Surviving Narcissism Exploring life after marriage to a narcissist. Learning and thriving by sharing our story. – Jesse Blayne

I don’t know how old my kids were before they figured out that rubber bands weren’t actually called ammo.  Will had this wooden gun that shot red rubber bands.  He’d holler, “Mom, I need more ammo.  Where’s the ammo?”  Jenny would be cruising around with a Barbie tucked under one arm, and she’d spot a red rubber band behind a chair, and she’d yell, “Hey brother!  Over here!  There’s ammo behind the chair.”

I think they discovered rubber bands were called ‘rubber bands’ about the time they discovered bars of soap.  Seriously, they didn’t know soap came in a solid.  The first time they took a bath with a bar of soap was a thing to behold.  They spent a big soapy long while in the tub.  The bar of soap was squeezed between their little slippery wet hands, until it popped up and landed back in the water with a big splash.

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I used to follow this chat forum about daughters of narcissistic parents.  I was thinking I’d learn a lot and find some new tools.  I can’t go there any more.  It’s heartbreaking.  In some cases, I would read about a 70 year old woman hoping that one day her 90 year old mother would love her.   I read of a 28 year old woman trying desperately to get her mother’s approval.  I would read their accounts of wrongs or hurts, and I could hear all the dashed hopes in their posts.

Now I am seeing my kids get their hopes up about next week’s counseling sessions.  It is good that Mark is taking this step.  Jenny and Will want to believe that things can change.  They want to go to bed at night believing that their dad really loves them in all their unique, sweet weirdness.  They want to be like their cousins who are fathered (and loved) by dads who like spending time with them, who take them to T-ball practice and wrestling meets and swim lessons.

I have seen what happens when hope turns to expectation.  I have been filled with hope that morphs into real possibility, shifts gears into expectation, and then runs headlong into reality.  A lot of times, reality doesn’t look a thing like hope.

But it’s hope that gets me out of bed in the morning, telling me that today I get to enjoy the process, and look forward to more of whatever this journey brings.  Hope tucks me in at night telling me that tomorrow I will get to do more of the same, and there might be a few surprises mixed in with the sameness.  Hope twinkles in my kids’ eyes when the subject of Christmas comes up, or with the promise of a tee time, or a trip to the park.

But there is a precariousness about hope.  When hopes are dashed, it feels like we bought into a lie.  We were duped by the fast talking guy on the TV selling the latest gadget that slices/dices/minces and makes life easier.

Hope has this elastic nature not unlike a rubber band.  We stretch it around what we want.  Jenny takes a rubber band and stretches it around her Barbie’s hair, and it does the job she expects it to do.  Just as hope carries us through the day, sprinkling it with possibility.  Hope does the job we expect it to do.  But sometimes, when Jen is putting those bands on Barbie’s hair, she gets snapped by the rubber band in the process.  It hurts.

Just like dashed hopes hurt.

And I think of the women in the chat forum continually snapping their wrists with rubber bands.  And I think of my kids, after a visit with Mark.  I almost expect the backs of their hands to be red from the snapping.

I’m not going so far as to say we shouldn’t have hopes.  How sad would the journey be without the hopes of good relationships, fun vacations, presents under the tree, driving onto the green, the discovery of a new restaurant, or the possibility of re-connecting with an old friend at your 30 year class reunion?  (And yes, I am expecting some serious rubber band snapping to come from my class reunion.)  /:)

I am suggesting that it’s not smart to keep hoping for the same thing over and over.  If the 90 year old mom hasn’t figured how to love her daughter by now, it ain’t gonna happen.  I can’t predict what will happen after these counseling sessions, but my gut tells me not to pin my hopes on a dramatic change.

My wrist is red and sore.

I hope (there’s that word again) that Jen and Will learn to stretch their hopes around things that have a good chance of coming true.  Better to pin their hopes on themselves, where they can play a part in the outcome.  If they don’t reach the goals that their hopes set for them, they will learn from the process and become stronger.  They will still feel the snap of hopes that don’t materialize, but they will know why and what to do differently next time.

Ever notice how it hurts more when somebody else does the snapping?  It doesn’t hurt quite as much when you snap the band yourself.