narcissistic behavior « Surviving Narcissism

Posts Tagged: narcissistic behavior

Proof That I’m Not a Narcissist

I’ve been trying to find an emoticon that equals “heavy sigh”. Yesterday was a wicked day for Will and Jenny. After some serious triage; administering Cheetos and fudge bars and a large dose of junk TV; I tucked them in their beds. I will be spending the day focusing on repairing the damage to their egos and reminding them that life is also very funny even when it pisses you off.

However, I must tell you that I do have further proof that I AM NOT a narcissist. I just got out of the shower and accidentally caught a full glimpse of my naked back side. Trust me. I would not do that on purpose. And this flash went through my head, “That must be what my grandpa saw when my grandma got out of the shower.” And immediately I was filled with love, sympathy and compassion for my grandpa. That’s real empathy. A narcissist can’t do that.

I am going to tend to my bruised children now. And I’m going to squeeze in 37 walks up the hill at the park, in an effort to erase that vision of my grandma’s back side. Is it too early for a shot?

Child of Narcissist / Opportunistic / You Might Be a Narcissist If ... — 7 Comments
24
Mar 10

The YCMTSU File

YCMTSU stands for You Can’t Make This Shit Up.

I just got off the phone with my dad. To be honest, he called yesterday and I didn’t pick up. I hear you gasping. A couple months ago when I did pick up he was having some financial problems, so I was a little gun-shy yesterday. But because I am a bad Catholic daughter, the guilt got the best of me today and I picked up.

He said he’d tried calling yesterday. I said I was skiing. That was a lie. (Told you I was a bad Catholic.) He said, “I didn’t know you were a skier.” I said, “Dad, I’ve skied with you. You know I’m a skier.” He said, “I don’t have any short term memory anymore.” I said, “Dad, I’ve been skiing for 37 years.”

He called to share a story with me. It seems that yesterday he’d decided to “end it all”. He’s sick of the weather, his car broke down, his renters aren’t paying and he’s done with the whole damn thing. (Please understand that I have heard the “end it all” talk my whole life. First, I heard it from my grandma, then my dad. This talk is attention-getting at it’s worst.) I reminded him that the Catholic Chrch wouldn’t really take too kindly to his committing suicide. He said, “Well, yes. I would go straight to hell.” I said, “What’s the point of being a good Catholic all those years only to end it with suicide and go straight to hell?” He said, “Well…….”

I said, “Geez, Dad, at least you could wait until the end of golf season. You’ve got at least one more good season in ya.” He said, “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve been swinging really well. I’ll rethink this thing in October.”

I said, “So did you call to give me the story of “Ending it all”? He said, “Oh yeah, that’s right. So I was walking to meet my buddies for lunch at Burger King. You know, since my car broke down. And as I was walking across the street I saw a big semi and some trucks heading for me and I thought, ‘I could do this right now.’ So I stopped in the middle of the road. And you know what happened? The truck in the front stopped and the semi stopped and everybody else stopped.” I said, “Well, Dad, I guess God put his big hand down to direct traffic, huh?” He said, “Guess who was driving the first truck that stopped.” I said, “I don’t know, Dad, tell me.” Continue reading →

Quotes / The World Revolves Around Me — Comments Off
24
Mar 10

Narcissism And Prayer

Sometimes I think that just not thinking of oneself is a form of prayer.

Barbara Grizzuti Harrison

Child of Narcissist / Moving On / Recipes — 3 Comments
22
Mar 10

On Pancakes and Love

blueberry-pancakes We eat a lot of pancakes around here, and I never make any of them. I’m decent in the kitchen, but I’ve never been good at breakfast. I do make great toast. Will has been making pancakes since we moved to this house. First, he started with Bisquick, then it was Krusteaz and then some kind of fancy, healthy buckwheat mix, and now he makes pancakes from scratch.

From the beginning, I figured that he couldn’t do a lot of damage, so I didn’t give him many tips, other than, “Don’t burn yourself.” He likes the fact that he handles the whole project from start to finish. I ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ a lot. I talk about how the caramelization on this batch is perfect. Mostly, I give him strokes, eat a couple pancakes, and clean up the mess. Jenny doesn’t like pancakes. Every time he makes a batch, Will asks Jen if she’d like one. She always politely declines. I like that Will always offers. I like that Jen politely declines. He isn’t bummed that she doesn’t want any; she doesn’t feel like she has to have one.

And because absolutely everything reminds me of relationships, I got to thinking about how Will’s pursuit of the perfect pancake is a lot like the work involved in a healthy relationship. I realize that, given my track record, I may know absolutely nothing about healthy relationships. With my complete lack of credibility in the relationship department, you may want to scroll down to the bottom for Will’s pancake recipe.

Bisquick makes a decent pancake. It’s quick and easy and it fills you up. Krusteaz may have a little more flavor. They are just as simple to make, so since they have more flavor, they seem like the logical choice. The buckwheat mix is a little harder to find, but they don’t require a lot more work, and they are healthier to eat. Throughout the experimentation with these different pancake mixes, Will has learned the constants. The batter shouldn’t be too thin nor too thick. The pan has to be hot. Butter the pan a bit before pouring in the batter. Wait until the bubbles start popping before you flip the cake. All of these constants apply to each type of mix.

After mastering these pre-made pancake mixes, he was ready for the big leagues. He asked if he could find a recipe and make some from scratch. He’d already learned that the wet things are added to the combined dry things. He just needed a listing of what those wet and dry things were. He’s been making scratch pancakes for over a year now. We all marvel at how much better the from-scratch pancakes are. They are more moist and tender. They have this delicate sweetness and a nice crust. There is an amazing difference, and we’re only talking pancakes here. The scratch cakes make you want to have more than one. Continue reading →

Moving On — 2 Comments
19
Mar 10

Good Signs

peely-paint “When the moon hits your eye
Like a big-a pizza pie
That’s amore.”

Sung by a gray plastic, full moon face with lips that moved. Will had been given this as a gift. I believe the singing moon was some sort of yard decoration. When Will was four, he really got a kick out of that annoying thing. At one point, I had covered the sound holes with duct tape.

I put up with loud, obnoxious toys if those toys buy me 15 minutes to write an email, brush my teeth and go to the bathroom.

I think that moon sang for the last time at the city dump. Will had given me permission to get rid of it.

When I first saw this little house that we call home, I knew it was perfect. I had walked by it several times and assumed it was too small for the three of us, but the realtor talked me into taking a look. Continue reading →

Moving On — Comments Off
18
Mar 10

Follow The Signs – Sometimes

I’d like to be able to tell you that I start my day with yoga, mediation, a run, or some other healthy thing. I don’t. I start my day by putting some water to boil on the stove, and then slouching in front of the laptop/big screen combo (the screen on my laptop died), and reading from all my favorite sites for inspiration and entertainment. I recently signed-up on Twitter, which I made fun of forever, and am thoroughly enjoying. Last night I read a piece where Havi Brooks described Twitter as a bar (think Cheers) where you hang with like-minded buddies, swap stories, and stay for as long or as little as you like. For a single mom, who is babysitter-averse, this is the next best thing to going to the bar for social time, and the drinks are way cheaper. Plus, I don’t like being a single person at a bar. Call me a chicken, go ahead.

By noon, yesterday, I already knew what today’s post would be. I love this writing so much. Sometimes I feel like ideas are wrestling each other in my mind. I find I have to coach them a bit on who gets to come out first, and how long they get to play. Often, I have to kick them off the mat before they are done, for fear I’ll bore you. (Thanks for reading, by the way.)

Yesterday I’d written about how I was pretty sure that my dad didn’t like me when I was growing up. That’s not a painful or difficult topic for me. I’ve dealt with it all my life. It’s just a statement of fact. Here’s where it gets interesting – at least to me. Not long after I’d finished my post, I returned a call to my uncle. My 30 year high school reunion is this summer (gag) and my uncle is helping an acquaintance of mine (from high school) track down classmates. My uncle wanted me to refer to my 1980 annual. So with cordless cradled against my shoulder, I’m standing in front of my closet, lifting these sort of antique-ish tin(?) cans up to access the yearbook. I can’t find the guy my uncle is talking about in the 1980 book, so I go back to dig for the ’79 annual. Now, I’m feeling like I’m holding up my uncle, I’m getting impatient with myself, I’m trying to lift the cans to get at the next, heavy book, and the bottom tin can falls. It’s shaped like a big cookie tin. My mom gave it to me probably three years ago. I remember looking in it when she gave it to me. I haven’t looked in it since. When the can hits the closet floor, the lid pops off and spills this loose desiccant stuff and rose petals and flower stems all over the closet floor. It’s in my shoes, sprinkled over the shoulders of my shirts and other weird clothing items. It’s in the grooves of the sliding doors of the closet.

The transitive property is one of the few things I remember from Algebra. I don’t know why that stuck in my head. If a=b, and b=c, then a=c. There are a lot of instances in life where I think to myself, “Hm… that’s just like the transitive property.” Although more times than not, the transitive property fails me. I like Susan. Susan like’s watching basketball games. I don’t like/can’t stand basketball. Yes, the transitive property applies to the tin can. See, my mom had placed some sentimental value on the contents of the tin can. I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t quite remember where the flowers came from, but I have a crumpled manila folder with info (in my brain’s over-stuffed filing cabinet) about my folks, that contains a slip of paper with my mom’s handwriting that says, “These were the flowers I carried when I married your dad.” I think. It seems like that should be a big deal to me, doesn’t it? But that’s where transitive property always fails me. My mom is important to me. X is important to my mom. Therefore, X should be important to me. And it has never been that way. I just don’t think that the transitive property can apply to sentimental objects. Or else, and this is very likely, I skipped class the day they were handing out the sentimental genes. But I know I was in class that day, because I am quite mushy about the things that I deem worthy of sentimentality.

So I see the scattered rose petals on my Keens, on my flip flops, and the desiccant sprinkled over everything, and I can’t be sad. Well, mostly, I had to finish the conversation with my uncle, but I couldn’t even make myself sad after ending the call. It just wasn’t there. Continue reading →

Child of Narcissist / Lack of Empathy / You Might Be a Narcissist If ... — 6 Comments
17
Mar 10

I Am A Liar

st-paddys-day This morning we woke to broken shortbread cookie bites and green sugar sprinkles strewn across the kitchen counter and along the floor. A confused Barbie was standing erect in Will’s leprechaun trap. More cookie bites were laying around Jen’s upturned trap. No luck. They still haven’t managed to catch a real leprechaun.

Since Will was five, our home has been annually visited by Larry the Leprechaun. He leaves apples in Jen’s Crocs, stuffed animals in the fridge, bananas on the T.V., tips the furniture and generally wreaks havoc in a playful, good-spirited nature. A couple years ago, the kids collaborated on a pretty brilliant trap. The bait was a pile of coins. On the morning of the 17th, we could see that the money was gone, and all that was left was a pair of leprechaun shoes. That’s the closest they’ve ever gotten to actually catching Larry.

Will is a very literal fellow. He has a single-mindedness that drives him to excel at skateboarding, skiing and golf. It’s that same single-mindedness that makes it almost impossible for him to see the forest for the trees. Trees, hell, he pretty much focuses on the pine needles or the dust on the pine needles. Jenny has a pretty broad lens. She’s four years younger than her brother. She’s going to figure out that Santa and Larry aren’t real long before her brother does. I keep thinking Will is going to catch on and figure out that I’m really Larry, Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. But last night, we were getting ready for bed, and Will panicked. “Dang. Tomorrow’s the 17th and my trap isn’t done!” He scurried around, grabbed a decorated paint can, a gawdy St. Paddy’s Day necklace, a handful of coins and some duct tape. He definitely works better under pressure. Jenny’s trap was completed a week ago and has been hanging – in the middle of the walkway between kitchen and dining room – from a nail. She loaded it with a – now stale – slice of whole wheat bread and a piece of biscotti. I figure I’ll wait a few years before telling her that the better enticement for a leprechaun would be a mug of beer.

As I’m watching Will race around the house, scrambling to put his trap together, I was asking myself some serious parenting questions. Am I perpetuating a fun myth and prolonging the fantasies of childhood, or am I out-and-out lying? I think I have been assuming that he would figure these myths out on his own. At this point, I picture him looking in the mirror while shaving, and having the sudden realization that his mom is really the guy in the big red suit.

I think it’s safe to say that most parents lay awake at night contemplating their parenting skills. I have a tape running through my mind that asks, “How much money should I be setting aside for the inevitable counseling they will need? Was this a good idea to home school? When do we have the sex talk? Should I tell him about sex before I tell him about Santa?” Continue reading →

Child of Narcissist / Moving On — 2 Comments
16
Mar 10

More Lemonade

“Hey, Big Brother, do ya need to use the potty so you don’t have an accident? I’m sure mom could run out and get some diapers that’d fit ya.” Jen and I have been having a grand time teasing Will about whether he’s actually potty trained or not.

I don’t know if my kids are developing thick skins or wicked senses of humor — probably both. They’re also learning to read moods. Jenny was careful to let the dust settle on Will’s story – about his dad asking him if he needed to use the bathroom at the ski hill. There is a narrow window, right after the telling of the story, where hurt feelings have to be acknowledged. Jen and I made a point of telling Will that we imagined how mortified he must have been. We allowed him enough time to kick rocks and say a few choice words. But after that, it’s no holds barred. We dish it out like crazy, make light of the situation, and have a bunch of good laughs, with Will laughing right along with us. I’ve said before that if we don’t laugh at the weirdness of this narcissism, we’ll be spending way too much time with upset stomachs.

As Paulo Coelho says, “ If someone hurts you, react. Forgiveness comes afterwards.” I have to think that humor has to come before forgiveness. Actually it’s probably something more like this:

get hurt
react
swear a lot
eat junk food
laugh
put forgiveness on the calendar

My kids tip-toed around me for a few days after the whole John thing. I’m making fun of myself, now, so they see that they can lighten up, too. I informed them that, “I am pretty fabulous. It’s just that I haven’t found anyone else who believes me.” They both jumped to my defense and said, “Well, we think you’re fabulous!” And then all the ‘excepts’ started. “You’re fab except for when you yell at us. Except for when you make me eat that stir-fry stuff. Except for when you don’t let us watch too much T.V.” And on and on. When they come up with more ‘excepts’, I remind them that we’ll be cruising in May. I’m going to get as much mileage out of that cruise as I possibly can.
Continue reading →

Child of Narcissist / Lack of Empathy / You Might Be a Narcissist If ... — 3 Comments
15
Mar 10

Just When You Think There’s a Glimmer of Hope…

“Ah, Dad… I’m actually 11 now. Yeah, I turned 11 on my birthday. In September? I’m not 10, I’m 11.” Mark and Will had gone to the sporting goods store to check out compound bows. Will and I had been in a couple days before, and Will wanted his dad’s opinion on the bows we had talked about. And since I’m completely clueless on the subject, it was a good idea to get another opinion, even if it was Mark’s. So they are talking to the sales guy, asking all the pertinent questions, and Mark says, “What type of bow would you recommend for a 10 year old?” Will later told me that even after he’d corrected his dad, Mark treated him like, “Geez, buddy, I’m your dad. You think I don’t know how old you are? Of course, I know how old my own son is.”

Will was pretty disgusted by the time he got home. So much so, in fact, that he fired off an email to his dad. The email said this:

“Today you were talking to the guy that was helping us with the archery and you said, ‘Do you have any compound bows for a ten yr old?’ By the way I’m eleven and since you are my dad I expect you to remember how old I am, and I especially do right now because I just had my birthday.”

I admit that I thought Will was overreacting a bit. I’m often asking the kids to give me a break. I explain that my ‘filing cabinets’ are jammed. The manila file folders are tattered and dog-eared, and covered with coffee stains. Some of the important papers are missing, some are filed in the wrong place, and some have yet to be filed. This is my way of telling them that I forget stuff. I’m old. Sue me. I do try really hard not to forget things, but it happens. Their dad is 12 years older than I am, so he forgets even more than I do. And, (don’t freak when you read this) I’ve suggested that they give their dad a break, once in awhile, too. It wouldn’t hurt for all of us to be a little more tolerant, right? (Said the accommodator.) Continue reading →

Lack of Empathy / Moving On / You Might Be a Narcissist If ... — 13 Comments
14
Mar 10

Discarded By A Narcissist

This is a difficult post to write because it brings back so many feelings of inadequacy. Phyllis sent the following comment, and I feel compelled to respond in this post.

“My husband emailed me last night. He is planning to start the divorce after finishing the 2009 taxes. He still “loves me.” Yeah right!”

This comment clearly illustrates the confusing nature of a relationship with a narcissist. In one breath he says, “I’m filing for a divorce.” In the next breath, hell in the same breath, he says, “I love you.”

Huh?

This only makes sense to a narcissist. Continue reading →

Child of Narcissist / Moving On — 5 Comments
14
Mar 10

Jenny As Dr. Phil

“So how are you? Really.” The three of us went for coffee and biscotti at my aunt and uncle’s a couple days ago. They had been out of town when things came to an end with John. She wanted an update. After I gave her the nutshell version, I had a question that I was apprehensive about asking. I wanted to know if my wanting to sometimes be a priority in a relationship made me a narcissist. I can trust her to be honest with me. She didn’t even hesitate and said, “I know that you understand that it is a balance. Once in awhile, you are the priority, and then it will be his turn to be the priority. But yes, you deserve to occasionally be the focus, and that doesn’t make you a narcissist.” Whew! And because I liked her answer, I will assume that she is right.

I explained that I have always felt like I hold up residence on the back burner in relationships. Jenny was partially listening in on this conversation. She jumped down from her chair, came over to me and intently looked at me with her big blue eyes. We were nose to nose and she said, “Mom! You should be the noodles, and he should be the water, and you should both be in the same pot on the front burner.”

Moving On / Quotes — Comments Off
9
Mar 10

Scared To Death

Anything I’ve ever done that was ultimately worthwhile…initially scared me to death.

Betty Bender

Moving On — 2 Comments
9
Mar 10

Living On The Roof

lizard brain I miss the roof. There. I said it. We camp out on the roof because of the good and the bad. We are ever-hopeful that the good outweighs the bad. After awhile, we lose sight of that delicate balance.

The good, with John, included that delicious ping sound the computer makes when I get a new email. Those emails used to come from long-distance, John. I’d hear that ping, look at the bottom of the screen, and that cute little envelope would be smiling up at me. I would drop everything and check my inbox. I miss anticipating hearing from him. I miss the plans that I’d made for future visits. I miss the sweetness of that fantasy of a life with John. It’s funny how the missing overshadows the reality. The reality is that I had plans. He didn’t.

I’d been thinking a lot about how it is that we end up staying in unhealthy relationships. Before I even figured out the roof analogy, I was wondering what it was that keeps us in something that ultimately makes us miserable. Is there something in our wiring that makes us gloss over the negative and focus on the positive? What if there is a lot more negative than positive? Is it the same thing that makes women forget the rigors of labor and delivery. If our brains didn’t have the capacity to stifle the negative, the world would be populated with only children, and there’d be no such thing as marriage. We’d all bale out of relationships at the first sign of hurt feelings, thereby making it impossible to stick it out long enough to make it to the altar.

I’ve been following Seth Godin’s Blog. He talks a lot about the lizard brain and fear and resistance and how those things relate to productivity. I’m intrigued by the concept that what holds us back is basically biological. We don’t wake up every morning and say to ourselves, “I’m not going to take risks. I’m not going to jay-walk. I’m not going to talk to that cute guy at work. I’m going to blend in and not make a fool of myself.” There is an unseen force in our brain that controls all those choices.

I assumed, then, that the lizard brain played a part in relationships. And it does. The lizard brain is consumed with the desire to reproduce and the avoidance of fear. Picture this little lizard holding a large blueprint that maps out everything that happened to you up to the age of six. The lizard compares any new situation to this blueprint, and then determines your knee-jerk reaction. If you feared being left as a child, you go out of your way, now, to make sure you will never be left again. If you craved attention as a child, your lizard fears the absence of attention, and will make sure to put you in situations where you get lots of attention. In my case, when getting my feelings hurt, or when I feel rejected, my lizard brain (LB) studies the blueprint carefully and determines that I should be more pleasant, play nice, and keep my disappointments to myself. My LB tells me that if I’m nicer, I won’t get my feelings hurt; I won’t be rejected; and I won’t be deserted. Continue reading →

Moving On / Parenting / Recipes — 6 Comments
5
Mar 10

Recipe For Moving On

cup-o'-joe Apparently life is not waiting for me to catch up. It’s time to put an end to my little pity party, round up the soggy wads of kleenex, wipe the mascara from under my eyes and move on.

Ever since the kids could walk, I’ve asked them to get a kleenex when they see someone is hurt or crying. It’s not because I wanted them to wait on me, but handing someone a kleenex when they are crying is a great way to show you care when you don’t know what the hell to say. It’s better than standing there waiting for the sobbing person to tell you, “Could you get me a kleenex, already.”

Tuesday night, Will wised up and brought me the whole box.

There’s too much to do, too much to plan, and too much to anticipate to spend any more time licking my wounds.

Enough is enough. Continue reading →

Moving On — 5 Comments
3
Mar 10

Stop The Clock

broken heart It was the winter of 1996 and I was standing in the middle of the produce section of a grocery store wondering how anyone could fuss over a navel orange when my grandfather had just been found, face down in the drifted snow next to his mobile home. I thought for sure that the clocks would have stopped, that time would be frozen somehow, so that everyone could acknowledge the passing of someone who was so dear to me. How could people go on about their day, squeezing heads of iceberg lettuce, griping about the long lines, and fumbling through their purses for coupons? How could life continue to be so ordinary?

I thought of that today when my neighbor walked by with her Golden Retriever. She’s a pleasant gal. I’ve not chatted with her a whole lot. She has commented that she likes the wine glasses hanging from the wine rack above my kitchen window. We exchange pleasantries. She always has a smile on her face. Her dog is beautiful, and he’s always excited to see Rita. Today her smile annoys me. Last night I said goodbye to my long distance friend. I can’t quite fathom how my neighbor can be so damned happy when I feel as though my heart has been flattened, drained of life, and pinned to the bulletin board. Naturally, the neighbor lady doesn’t have a clue. I envy her delight in the simple, mindless pleasure of walking her dog. She makes one pass, two passes, and the kids comment on her happy grin. By the fourth pass, I’m thinking, “Pick a different route. Please.”

I am marveling at how messed up I am at the demise of this relationship. After all, it was long distance. I’m not sure it ever had the chance to get to the point of being called a relationship. We didn’t get to know each other well enough to find out what would irritate us about each other. Maybe that explains the sadness. It’s over before it got bad, or before we had the chance to see that it could be really, really good. But I’ve been thinking all day that it’s strange that I’m worse off now than when I left Mark. Back then, things had been bad for quite awhile when I decided to move out. By the time the kids and I had moved to my mom’s, all I could think was that it was great to be able to breathe again. It was good to see that the sky was still blue. Life could be simple and good. I could find pleasure in the routine of caring for kids, and being with family. We had come out of the darkness at Mark’s. It was hard to be too sad.

The end of this relationship is different because I was clinging to what I thought was the promise of a happy future. I see now that I was clinging to him like a lifeboat. He even told me once that I should remember that this was my first relationship since my divorce — and all that implied. (I hate the word ‘rebound’ as it applies to relationships.) He was a huge part of my surviving the narcissism. I’m thinking I’m going to learn more about the surviving now that I don’t have the lifeboat anymore.

Maybe it’s time we got a dog.