Marriage after Narcissistic Abuse
On our fourth wedding anniversary, I remember back to the blissful day we said “I Do”…and how familial narcissism permeated our wedding and marriage from the very start.
Sure, I understand that all parents care deeply about their child’s choice of spouse. That’s part of normalcy. But meddling…that’s another story.
It’s not okay for a father to angrily call at 7:30 p.m., demanding his almost 32-year-old daughter leave her first date with her future husband and “go home.” That’s not caring. It’s jealous and creepy.
It’s fine for a mother to pose questions for consideration about her daughter’s future spouse, but the answers are none of her business. That’s nosey.
It’s not okay for a father to try to brainwash his daughter by confidently stating, “You’re just infatuated with him.”
And it’s not okay for a mother to tell her daughter what she can and cannot tell her husband. We’re supposed to be One. Leave and cleave, baby. That means no frickin’ secrets!
Narcissistic Control at the Wedding
Our wedding was scheduled for 9 a.m.
The guests showed up at 8 a.m., looking very disapproving that the bride was not yet ready. She was eating a bagel.
Around 8:30 a.m., my soon-to-be father-in-law had enough with this waiting around. “Well, let’s get this over with,” he said. So romantic. (Yes, Sheldon. That is sarcasm.)
So we were married half an hour early, so he could rush back to his recliner and baseball.
To read all about the narcy-cray-cray that permeated every facet of our wedding, please click here!
Who Owns You?
Who owns you? Yeah, you heard me right. Owns you. If you’re in a relationship with a narcissistic, they do. Lock, stock and barrel. Owned.
I know. I was there.
Just Waltz Right In
That’s what narcissists do, you know. They waltz right in to every facet of our being. And I mean every. The word “boundaries” is anathema to them. Say “boundary” to a narc and they snarl like Smeagol in Lord of the Rings, “We hates ’em, Precious! Smeagol hates nasty boundaries!”
Oh, they hates ’em alright. I’ll never forget the time I asked for some privacy during those few moments each day when I was shivering out of my bathrobe and into my lingerie. Yeah, that lasted for about two days. Then it was back to “same ol’, same ol’.” She just had to empty my bedroom wastebasket every day at that exact time. There was no other time in twenty-four hours when it could possibly be done.
Or there was the time I got kinda’ tired of being interrogated with, “Whatcha’ eating?” every single frickin’ night. Wow! Judging by the hell I caught attempting to set that boundary (“Why!?! What are you trying to hide?), you’d have thought I was trying to sneak lobster and King Crab past ’em.
And that boundary I tried to set to stop that gross earlobe nibbling because damn it! I was in my twenties…yeah, that one kept getting violated too.
Click here to read the full article on PsychCentral!
If you were not the Golden Child in your narcissistic family, consider yourself lucky. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
I can hear Scapegoats worldwide mumbling under their breath. And I do admit that being the Golden Child has some perks! As an only child and eldest grandchild (I'm sorry, cousins! Now I "get it!"), no one knows that better than me! I was the Golden Child by default. There were treats and presents, hugs and cuddles, fawning and praise.
But it came at a price. Sooner or later, you have to pay for the presents. The cuddles come with conditions. And there are strings attached to the treats. I was thirty-one before I realized that I had to pay the piper for my Golden Child status.
His price is absolute control over every facet of your being — mind, body and soul.
Click here to read the full article on PsychCentral!
I honor the millions who heroically battle cancer, determined to live life to its fullest and flip cancer the bird. Unfortunately, narcissists aren’t always among this valiant throng. Give a narcissist cancer (or any ailment) and he’ll exploit it to the max, making everyone’s life a micro-managed living Hell along the way. I know. I was there.
Narcissists are well-known for faking heart attacks or claiming imaginary ailments, so when a real one comes along….holy crap! It’s like a dream come true for them.
Read all about it on my PsychCentral blog! Click here!
Reading old emails exchanged with my captors makes me sick. Nauseated. Loquacious lovey-dovey’s and toe-curling coo’s drip from our email conversations. The contrast between our communication back then is in stark contrast to the barbs and silences now.
It’s contradictory. Crazy-making.
Stockholm Syndrome overwhelmed me again last night, wracking my frame with guttural sobs. As tears poured down my cheeks, a voice I barely recognized as my own cried, “What did I do that was so bad? What happened to all the love? Why did they do all this shit to me? Did they ever love me at all? Did I ever truly love them? Did they ever have empathy for me?”
Click here to find out!
Lenora Thompson writes a great blog...she's been there, seen that, and lived to tell the tales. - Facebook friend
Am I A Helicopter Parent?
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!
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!
Where did ego leave off and care begin? What was narcissism and what was paranoia? It all combined together in a swirling cesspool, holding me hostage, robbing me of life itself.
Mother’s horror at her baby’s brush with death, combined with Dad’s jealousy and seeing a paedophile around every corner. Dad’s constant concern over rape combined with Mother’s reciting Grandma’s cliche, “No good happens after night falls.” Meanwhile, Dad’s paranoia that his daughter would repeat the mistakes of his own lustful youth and his projection of his own teenage horniness onto her, led to a near-hostage situation from 1996-1998 and a raging case of Stockholm Syndrome. And all of it done under the auspices of God. (Poor God!)
I could go on, but you catch my drift.
Neither parent tried to bring balance to the other’s paranoia. Neither put themselves in their daughter’s shoes. No one considered that, come good or ill, her life was her own to live.
Read all about how narcissism leads to handicapping kids through helicopter parenting here!
When I think back on all the thousands of parental criticisms made "for my good" over thirty years, my blood boils. Hundreds, nay, thousands of 'em. It sta, not because I was bad, but because I was 15 and that's the time narcissistic parents start feeling nervous because their kid is growing up and they might, just might, lose control.
I was 14 and shocked by all the criticisms suddenly blind-siding me. They ranged from making me believe I was an (almost) slut to something as vague as, "Shake my hand and commit to 'try harder.'" To this day I wonder how much harder I could try. I already had a 4.0 GPA. And the blind-siding hurt worse than the criticisms themselves.
But no one (except my husband, Michael, and God), and I mean no one, is going to criticize me, lecture me nor shame me anymore.
It's done. Over! I'm damn near 40 years old and frickin' fine the way I am.
In the words of Star Trek's Captain Jean-Luc Picard, "The line must be drawn here! This far, no further!"
Or in the words of comedian Eddie Murphy, "It's my [blog] and if you don't like it, get the frick out." Click here to watch that hysterically funny moment!
To read the full article on Huffington Post, click here!