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

I woke to the sound of our cat crunching on her breakfast.  We buy her the good stuff.  I’m sure that’s why she’s so nice to us.  Then I heard her claws click across the hardwoods as she made her way down the hall and across my bedroom.  I heard the pause  before she jumped on my bed.  She snuggled in for a morning nap after filling her belly.  My bed sets beside a sliding glass door that looks out on the Poplar in the back yard.  Just as the cat closed her eyes, I saw a Robin land on the shed roof next to the Poplar.

I don’t know how my cat saw the Robin with her eyes closed.  There wasn’t a sound to alert her.  Her body tensed, her hair stood on end, and she started making that chattering sound that cats make when all-systems-are-go, and there’s a victim to be trounced upon.  Her instincts kicked in.  She went from full belly/drowsy eyes to ready to pounce in 2.3 seconds.

That is the power of instinct.

I didn’t babysit much as a teenager.  I wasn’t interested.  I didn’t want to hold babies.  Truth is, I was afraid of babies and their needs and their vulnerability.  I didn’t think they were particularly cute, and they smelled weird.

As I got older, I got to a place where I actually wanted a baby.  It was a foreign concept and a new feeling for me.  I felt this longing, but I couldn’t conceptualize why I wanted this thing that I hadn’t been interested in.  I won’t go into the clock ticking and the insatiable hunger and that stuff.  It was just this low-grade hum that kept telling me, “You want this.  Your life isn’t complete without this.”

I worried that since I had never been a ‘baby person’ I might not have a clue how to be a mom.  I wasn’t confident that my instincts would kick in, so I read – a lot.  I figured if I had the knowledge, I could fake the mothering.  My goal was to make mothering a habit, and then I wouldn’t have to fake it.  I’d override my perceived lack of instincts, get the job done correctly, and nobody would know the difference.

During my entire pregnancy, I read whatever I could get my hands on.  How to nurse, how to bathe, what to do with the umbilical cord, how to let them cry themselves to sleep.

Will was born.

The low-grade hum was replaced with a vibration.  The vibration stirred things in me just enough to align them and get them settled in place.

I put the books back on the shelf, and trusted my instincts.

Now that my kids are getting older and less dependent, I often think that we’ve hit this comfortable phase.  I’m not fooling myself, but we do have a good rhythm.  It’s my job to let them express their true natures, be curious, explore their worlds, and occasionally offer guidance and rein them in if a situation warrants it.

This phase feels less like instinct and more like the result of lots of hard work.

Then I find myself standing in a checkout line and I hear a newborn cry, and feel my body tense with an urgent need to go into action.  I am a ‘baby holder’.  I have morphed into a woman that feels a strong desire to hold babies.  I can be holding a baby and feel my milk come in.

That is the power of instinct.

The counselor is convinced that if we get Mark to stop using the baby voice, that we can get real close to a healthy, functioning relationship between Mark and the kids.  But she also said that Mark may very well decide to dig in his heels on the baby voice.  She says that she has seen parents dig in their heels over an issue.  The digging in prevents them from having a relationship with their child, but they still make the choice to dig.

I am amazed that the desire to stand firm on their ‘issue’ isn’t trumped by the instinct to bond with and raise their child.

The baby voice is an annoying manifestation of a much deeper issue.  Mark doesn’t know how to relate to his kids.  The baby voice is the habit he created to mask his lack of instincts when it comes to being a dad.  He doesn’t feel that natural inclination to want to care for his kids.  But the world thinks he should be an excellent dad, so he created this habit that he thought would take the place of natural instincts.

Even if he could stop with the baby voice, he would still be left trying to find a way to show the world that he is an amazing father.  If the genuine feelings aren’t there, he’s going to have to find a way to fake those feelings.

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After last week’s visit at grandma’s, Mark wrote emails to the kids.  The messages were lighthearted and positive, but the messages were all about how good Mark felt when he saw that the kids were excited to see him.  His instincts are based on the need to be admired and adored.  He felt adored by his kids last Wednesday, and that’s all he needs out of these visits.  If he isn’t getting his needs met – being adored – he resorts to picking on the kids or pouting.  In true survival mode,  the kids have developed a habit of their own.  They fake enjoying their dad’s company to avoid the discomfort that comes from disappointing their dad.

And the cycle continues.

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Our cat may have a full belly, but her instincts still tell her to pounce on that Robin.

I may be raising older kids, but my instincts still tell me to respond and nurture when I hear a baby cry.

Mark’s instincts tell him that he needs to be adored.  The need for adoration is a hunger that can’t be satisfied.  He can’t do, or be anything else, until that need is met.  It will never be about how he relates to the source of the adoration.

That is the power of instinct.