There is an undercurrent of truth seekers in the river of life.
They are everywhere.
Some carry backpacks full of self-help books. Some can be seen taking a Myers-Briggs Test at the corner table in Starbucks. Some fill yoga classes. Some do Tai Chi on a sunny afternoon at the park, and they don’t care who might be watching.
Some might meditate.
Some might write in a dog-eared journal. Continue reading →
She hadn’t written him a letter explaining. She hadn’t told him she was leaving. She didn’t realize – until she saw her hands putting her journal, a laptop, and some clothes in a box – that she was leaving.
As she packed, her mind wasn’t going over the possibilities of what would come next. She hadn’t made a six-month plan or a five-year plan. She hadn’t given serious consideration to finding work or a house. She didn’t know what she’d tell friends and family.
She needed to breathe.
In order to breathe, she would have to leave her marriage.
As she packed, her thoughts were consumed with, “What do I need to take with me because I am never coming back here.” Her hands operated as if on auto-pilot. Her demeanor was calm and determined. She didn’t frantically start grabbing things from the kitchen cupboards. She methodically filled one box with a few necessities for starting a new life. Continue reading →
Whether it comes from years of looking inward, or years of not seeing clearly, I don’t know. Their eyes take on a cloudiness that makes it look like they have a difficult time focusing on the rest of the world.
You will feel yourself fighting the urge to hold a magnifying glass between yourself and the Narcissist, but it won’t help. If you aren’t careful, they’ll use the magnifying glass against you. They’ll find your flaws and use them to illustrate the fact that they are superior to you.
They’ll point out that they cook eggs better than you, or sweep the floor better or dress better or laugh easier.
She hadn’t planned to turn her back on herself. She didn’t wake up one morning and say, “This feels like the right day to put myself aside for this relationship.”
It just happened.
Like so many things just happen.
Scary is having your son’s 1st grade teacher ask you if there are problems at home that might explain your son’s nervous tic.
Scary is loosing contact with family and friends because your husband doesn’t like you to keep in touch over the phone or have company come for dinner.
Scary is not being able to sleep because you fear the treatment you’ll receive the next day because you will – once again – disappoint him and fail to meet his expectations.
Scary is believing that you have done something to bring about the treatment you are receiving.
Scary is staring out the window while sipping the morning’s first cup of coffee and realizing that the emptiness you feel every day is what you are going to feel for the rest of your life, if you don’t get out of this situation.
Scary is realizing you have forgotten who you are.
Scary is finally getting the courage to write him a letter explaining your fears and desperation, only to have him tell you that the issues are yours and he’ll support you in your efforts to fix them.
Scary is believing you don’t deserve any better.
Scary is knowing that your husband can’t see his own children for who they are, but tries to mold them into what he wants them to be.
Scary is knowing that if you stay, your children’s spirits will be snuffed out.
Scary is feeling so frightened and desperate that you pack your bags and leave the house you’ve lived in for thirteen years without having a backup plan.
Scary is knowing everyone thinks you are crazy for leaving such a wonderful person.
Scary is getting out, and fearing you’ll end up in another relationship with a narcissist.
At his address, the toys are neatly put away, the art supplies stay tucked in the cupboard and the towels are folded the minute the dryer buzzes.
At her address, the toys are everywhere, the baby dolls have dinner with the family, the art supplies are never tucked away because they are used constantly and the clean towels are grabbed out of the laundry basket on the way to the shower.
Dinner at his house is something adults would enjoy eating and kids would pick around while hoping to get a PBJ after the dishes are done. Around the table in the orderly dining room, more attention is paid to manners and less to conversation.
Dinner at her house is about coming together, helping with the prep, making sure there’s something on the table that each person will eat, and moving art supplies to make room for plates. There might be a gentle reminder about not talking with a mouthful of macaroni. There will be lots of laughing, stories of the day, and sometimes a few tears. Continue reading →
Through tears she asked, “How come he says other kids do things well, but he can’t say that about me? How come he doesn’t think I’m great? What do I have to do to get him to say those things about me?”
Will turned to me and said, “Mom, you have to call him. Tell him! Tell him he needs to say that stuff about Jenny. Tell him it hurts Jen’s feelings when he brags about other kids and doesn’t talk about what Jen does. Call him!”
I asked Will to hand Jenny a kleenex.
“Honey, I can call your dad if that’s what you want. I can talk to him about this – again. If you think that will help you to feel better, I’ll do it.”
She wiped her tears and said, “It never does any good. It never makes a difference. He won’t change. He doesn’t hear us. What’s the point?” Continue reading →
He said he’d be here at 9:oo a.m.
Then he changed his mind.
He didn’t want to do what the kids wanted to do so he said, “I’m not coming at nine. I don’t want to go where they want to go.”
The kids called and sent texts asking why he didn’t want to go where they wanted to go.
He avoided answering calls and texts.
I went to his house to ask him why he is manipulating the kids in this way.
He refused to answer the door. Continue reading →
She gets off the phone and sighs and says, “Dad says he’ll go to the park with me for a little bit, but he doesn’t want to stay too long because he gets bored.”
He comes back from riding his bike around the block and says, “How come dad doesn’t ever want to do what we want to do? If he does finally do what we like, he mopes and pouts and tells us he has to get going.”
He shows up at the house with a new baseball mitt for him, and nothing for her.
He sits on the step and pretends to listen to her talk about her imaginary pony until an adult walks up. Once he sees the opportunity a new audience provides, he stands, turns to this new person and tells him tales of mountain bike rides and how many hours he logs at the office. Realizing that he is no longer listening, she looks down and continues drawing her pony.
He tells me that he’d like to call his dad and tell him about how high his ollies are now, but his dad doesn’t listen and act excited. He’s thinking that maybe his dad says that it’s cool that he loves skateboarding, but he can feel that his dad is pretending to care.
They have both told me that they don’t know why they can’t be themselves around their dad. They don’t show him their silly sides or their tired sides, or the side-splitting funny sides because they fear he won’t approve.
It’s exhausting having to be perfect all the time.
It’s no fun pretending to be something you aren’t all the time.
“How come he doesn’t want to love who we really are?”
__________
After the last visit, he turned to me and said, “I think they’d want to spend more time with me if they weren’t missing you while they were with me.”
“Dad’s here!” Instead of heading to the door to greet him, she ran to her bedroom to change her shirt. As he walked into the living room, she came walking in from the hallway wearing a hand-me-down t-shirt. She smiled up at Mark, and said, “Hi, Daddy!”
I don’t think he noticed her shirt. If he did, he didn’t say anything. If he did, he certainly wouldn’t have thought it applied to him.
After he left, I asked her why she’d decided to wear that shirt. She stretched the shirt out in front of her so I could read it better. She looked up at me and grinned. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.
I didn’t discuss the appropriateness or inappropriateness of her choice.
______ Continue reading →
As I sit here sipping coffee, smelling blueberry pancakes and looking at the birthday presents my kids made and wrapped, I can’t help but think I ought to be writing an inspirational post about what it’s like to be turning 49. Gasp!
I could write about 49 lessons learned in 49 years. That might be tricky since many of those lessons I didn’t get the first, second, or even third time, so that list could get pretty redundant.
I could write about being grateful that my mom is still here to make me what I want for my birthday dinner.
I could write about the surprise of my dad remembering my birthday, inviting me to lunch and suggesting that Jen and Will come along, too.
Or, I could mention the amazing growth I’ve experienced in the last few years, from learning all I can about narcissism and how that has helped the three of us.
I could write about how blessed the three of us are with old and new friends, wonderful extended family and the folks who read this blog and contribute to our learning and healing.
But while I’m sitting here waiting for Will to serve me a second pancake, smothered in butter and a splash of real maple syrup, I have to say that I’m wondering if there’s anything to this Rapture/End-Of-Our-Days stuff, that is supposed to happen tomorrow.
I can’t get beyond thinking….
Holy Shit! If this Rapture stuff is true, I won’t have to spend the whole next year agonizing about turning 50!
Woot!
The front door flew open. I looked up just in time to see him toss his helmet on the couch. “Mom! You got the house phone, right? Did dad call?”
“Not yet, Will. You sent a bunch of texts and a couple voice mails. He must be busy. He’ll get back to you.”
Against all odds, Will had invited his dad to check out the remaining snow on the ski hill. It was the sort of outing that Mark usually suggested, so there was a good chance he might consider going. In fact, Mark had said that it sounded like a good thing to do on a Sunday since he’d be done with work. Later, when Will realized what he was in for, he said, “What did I do that for? Why did I invite dad? I always think it sounds like a good idea, but it’s never that great when we actually go.”
That’s how it is for the child of a narcissist – they crave the attention of that narcissistic parent like any kid craves attention from a parent, only when they get the attention, they usually end up hurt, rejected or dismissed. Or, they get hurt when the parent doesn’t show up, even if there’s a sense of relief that they are spared another unpleasant visit. Continue reading →
Last week I got a word salad in my inbox. Whether in oral form or written form, I’ve taken to mentally and physically preparing myself before making my way through these salads. If he’s delivering the word salad to me in person, I usually prop myself up against a door frame.
History has taught me to settle in, because these can take awhile.
If the word salad is in written form, I usually make myself a fresh cup of coffee and find a comfortable chair.
Last week’s sermon was about the difficulties he was experiencing trying to get the kids stuff for Easter. Within the run-on sentences about, “I just don’t know what they like…” and “They are growing up so fast…” I found a sentence that made my blood boil.
“… I understand that they aren’t supposed to come over to my house.” Continue reading →
As I walked through Target looking for something to get the kids for Easter, I passed the poofy, over-the-top Easter Dresses. I remember getting a couple Easter Dresses for Jenny.
She didn’t wear them to church.
She wore them in the garden while digging for worms.
She didn’t really need an Easter Dress. I needed to be able to buy her one. I needed to be able to take a picture of my little girl in a frilly, crinoline-stuffed, white dress, with a pink satin ribbon tied at her tiny waist.
That dress and the picture were on my list – the long, guilt-driven, impossible-to-achieve list of All Things Moms Do. Continue reading →
Will is a compassionate fellow with a tender, sensitive side and a fearless streak that makes him charge down ski hills at a speed that launches him into powder and shrubs and stuff that he can’t see. Occasionally he checks out the landing before he jumps, but not always.
He’s like a lot of twelve year old boys in that he’s fascinated with the unknown, the risky, the adventurous and the slightly scary. Kids thrive within the safety of boundaries – set rules of behavior, established bed times, and defined expectations. That’s why they find it exciting to step just beyond those boundaries once in awhile. It’s thrilling to tempt fate, stay up late, skip school one day or ski out of bounds and brag to your friends.
When a child has a parent who doesn’t stand firm on boundaries, that child will have a tendency to feel untethered. There will be a need to talk about boundaries. He’ll have to ask and be reassured that the boundaries haven’t changed. That kid’s foundation is tilted. They don’t have a secure knowledge that they truly know where the lines are drawn.
It’s okay to discuss the latest slasher film on the chairlift with a buddy, when at the end of the day, that kid goes home with a parent who reassures him that he is safe and protected, and that the doors are locked and the bad guys can’t get him.
It is not okay to have your dad tell horror stories in the car as the day comes to a close on the way home, only to drop you off and say, “Hey, Buddy, I’ll tell you more scary stories next time.” Continue reading →
