From time to time, all of us are faced with our own humanity, the painful consciousness of being less-than-perfect. Even narcissists are blind-sided by these moments.
But they know how to deal with them!
It's called Projection. All narcissists do it. And it really, really stinks!
Read my article about Projection on Family Tree Counseling's site by clicking here!
As a child, I felt loved for what I did but not for who I authentically was.
Because of this, parental correction and discipline was excruciatingly painful. It brought on full narcissistic collapse. This is the feeling that you’re less than nothing. Don’t deserve life. Are the lowest human on Earth. Are worth less than shit. Have no basis upon which to make eye contact with another human, let alone stand up to them. I spent many hours curled up in the fetal position, sobbing my eyes out.
Full Narcissistic Collapse.
Was I “defensive” as my parents called it? Absolutely! Fighting to be OK. I was fighting for my life.
Read Confessions of an Ex-Narcissist by clicking here!
Then there was the day Grandma faked a heart attack and the time she sent the Sheriff to do a “welfare check” on me. Classic! Quintessential narcissistic tactics. Shoulda’ seem ’em coming. But I didn’t.
These two tales stand out in my memory among many tales of narcissistic nincompoopery. For years, I thought they were must Grandma being weird. But in my online research about narcissism, I ran across tales of other narcissists pulling the same shit. If they can’t get their way, they’ll suddenly develop chest and arm pain. If they’re wrong, they get shortness of breath. If they’re not the center of attention, they’ll pull ye olde heart attack stunt and start popping nitro. Anything to steal the limelight, especially at other people’s weddings, parties, etc.
And police welfare checks? It turns out that’s a quintessential narcissist tactic too.
Click here to read all about the shit my grandmother's pulled in Part 3 of the "Granny Trilogy"!
Helicopter parents seem to have a microscope turned on their child. Wait! Take a second look. That isn't a microscope they're holding. Well, I'll be danged! It's a mirror. They think they're seeing their child, when actually, they're seeing themselves!
My parents were both helicopter parents, and I think I know why.
You see, my father is a narcissist. That means he has no self-esteem. He compensates by confusing me with himself. He buoys his non-existent self-esteem by attaining higher and higher levels of excellence as a parent. My successes are his successes. Logically, it follows that my failures are his failures. With zero self-esteem to fall back on, he couldn't tolerate the pain and shame of any failure on my part.
Hence the helicoptering. To protect himself more than me. And it nearly ruined my life.
Click here for the "reverse engineering" of helicoptering parent to see how it ruins children's lives!
It was Mom who taught me the Granny Two-Step. She’d been polishing her dance steps since her birth. She had to…if she wanted to be loved and accepted by her mother.
Disclaimer: The Granny Two-Step is predicated on lying, clairvoyance, being intimidated, greed and “to thine own self being untrue.” Dance at your own risk!
Want to learn it!? Okay, okay! You twisted my arm! Maestro? Music, if you please!
Up on your toes now. Step forward gracefully, one step at a time, threading your way gingerly through conversation with Grandma. Your clairvoyance at fever pitch. Your intuition trembling like a cat’s whisker, sensitive to the most subtle (but usually blatant) judgmentalism emanating from Grandma.
Ooops! Said the wrong thing! Hit a Grandma Land Mine (GLM)!
Quick! Take two-steps backwards, bowing from the waist, clumsily backtracking and trying to convincingly eating your words to get back into Grandma’s good graces. Her opinion of you is paramount. Authenticity be damned!
Now, up on your toes again. Take another step forward. Damn! Said the wrong thing again! Hit another GLM.
Two steps backwards, kissing Grandma’s ass.
And that, my dears, is how you dance the Granny Two-Step!
To read the whole article, click here! Believe me...it gets better!
She’s cute, sweet and has wrinkles in all the right places. She’s always weeping into her instant decaf, wondering why the shards of her broken family lie in ruins around her. She’s your quintessential granny — with a catch.
She’s also a narcissist...
Fiber optics has nothing on Grandma. She’s the original Gossip Information Superhighway. Her narcissism feeds on gossip. The slightest thing she disapproves of, the merest variance from how she does it better (i.e. not recycling tomato paste cans or having a speck of dust anywhere) gives her fodder for her non-existent self-esteem. (But more about that in Parts 2 and 3! Subscribe for instant notification!)
Unfortunately, gossiping about her son to her daughter (Scapegoat) and about her daughter to her son (Golden Child) destroyed the family. Oh, there were other dynamics at play, but the tale-carrying played a huge role in the Golden Child suddenly going “No Contact” with the Scapegoat.
And that, in itself, is another source of narcissistic supply! How she sobs into her decaf, bewailing her broken family, playing the victim-card to the hilt.
Got a narcissistic granny too? Read all about the endless bullshit here!
Beware the religious narcissist.
They speak with the omniscient voice of God. Wield the sword of His judgment. Brandish the rod of His power. They wear the mantle of His righteousness. They goin’ straight to Heaven, baby.
And you, you back-slidden heathen? Well, you ain’t!
Exploitation of Holy Scripture is at its finest when you give a narcissist a Bible. In fact, all cult leaders have narcissistic tendencies. You can take it to the bank!
My narcissists “got religion” in 1980. Or so they claimed.
Uh huh, whatever.
Read all about it here!
Cringe-worthy. Kinda weird. Definitely uncomfortable. But also, flattering. My emotions ran this gamut every Tuesday and Sunday evening, the times Dad demanded I schedule to be spent, alone, with him. Playing music together. Gossiping about his wife/my mother to me. Pawing, I mean, patting me.
On the one hand, I felt flattered (and guilty!) that he seemed to like me better than my mother, his wife of thirty years. We bonded over the pain and frustration her paranoia, her menopausal idiosyncrasies and her über-control caused us.
On the other hand, I never felt comfortable around the man. His rages terrified me. His depressions worried me. His teasing wounded me. His hands hurt me. And the way his eyes constantly followed me freaked me out.
He never seemed comfortable in his own skin. Never had any friends. Nor many hobbies.
But he was my dad. And we were supposed to be “close,” right?
Read all about the rottenness called Covert Incest by clicking here!
To hear a discussion of the article on the Stop Child Abuse Now radio show, click here!
Happy Valentine’s Day! Today isn’t just about loving your honey. It’s about loving yourself too and self-care is one of the main ways we love ourselves. But first, have you read Part 1 of this article?
What Is Self-Care?
I define self-care as anything that cracks the catatonic shell protecting your heart and allows you to feel your feelings, to weep, to feel empathy for yourself and to heal.
For me self-care is anything gentle, tender and beautiful that releases the floodgates of tears, without effort.
It may be a birdsong. The glimpse of a rainbow. The fragrance of a flower.
You’ll know it when you feel it. It’s a feeling like no other.
Click here to read the full article on PsychCentral!
Merry Christmas to each and every one of you! I'm so glad you've popped in. Whatever led you here, you're most welcome.
I couldn't have had a nicer Christmas present than to find my article, Why I Choose to be Alone at Christmas, featured by the Huffington Post. Seems the article really hit a nerve! And if you too have chosen to be alone at Christmas...well, you're not. Consider yourself cyber hugged. Drop me a line at email@example.com and let's chat. There are more of us out here than we care to admit!
This has been an exciting week! Our bichon frise doggy, Delly, decided that bichons have a lot to say and need a voice! Introducing...Delly the Blogging Bichon! Read her woofs here...and follow her on Facebook! Who knew she had such a sense of humor!
This month also wraps up the first year of fundraising I've done for my darling husband, Michael. He's courageously fighting an ultra-rare lung disease called Pulmonary Alveolar Proteinosis. Click here to see our TV interview and, if you're able, please help us reach our goal so we can afford a lung lavage (wash) to remove the excess lung proteins that threaten to drown my best friend, biggest fan and loving husband. Even $5 means the world to us! And if you can't do that, SHARE the fundraiser on social media. Thanks!
This Christmas, we're grateful for the birth of our Savior because, as C.S. Lewis wrote in Mere Christianity, “The Son of God became a man to enable men to become sons of God."
Merry Christmas to all. And in the words of Tiny Tim, "God bless us, every one."