Pollock

Movie Spoiler Warning!

Finally, after several years wait, last evening I watched Pollock. Starring Ed Harris, Pollock tells the story of the life of Jackson Pollock, the well-known artist.

The movie didn't disappoint. It didn't hurt that I enjoy Ed Harris' work, and Pollock's even more. Whenever the opportunity presents itself, I make a beeline for a Pollock.

I did find Pollock disturbing, though. It wasn't that the movie was dark, or that I had quite a few problems understanding the dialogue, or that the artist's life was a troubled one. The first was appropriate, the second annoying but workable and the third I already knew from previous study. The disturbing part was Harris' portrayal of Pollock. It was......I hesitate to say it, but it was familiar.

I'm tempted to say that Pollock was a disturbed man and write it off right there, but I don't know that that does it justice.

In the movie, Pollock's family, especially his mother, were all disturbing in their own rights. The mother seemed entirely oblivious to Jackson, whether it be his failures or his successes.

The more I contemplate the movie, the more disturbing it gets. From Pollock's girlfriend, and later, wife Lee Krasner's seeming inability to talk about anything other than Jackson or his success, to his mother's ambivalence, to Pollock's entire focus on HIS art, to nearly every other person around him with their own disturbing character traits, the movie is almost a study in dysfunction.

On purpose I'm ignoring the cliche of the tragic artist figure. That's not the point for me. It was the way I cringed when Krasner read Pollock an art critic's review, or the way I expected Pollock to grab the turkey carving implements and become violent. It was the display of entirely inappropriate behaviour that didn't make the perpetrator a complete pariah. It was the overturning of the dinner table, and the reaction from those seated. It was the mother at the dinner table peacefully eating whilst ignoring her youngest son, who was sitting next to her, having a break down.

It was Pollock adjusting the radio to his pleasure, entirely irrespective to the wishes of anyone else. That really is it. That's the nutshell. The core.

What's My Line?

I worked with a man who, along with his wife, had adopted eleven children from the foster care system. Each of the children had his or her own challenges. Some had been abused; some had learning disabilities; some had emotional problems. His wife had professional training in helping special needs children and they felt it was their calling to care for children who so badly needed a loving home. Theirs was a full and active house!

He would occasionally talk about the differences in his children's needs and the need to know how to handle each child individually. One that made a great deal of impact for me was how different children needed different kinds of discipline. For some children, "the look" was enough to communicate to them. For others, words or loss of privileges was needed.

I'd never seen human beings as that unique before. My world had been one-size fits all. With an egotistical, judgemental father, whatever he said was Right. Everything else was Wrong. Period. End of Story.

It's this need to cater to the specific needs of a child that has me puzzled when it comes to calling the way narcissistic parents treat their children abuse. It strikes me that perhaps what would be abusive for one child, is not for another. Yet, this idea of relativism bothers me, too. It's a slippery slope.

I'd like to think somewhere there's a pat answer, one that is reasonably concrete. I fear that I'm wrong.

My Compass Needs Calibration

As I read accounts written by other ACONs about their parents, events of their life, and familial relationships, I find myself thinking, "yeah, and...?". Many, many times I find myself wondering why some parental action would be odd/wrong/narcissistic.

I've decided I need to recalibrate my relational compass. My spouse grew up in a challenged household, but certainly not one devoid of parental love for their children. These same actions would NEVER happen in my spouse's FOO. NEVER. EVER. In a million years. In a million googolplexes of years. My mother-in-law and father-in-law often had trouble relating to things that happened with my parents. Now I know why. True to form, I always assumed that my family was normal and my spouse's atypical. It's something I still can't seem to wrap my mind around.

To Still A Mockingbird

I awoke just before sunrise this morning. I'm blessed to have a balcony off my bedroom and I wandered outside to enjoy the beautiful morning. All was quiet. Occasionally I could hear a car pass on a road on the other side of our woods. Birds of all kinds were singing their songs. A hint of colour was forming on the horizon. What an incredible creation!

I was lost in the birds songs when I heard an odd click behind me. I went back to listening to the birds, then I heard the click again. When I turned around to see where the noise came from. All I saw was a mockingbird standing next to a chimney on the roof. There just happens to be a nest in the chimney.

The bird clicked again, and then flew to a tree on the edge of the woods. There the mockingbird began to make an incredible racket. I enjoyed the fruit of it's distracting technique. I lost count at somewhere over a dozen different calls. It was quite impressive.

It's only been a bit over six months since I first learned of NPD. I still tend to see interactions through a lens coloured by the discovery of narcissism.

As I listened to the mockingbird's cacophony, I reflected how it was protecting it's young. It was behaving like a good parent should. My parents protected me from harm, sometimes this required great effort. Yet, I don't think of my parents as good parents. (Even typing that feels uncomfortable, but deep down I know it to be true.)

On reflection my mockingbird was only behaving according to its God-given instincts. It wasn't trying to distract me away from its nest out of love for its offspring. There was no reason involved, perhaps not even a decision per se.

So where am I going with this? I have absolutely no idea, but I know I will look differently at animals as they parent their young. They go through the motions, but it has nothing to do with love.

Stolen Childhood

That sounds harsh. It is. Yet more and more, as I reflect on my childhood, I see a big hole that normally would be filled with parental love.

As I think of what a stolen childhood is, my first thoughts go to children in impoverished areas. Their lives are plagued by not enough of life's necessities, perhaps not even enough to sustain life itself. Their childhoods are spent working to get food, or clean water, or shelter, or to survive without them. When I think of a stolen childhood in these terms, I had more than enough.

But...

Years ago when I was moving into my first house, I spent a day papering the kitchen cupboards with a good friend and my mother. Having company wasn't my idea, but that's the way it turned out. It also turned out that my good friend, M, didn't know that my mother was going to be there. M's mother had died two years earlier. Later, M she told me she was uncomfortable with my mother being there. It reminded her that she didn't have a mother anymore.

M's perspective surprised me. M had been very close to her mother. There was obviously a very special bond there. M might not physically have a mother any longer, but she carried her mother's love in her heart. I physically still had a mother, but love was a missing element of the relationship. To me, there was precious little value in having a mother. M had had a Mom; I had a biological parent. I'd gladly trade the latter for the former.

Well-worn as it is: "it is better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all" rings so true here.

OK, so what?

For human beings, life's necessities are more than simply the food, water and shelter that animals require. Humans need love. One morning at a Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS) meeting one of the discussion questions was: Did your parents give you unconditional love? Everyone, except me, answered in the affirmative. The follow-up question assumed unconditional love as a given.

In fact, I'm not sure there is such a thing as conditional love, but that's another entry.

Approval was the substitute for love in my FOO. Approval was doled out, sometimes lavishly, when I (meaning my behaviour) was good and removed when I was bad. I was perceived in terms of my behaviour. My childhood was spent working to gain my parents' love, to be "good enough", to give my parents enough of what they demanded. My childhood was spent trying to fill a bottomless pit.

No wonder when I see children, I feel sad for them. Maybe childhood doesn't have to be such a hard thing.

The Other Parent

I think that narcissism is something The Other Parent "catches" if they stay in a close relationship with the narcissist. Narcissism can be seductive, after all, especially in regards to children. If they're not people, well then, it makes caring for them a lot less demanding, and potentially uncomfortable compromises easier.

I watched my mother grow more and more self-absorbed as time went by. It's certainly possible that her adoption of the narcissistic traits was an unconscious one, done in self-defense. Since she was only an object to her mate, self-care could drive her inward, and away from the child. Of course, narcissists are also good at pitting one family member against another. It was certainly true in our family.

While I do feel empathy for my Other Parent, I can't help escape the fact that she was an adult and I, a child. I had no way of defending or protecting myself from the influences of my n father. As much as she might plead her own helplessness, she did have options. There were a lot of cultural and familial taboos with divorce. Economically it wouldn't have been easy, either. Even a difficult option is an option.

Yet, all this empathy is tempered any time I ask about something that seemed odd, or was definitely wrong. I meet a wall of defensiveness and anger. There can be nothing wrong, the standard response goes, I don't know just how good I had it. Attempts at dialogue are futile.

Every time I contemplate my Other Parent, I keep coming back to the same thing: how could she not see something was wrong? Or maybe the question is more correctly asked: did she really think what was wrong was insignificant? The wall of defensiveness would seem to argue against that.

I want to see my Other Parent as an innocent bystander. I want to see her as another victim. No matter how I try, my Other Parent invariably looks more like an accomplice.

The Perfect Family

I was raised to believe we had The Perfect Family. My parents were proud to think of themselves as ahead of their time. Smaller foreign car, only one child, both parents employed full-time, latch-key kid -- all these were unusual things in the 1970's. Oh, and the parents didn't let the needs of their child get in the way of what they wanted. I was quite adept at spending hours sitting in a pub/bar or a fine restaurant, reading, whilst my parents enjoyed their grown-up pleasures.

From the outside, We Looked Great. Whether people saw us only occasionally or all the time, the image we portrayed was that of an ideal family. All the world's a stage, eh? It was for us. It's a common thing in families with n parents, but I'm still amazed just how our phony façade fooled so many people. We deserve Lifetime Achievement Oscars!

Sometimes I wonder, though. A few people dared to fly under the radar after getting a glimpse at reality. I can't help but be thankful to the school teacher neighbor who learned that I hadn't been scheduled in AP classes and took it upon himself to get my class schedule changed. It was wonderful to be reminded that someone did see me. What was it that allowed some people to see beyond the façade?

Yet even today, nearly six years after my father died, I hear stories of our Perfect Family. Some legends just never die.

Narcissist at the Movies

My kids and I watched Fiddler on the Roof yesterday. It's one of my favourites. I'll be humming and singing selections from it for days.

I don't remember when I first watched Fiddler on the Roof, but I do remember the first time I watched other movies. Like my first James Bond flick in a theatre. I was 7. Much of it frightened me. It wasn't until later Bond movies that other parts made me intensely uncomfortable.

It shouldn't be surprising that my n father would have no idea that it was inappropriate. Just like he had no idea that it was inappropriate to pose his then 5 year-old daughter nude with a Playboy magazine.

What about The Other Parent?

I'm not trying to rake anyone over coals, but how does the other parent stand by and put up with this sort of stuff? I know just how nasty the narcissist is, and just how extreme their rage and manipulation can be, but.....isn't there a line somewhere? Or is the ability of the narcissist to pour on the charm, or skillfully apply the invalidation just too much? Interacting with a narcissist can definitely be crazy-making.

What is it that allows the narcissist to get away with it?

Attracted to The Narcissist

One of the ugliest things I've learned about being raised by a narcissist is that I'm drawn to them. In all that is disgusting about narcissists, I find myself attracted to them.

Yeah, I know it's part of it.

Knowing helps some, but I really must figure out why, specifically, it is that I find myself drawn to them. I have no illusions about helping an n to change or to earn their love/respect/acknowledgement of my existence.

At least now that I know the attraction exists and know what that there's-something-about-this-person-that-doesn't-make-sense feeling is all about, I can steer clear.

I went looking for my "favourite" narcissist on-line today. I read recently a suggestion that when one looks at a narcissist to think of them as being two years-old inside. It helped immensely as I found photographs today. It gave me a good chuckle where there previously there was only discomfort. I remember a time when I came to that point with my narcissistic father. I watched him pitch a fit, a temper tantrum that every self-respecting toddler would have been proud to throw, and my eyes were opened. From that point on, his rages weren't nearly as scary. On the contrary, they were quite amusing. Imagine a grown man behaving like a naughty two year-old. If only I'd had a video camera....

I'm off to do a bit more searching for my favourite mentioned above. Hopefully the more chuckles I can get, and the more realistic comprehension that comes with it, I can become free of being haunted by people and places that remind me of this n.

All In The Family

OK. I admit it. I am obsessed with this whole Mother's Day thing. It's the lack of understanding. Call it a cultural thing. Or, maybe a God thing.

Over and above the whole Mother's-Day-Thing, there are the news reports.

A woman is attacked by a pelican while swimming -- traveling to be out of town on Mother's Day because being in church on a day dedicated to honoring mothers, so close after her own mother's death would be too hard.

On the evening news, an interview with a man from Picher, Oklahoma describes how he, his wife, daughter and two grandbabies huddled in a closet of their house while a tornado moved the same house 70 feet. From his description, it's clear the value he places on his family, especially the little ones.

I must be from Mars.

Real Parenting

The LORD God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them.

Genesis 3:21

It's one of my favourite verses. Even leaving aside the deep theological issues, this is a picture of real parenting at work. Adam and his wife blew it. Big time. (And, just in case you think I'm casting stones, I have no doubt that in the same situation I would have done no better.) They deserved the severest of consequences. Yet God, a loving God, clothed his children even as he sent then from the garden. By all rights, God could have taken an attitude of "you made your bed, now lie in it", but He didn't. God provided for His people.

With amazement I watch as God provides for His people still today. As I strive to learn and heal from the bumps and bruises of life, God brings exactly what I need into my life. It's comforting to receive some real parenting.

I still don't understand the whole principle of Mother's Day. But as I contemplate the goodness of God and the loving kindless He's shown me, maybe I can get closer to understaning the celebration of a real parent.

Believability

On the way out of our favourite Mexican restaurant, a close friend and I were discussing waiting, mostly in regards to my children. Several times recently my children have had to wait for me to pick them up, as in they were the last children at an activity waiting for someone to come and get them. They didn't handle it particularly well.

I commented that their lack of grace when it comes to waiting is my fault and I need to allow them to have more experience with it, so it's not such a foreign thing. I went on to explain that my parents NEVER waited for me. Whenever it came time for my parents to come and get me, I could always guarantee that I would be, if not The Last, one of the last kids there. My parents were purposefully there 15-30 minutes after the scheduled end so they didn't have to wait, in the event whatever it was that I was attending ran overtime. I was, however, expected to be outside waiting for them whenever it was that they arrived. Penalty for not being outside at the appropriate time was a scolding and a warning not to let it happen again or I would no longer be allowed to participate. To me, this was normal.

I thought my friend's response was unusual. More like completely bizarre. He commented that some people believe that adults should not completely organize their life around their children, the children needed to wait. I was stunned. This friend knows about my parents, has seen for himself the level of self-absorption. It turns out that my friend thought I was seeking a philosophical discussion.

My friend's reply is fairly typical when it comes to mention something about my parents to people with non-narcissistic parents. I hear lots and lots of explanations and rationalizations about why my parents behavior wasn't so odd. It's not that I go around telling every human who'll listen about my narcissistic parents, yet even in groups of good friends where other people are discussing their personal challenges, it seems that when it comes to self-absorbed parents, there's a believability problem.

I've listened to good friends tell me about the abusive behaviour of their parents when drunk, but when I explain about my father's frightening rages when he accidentally misses his exit on a road trip, then there *must* be some good reason for it. Or, I must be exaggerating. Everyone's dad has a temper, right? Does everyone's dad slam his fist into the dash, loudly curse at my mother because she can't read a map, pound the steering wheel, crash his forearm into the door, slam on the break or the accelerator, and curse even louder at anyone who dares to breathe too loudly, all because he just missed Exit 24? Or wasn't in the correct lane to make a left turn, or the person in front of him was driving too slowly so he didn't make it through the light before it turned red?

Thankfully, the Internet has provided me with the perspective of other people who've lived through the same thing and know it to be abnormal. For many years I thought I was just being too sensitive, or maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. Maybe I *was* making it all up. It's sad but comforting to be able to read the stories of other children of narcissists. It's nice to be able to share stories and get a reaction beyond an uncomfortable silence followed by a change in subject, or an explanation of why the behaviour is acceptable or a "yeah, my dad has a temper/is selfish/is a pain, too". The Internet has provided me with a wealth of resources and contacts. It's made a world of difference in my life.

I Don't Understand Mother's Day

It's not a big surprise, really. That doesn't mean I'm not torn about sending mine a card. I am. Cards are just so.....I dunno. Phoney. Silly. Inappropriate. All of that and more. My mother wasn't (and isn't) a great mother. I can't even classify her as "good enough". She's not someone I can run to when I'm sad or scared or need comfort. Come to think of it, she's not someone I can run to at all. She has no idea who I am, and doesn't really seem to care to find out. She's been a bad grandmother to my children. So...exactly what should a card say?

Mom, you bore me and raised me. I won't hold that against you?
To the most oblivious mom I know, I hope you have a great day?

I'm sad about not having a "mom", but it is what is. It feels wrong pretending that I have a wonderful mother who I want to celebrate. When I see people who appear genuinely comfortable and happy with their mothers, it's an entirely foreign thing. The first thought that comes to my mind is "Why??". Seriously. I just don't get it.

I don't hate my mother. She who she is. She's self-absorbed. Whether she's always been that way, or became that way after years of marriage to my father, the effect is still the same: I'm not her child, another person with whom to share life, instead I am somewhere to go when she wants/needs something. I've never found a Mother's Day card that says that in some flowerly way.

So, Sunday is Mother's Day. We'll be celebrating it in our household. I still won't understand it. Celebrating mothers.....what's next? Celebrating refrigerators?

Church Issues #2

Only recently I've come to accept that I'm a good judge of people. My gut instinct is rarely wrong.

I've come to believe that many people who've lived with difficult or abusive parents develop an ability to read people and situations. I think it's a survival tool.

Some years ago, the church we were attending was without a pastor. From the first moment I met the new pastor, my gut instinct was entirely confused. I liked him but, there was just something there that I couldn't identify.

Given the theme of this blog, it's pretty easy to guess that I now think the man is a narcissist.

He's charismatic, magnetic, energetic and knows exactly how to work a room. The attendance of the church he pastors has grown greatly and continues to do so. He's very popular with people who don't know him well, or people from whom he needs support to accomplish his goals.

It just so happens my family was accidentally thrust in the way of him accomplishing his goals. It was a very bad place to be. The consequences were severe. Over time, I watched other people accidentally wander into his way only to suffer the same fate. Because he is The Leader of the church, he's untouchable. And, because he's The Leader of the church, often his work is done in a way that assures him Plausible Deniability. It's an ugly thing to see in a place that supposed to be God's church.

There have always been false prophets, charlatans and those who attempt to use a position of spiritual authority to further their own aims. Every time I think of the number of people this pastor has hurt or the people he's led astray, I feel a guilt for not having done something to allow other people to see the situation, plausible deniability or not. At the time, I didn't speak up because it was something I believed needed to work out in private, not broadcast. It was only after months had passed that I understood that there would be nothing worked out.

This is another place where I find myself getting caught with church issues. I've attended quite a few churches over the years, but this church was the first that I found where problems with the head pastor could not be addressed. Yes, there's a board comprised mostly of wealthy and/or highly respected people in the community. With these people, the pastor is an entirely different person. Out comes the charm, charisma and the Humble Servant of God Suit.

It could very well be that this man is the first narcissistic pastor I've run across. In that alone there is hope. Still, it troubles me that there are all these people who trust him and look to him for spiritual advice. It's at times like these that I pray Micah 6:8 for this pastor.

He has showed you, O man, what is good.
And what does the LORD require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.

Micah 6:8 (NIV)

My Replacement

The viewing had ended. Only my mother and I remained. She was collapsed in a chair emotionally and physically exhausted. I stood comfortably playing a familiar role: The Good Daughter/Hostess.

In walked My Replacement.

I'll call him Rick (you guessed it, not his real name). Rick was dressed in my father's prescribed uniform: well-tailored charcoal (grey) suit, white button-down collar shirt, red club tie, camel-colored trench coat and well-shined black shoes. He looked the perfect young executive. Rick also wore the look of a harried man, which wasn't part of my father's uniform although it was a result of being My Replacement.

I'm not sure whether it was when I "retired" at age 30, deciding instead to take some time off (with the full support of my spouse), or when I failed to attain the position and prestige he desired, but somewhere during that time my father gave up on me. I was a failure. The career he had invisioned for me, all the things he had repeatedly told me I should and needed to do, all his hopes for me had died. If I was a failure, then he needed a replacement to make in the image of himself. Enter Rick.

My father always spoke very highly of Rick. I have no doubt he followed my fathers instructions and leading. And really, who could blame him? His highly educated, successful, intelligent boss recognises his potential and takes a special interest in him. As his boss rises in the organization, so does he, adapting and learning as he goes.

Looking at Rick standing in the funeral home, I felt so sorry for the man. He was harried and hurried and running himself ragged. He'd lost his little boy and his lovely wife to divorce. His life was his work. He was obviously unhappy. Looking at Rick was like looking at what I could have been, what I escaped. I have never been as thankful as I was at that moment that I found my way out of my father's trap.

Church Issues #1

I anticipate this being the first of several on church issues.

I don't have issues with the teachings of the evangelical Christian church. I have issues with how to apply it to my life, the way I look at life and the way I see myself. Much of the teaching that goes on seems to presuppose that people see themselves in a certain way. Teachings like "view others more highly than yourself" appear to assume that people normally don't already think other people are better than they are.

It's hard for me to figure out what to do with those teachings. Jesus gave up His life, His all. Yet, at the same time, He took a break from his ministry at times to pray. He didn't give up all His needs. He slept. He ate. He rested. Where exactly is the line of things that are acceptable to take a break from serving others to do? Obviously prayer comes into the equation. It always does. If "pray about it" is the answer, then is the entire purpose of teaching to point us in the direction of those things about which we need to pray? Does all teaching boil down to "God's Word says this, now go pray about it"?

That's not really the question I had in mind for this entry, but it does come close. Given narcissistic parents, who expect their child(ren) to give of themselves to care for their parents from the time the child(ren) are little, how do those children learn what is Biblical with respect to giving and serving?