him.

Later, he demanded a six-figure payout, claiming he’d earned it in the stock market. He also lost over six figures, in my name. I was being financially sabotaged by the man who promised to protect our family.

In Spain, I dared to dream again. I opened a café—something of my own. But history repeated itself. He took over everything, declaring that his “40 years of experience” made him the obvious choice to lead. He oversaw renovations, ignoring budgets, overspending recklessly, draining my savings. And then the pandemic hit. Our business collapsed.

But instead of letting go, he insisted we fight on. He pressured me into co-signing a government loan. I became guarantor. When the repayments began, the bank hounded me—20 calls a day. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t breathe. I fell behind on the mortgage, taxes, and utilities. I had never owed anyone money in my life. But now, I was drowning in debt.

He didn’t care. “Spanish banks are ridiculous,” he scoffed.

We began to fight more often—fights that turned physical. He shoved me, both at home and in the café. I told no one. I was too ashamed. I deleted social media. I stopped reaching out. I disappeared into a life of quiet suffering. I blamed myself. I was exhausted from explaining away the chaos he left behind.

And then, one day, my eldest daughter looked at me and said: “Mom, Dad is a narcissist.”
I had never heard of Narcissistic Personality Disorder. But I began to read. And everything fell into place—the gaslighting, the manipulation, the financial abuse, the emotional erosion. I wasn’t crazy. I was a victim. And I wasn’t alone.

For nearly two decades, I had been trying to salvage a relationship that was built on lies and control. I held onto marriage the way older generations held onto broken furniture: you fix it. But not everything is worth fixing—especially when someone is actively destroying it from the inside.

Then came the final blow: the bank sued me for bankruptcy over the loan he took out, he used, and he refused to repay. “We’re in the same boat,” he shrugged. No, we weren’t. He was the hole in the boat.

For three years, I held it together on my salary alone—paying the mortgage, food, school fees. But the walls kept closing in. I lived in fear of my employer discovering my financial ruin. I couldn’t afford to lose my job—not when it was the last thing keeping our lives intact.

I finally asked for a divorce. He refused unless I gave him a portion of the house—my house—that I bought, maintained, and still live in with our daughters. In the end, I offered him €100,000. Not because he deserved it. But because I knew it was the only way I could ever be free. He accepted.

My family and friends, bless their hearts, helping me to raise the amount through a crowdfunding campaign. Not because they believed he deserved it—but because they knew that freedom has a price. And I had already paid enough in suffering.

Why am I telling this story now?

Because narcissistic abuse is silent. The bruises are invisible. The wounds are internal—shame, fear, isolation, helplessness. I lost everything—my business, my savings, my reputation, my dignity. But I never lost my daughters. And now, I’m finding my way back to me.

This is not a sob story. This is a testimony of survival.

To those reading this—if you feel something in your gut as you read my words, trust it. Abuse doesn’t always look like bruises. Sometimes, it’s charm. Sometimes, it’s control masked as love. If you feel alone, you are not. There is a way out.

With your help, I am choosing to reclaim my life. Not just for me. But for my daughters. For the woman I was. And the woman I am becoming again.

How You Can Help

If Veronica’s story has resonated with you, if you see a part of yourself or someone you love in her journey, know that your support can make a real difference.

Support her fundraising campaign today and help Veronica reclaim her freedom and rebuild a safe, stable future for herself and her daughters. Every contribution, no matter how small, is a step toward healing and hope after years of abuse.

Read more articles on the MumAbroad blog.