I’m not mad at you any more. I’m guessing that you didn’t realize I was mad at you.
I’ve been mad at you for a real long time.
I wasn’t mad when you and mom got a divorce. I was mad after the divorce, when you never came around. I was mad when you said you’d come by, and you didn’t. I was mad at you for finding things to do with my brother, but not being able to find things to do with me.
It hurt my feelings when you couldn’t think of anything to talk with me about, or when you couldn’t make an effort at being interested in my life.
You never told me I was pretty or smart or capable or funny. Now I am insecure and lacking in self-confidence.
I was mad at you for expecting me to be the one to call. I had to be the one to create a relationship with you. When I dropped the ball on our relationship, and quit trying, you never picked it back up. You were content to just let things slide.
You never wanted to get to know my husband. You never expressed interest in my kids.
When you did call, it was because you needed something, or you needed a shoulder to cry on.
Where the hell were you when I needed a shoulder? Where the hell were you when I was leaving my marriage and could have used a kind word?
I don’t know how to make a relationship work.
Is that because you were never there for me? I don’t know what a man is supposed to do in a relationship, so I don’t know when I should keep trying, or when I should get out.
For that matter, I don’t know what I am supposed to do in a relationship.
Even though you’d say the words, “love you,” your actions never proved it. To this day, I don’t trust those words from a man.
How come I’m so desperate to have a man make me a priority? Is that because you never made me a priority? If I had been your priority, would it matter now that I’m not a man’s priority?
Why does it feel like I have a gaping hole in my core that can only be filled by a relationship?
Why do I settle for a relationship that demands that I do the relating for both? Is that because I had to work hard to get any attention from you?
I don’t know how to make a relationship work.
Hell, you don’t know how to make a relationship work, either.
But I can’t be mad at you any more.
I’m a mom now.
I think about how I’d feel if my kids were mad at me. That would devastate me. I cannot stand the thought of Jen or Will being disappointed in me, or mad at me for something I failed to do for them. One day they will be mad at me for something, and when they are, I hope they are able to objectively see that I have been doing my best.
I can see that you did your best. You had crappy examples for healthy relationships when you were growing up, too.
I’ll be fine. I always am.
I am doing my best.
You should get to know Jenny and Will. They are amazing.
I’m not mad any more.
I promise.
Love,
Jesse
Tags: child of narcissist, divorce, life, love, parenting, survive
What an incredibly powerful post. You have touched deep feelings that have been buried (but not forgotten) for many years, and now that you have caused them to resurface, there is still time to take some positive action in my own life.
Many thanks!
Jon
Jon,
Hello and thanks for commenting.
I’ve needed to write this for a long time.
I hope it helps.
Thank you Jesse! My father and my first husband are more narcissistic than I like to admit (why–as if it’s my fault–I don’t know.) My daughters (18&21) have chosen to deal with him in different ways. One hasn’t spoken to him in 18 months. He doesn’t see how he has created that dynamic. It is sad. I can imagine either or both of my girls writing a letter like yours someday. I feel very close to you (even through your pseudonym) for it. Thank you for sharing such a big piece of your heart out in the open.
Hi Alyson,
It’s nice to see you here.
I feel for your daughters.
I shed a lot of tears writing that one, but today I feel lighter. It SO needed to be said.
I hope writing this really did help you. I can remember what a freeing experience it was when I did the work to better understand what made my mother the way she was. Writing about it is such a powerful way of bringing everything together in your heart and mind so that you can take a breath and be able to say, with conviction, “Okay, Dad/Mom, it still sucks that you weren’t there for me; there will always be a hurt in my heart that you couldn’t have been the dad/mom I wanted; but when I understand more about your childhood, I realize now that you did the best you were capable of. What felt like your rejection and lack of caring about me was your inability to focus on anything besides your own pain. You loved me in the only way you knew how.”
Even though I believe whole-heartedly what I just put in quotes above, not having the mom I needed still sucks. And when I die, the hole that leaves in my heart will probably be smaller than it is today, but it’ll still be there. Because of it, I constantly question whether I’m a good enough mother, whether I make the grade as a grandmother. I think that particular heart-hole never completely heals and disappears.
The progress you’ve made in the last couple of years is amazing, Jesse. Will and Jen are so lucky that you are their mom.
Pat,
The writing of that post was necessary. It’s something I’ve been stewing on for quite awhile. It tied a lot of loose ends together for me.
The frustration is in being cognizant of my issues, and still being unable to correct my mistakes. I get far enough into something, think I’m doing things differently, and learn, again, that I don’t know how to do the relationship thing.
Perhaps that’s the definition of growth?
I wish he could hear it! You deserve so much more.
Love you!
Kate,
If more girls had a dad like yours, just imagine….
love you, too.
I do realise after many years of hearing other people’s stories that ours is one in a million.
I’m so happy Grace has the dad that she does. We are both so blessed.
Every little girl should feel that special. What a difference it makes!
Still wish he could hear this post. What an amazingly powerful letter!
Kate,
I may have said this before…
You and your sisters selected amazing men for partners. It’s not lost on me that having a wonderful father set the stage for making those selections.
Enjoy your company!!
WOW! It would be great for him to see it but we all know he wouldn’t get it. Just forgiving him will make your life easier. We always have guilt for harboring bad feelings about a parent. Sometimes they make it so hard, though.
Relationship-wise, it’s not because you can’t have a healthy one, it’s just hard. As I have learned, it’s hard for everyone, not just you. The biggest thing is finding the right person. When you find them you will know. With the right person it will be easy.
We know what we don’t want and what we do want. Now to find the guy that fits the bill.
Kath,
Seems like we’ve been talking of this forever, doesn’t it?
Jesse,
It is amazing to me that you posted this yesterday. On Friday morning I woke up very early thinking about my relationship with my narcissistic ex and comparing it to the new man in my life. Needless to say, my relationship with my ex was very unhealthy. It was all about trying to please him. I put my own needs/wants/happiness on a shelf and focused only on him. And in the end, it did not matter what I did to make him happy, he just wanted me to try harder.
I realized on Friday morning that, in the beginning, my relationship with my ex felt healthy and normal, because I thought it was a woman’s role to try to make the man happy. I was using my own father and mother as an example.
In my new relationship I tend to keep focusing on my boyfriend’s happiness, again. Just like I did with my ex. Only this time, my boyfriend is uncomfortable with this. While my ex encouraged and rewarded this behaviour, my new boyfriend is trying to discourage it, and makes it known that my happiness is just as important as his. What a difference!
Now the trick is to trust my new boyfriend, and truly believe that my own happiness is just as important as his. It sounds so simple and obvious but I realize now that this is going to be the biggest challenge for me.
When my new boyfriend says “I love you” I don’t understand why he does. He doesn’t let me be100% focused on his happiness, so why should he love me?
When my ex said “I love you” I believed him. After all, I did everything I could to please him, so it made sense to me that I was worthy enough to love. I believed him and I trusted him and I thought I understood him.
Sorry for the lengthy comment but I had to share this. It felt like an epiphany for me.
It is ironic that I trusted a narcissist who said he loved me but I can’t trust a normal guy. But at least now I think I have the understanding I need to make a healthy relationship work. I just have to internalize it.
Thanks for this post!
Hugs to you and your family
Reese,
I love your comment because it so beautifully depicts those internal dialogues that I often have at 2 in the morning.
You are traveling some uncharted territory.
Won’t it be interesting when you realize that loving, and being loved for yourself, can be so easy and natural?
Sending hugs back,
Jesse
You are lovable simply because you are.
Donna,
I didn’t know that until very recently.
We ALL are lovable because we are.
Thanks for that. :)
f.u.n.
I was wondering if you ever sent it?
I’m 18, and my dad left when I was 7 and the visits slowly died. He ruined my first communion, and everything else. He’s the reason I don’t trust people and I’ve had a lot of depressions. But now, I’m still sad, but I’m moving towards being mad. I Want to put it all behind me, but it’s difficult. I’ve never had a relationship, because he taught me not to trust men, especially him. I’m at a point in my life, where I think my life without wanting him to contact me and ask me how I am is better than having someone who sometimes pretends to care but never really does.
I’ve written a letter a bit like yours, and can’t find out if I should send it or not, so I wanted to know what you did.
Thanks a lot
Anna
Hi Anna,
First, I’d like to give you a big, warm hug. It completely sucks to have a father like yours.
I read a long time ago – and have read and talked to counselors since – it’s good to write it out and either mail it to yourself, or crumple it and torch it or tuck it away, to later open and reread. Supposedly, you can get the same kind of healing and release by not actually sending it to your dad.
I know… It just doesn’t feel the same, does it.
Here’s why I can’t send mine… I can’t bring myself to deliver that message, because I firmly believe that his actions come from a place of deep hurting in his own soul. Not to sound all woo woo or whatever, but my dad had lousy examples for parents. He didn’t learn how to love.
As much as I have been hurt by his actions, I have to believe that it isn’t entirely his fault.
On top of that, I fear that he’d get the letter, and say, “Hey, that’s your problem,” and blow me off – again.
Wish I could do more to help.
Take care,
Jesse