Friday, October 31, 2008

Five Minute Bedtime Stories

"Only 5 minutes!" It's the phrase my mother repeated after giving my children a new bedtime story book for Christmas. "The stories are only 5 minutes!" She winked and grinned. Then at bedtime, she grabbed the book and started it all over again.

The meaning was obvious: when it comes to bedtime stories, the shorter, the better. At least for the adult doing the reading. Only five minutes.

It was so bizarre at the time. I'd never considered looking for a book of 5 minute bedtime stories. Sure, there were nights when I wasn't up for a long story. They were more than I would have liked. I actually enjoy reading aloud. I enjoy the snuggles as I read. I enjoy sharing that time with my children. Why would I want to limit that to 5 minutes?

Beyond that, there was something so -- wrong -- about the way she kept repeating "only 5 minutes". At the time, I was offended by the implication that getting my children shoved off to bed as quickly as possible was a good thing. But there was something more. I found that something more tonight.

My mother never put my children to bed. She never showed any interest, either. So, it wasn't as if she personally experienced inconvenience putting them to bed. She's never had any children stay overnight with her, either, so it's not that she's experienced pain reading other children bedtime stories. The only child she's ever spent time with during bedtime is...me. I am her reference for bedtime stories. Ouch.

Bedtime stories will never be the same for me. I now have a better appreciation of just how important they are.

Friday, October 24, 2008

Three Little Words: We'll Talk Later

The New Pastor has been with our church a while now. Not unexpectedly, the first few services he wasn't used to our church's normal order of worship. There were a few slight rough spots. It was not a big deal -- except, I was sure, in the mind of the narcissist. After all, an entire congregation was watching. Ouch.

The church staff are known to make friendly jabs at each other during Sunday services. This past week, it was the new pastor's turn to be on the receiving end. A comment was made about the rough spots. Anyone else would have taken it as a moment of friendliness that just happened to mention the understandable mistakes by someone new. The new pastor's quiet reply of "we'll talk later" was obviously not a continuance of friendly repartee.

I have no idea what actually happened behind the scenes and I like it that way. I've spent more time than I care listening to the rantings of a narcissist who believes he's been slighted. When it came to his job, its impact was felt for weeks and even months. I feel for the pastor's wife and children.

I am comforted, however, in my belief that if there were anyone able to handle the workplace ramifications, it's our church's senior staff. They're not wishy-washy. They know where they stand and why they stand there. Given that the common wisdom is there's really no way to reform a narcissist, perhaps this guy has a chance to experience the one surefire way of reform: God's grace.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

The Narcissist's Daughter

What if.....

...there were a young man who was handsome and charming. He had several girlfriends, and he shared a sexual relationship with at least one of them. One day, a girl friend tells him she's pregnant. He asks all the usual questions. Is she sure? Has she been to the doctor? She's sure. She doesn't need a doctor to tell her.

They are quickly married. Eight months later a baby girl is born.


During the pregnancy, the young man tells his young wife that if the child is a boy, she can name him; if the child is a girl, he gets to name her. The young man never asks what name his wife has chosen, nor does he tell his wife the name he's chosen. Finally two days after the baby is born, the nurses insist the child must have a name. He names the child Elizabeth.

Elizabeth is the name of another of his girlfriends, a rival he had told his wife he no longer dates. Elizabeth is often mentioned and complimented by the young woman's mother-in-law. At the same time, it's obvious the mother-in-law doesn't like the young woman.

Everything starts to fall into place for the young woman. The odd excuses, odd coincidences, and the lengthy courtship now all made sense. Now, for a final slap in the face, her daughter bears the name of The Other Woman.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

My Narcissist's Code Words

When my mother would get angry with my father his typical reply, said with an annoyed voice, was "Oh Susan!". The translation: "Oh no, here you go being unreasonable *again*!". It was one of the family codes. The meaning was clear: there was no use trying to discuss it with him; he didn't believe your premise was even valid; you were over reacting and that's all there was to it. It was the perfect brush off. The words weren't offensive. If someone from outside the family heard them, they wouldn't think anything of it. Yet, it elicited the desired response.

It didn't take long before she was so overwhelmed with life with her narcissistic husband, that she crawled inside her own shell. By the time I was eight years-old, she was in self-preservation mode. This self-preservation quickly became self-absorption.

His brush off for me was different. It was a humorous phrase. People outside the family would likely smile if they heard it. It's sting was in the way it mocked my feelings. It made a joke of them. When I was young, even after hearing the phrase, I would still try to explain. He would only smile and repeat it, multiple times, if necessary. It was infuriating.

The phrase itself, I can't bring myself to say, or type, or even put the words together in my head. It's actually quite a clever saying and requires some thought to figure out, or at least it did when I was a child. In essence it says: you may or may not get over it, but either way it'll be a long time before it happens. In context it meant: your concern doesn't matter.

Some years later I wondered why I no longer told my parents about events in my life. It's only since I've learned about narcissism and NPD, that I see why sharing the events of my personal life with them was so distasteful. Even good events in my life were only worthy of notice if my father approved of them. By the time I was an adult, good events in my life were only worthy of his notice if they had some benefit for him.

There is at least some peace in knowing why I feel such apathy toward my parents. The peace, however, is tainted with sadness.