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.

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.

Outakes of Flywheel: My Narcissist's Cameo

It left me dumbstruck. In a part of the DVD that was supposed to be light-hearted and funny, There...He... Was. I wasn't ready for it. Perhaps that's why I can't get rid of the uneasy feeling it gave me.

Of course, it wasn't really, physically, my narcissist. But, it was him in spirit. A scene is cut. The director enters from off screen. A child, maybe seven to nine years-old, holds a boom microphone at least twice as long as she is tall. With obvious false severity, he "reprimands" the girl for her handling of the mic. Beyond being part of an outtake, it's clear that he's just goofing around and teasing the girl.

When I was that girl, it wasn't teasing. Curse words were involved. Gritted teeth were involved. And, I was afraid. It didn't happen on a movie set. It happened in our garage, or basement, or backyard, or barn, or kitchen, or somewhere private where only family was present. To me, the outtake wasn't funny. It was sad and scary.

It took me a few days to wrap my mind around the reason for my inability to shake thoughts about the scene. It was the first time I'd viewed such an incident from that angle, from the outside looking in. It was like watching myself. Not only did it leave me uncomfortable, it also left me with some hard questions, all of which boil down to: is that sort of behaviour wrong?

Had the director in the movie been serious, rather than goofing around, then I can easily say yes. Yet, I can't see the whole issue as that cut-and-dry. For whatever reason, it doesn't help to put some other child in my place. Because, let's face it, any situation is much more complicated than what's happening at the moment. There's a back story, a history. But that line of reasoning comes much too close to rationalization of bad behaviour, situational ethics, and "a certain moral flexibility"(1).

So, I find myself uncomfortable with either a 'yes', 'no', or even 'it depends'. I'm stuck. Ironically that's the same position in which I found myself as that little girl facing my narcissist's anger. It's disconcerting.



(1)Grosse Pointe Blank movie

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

This was one of my narcissist's favourite say when he was "disappointed" in me. It's the reason I hate it so, despite my belief that it's true. The saying, and an illustration of its application, ended the chapter of the latest book I'm reading. It struck a chord.

Oddly enough, or maybe not, "actions speak louder than words" is something I heard a lot, but never with respect to the actions of my narcissist. When I consider its application to my narcissist...it's quite, hmmm, I guess the word is educational or, perhaps, liberating. It turns the saying on its ear; something I *know* my narcissist wouldn't have liked at all. Having his actions scrutinized would not have been acceptable. I can just hear the justifications, rationalizations and topics to which he would change the subject. It's actually amusing. Of course, I'm sitting here in MY home, in MY recliner, and MY narcissist has been dead more than six years. Even now, it isn't always as amusing.

It's also a good reminder to listen to my own actions. I'd hate to be misquoted.

Walking A Tightrope

Being an adult child of a narcissist (ACON) with children is a lot like walking a tightrope. Much of the experience I would draw up on how to parent, I have to seriously question and often throw out. So many seemingly simple things like how to hold a birthday party, or even more serious things like what is appropriate behaviour for a child in public.

It's even struggling with things like breakfast. When I was a child, breakfast was seen as a hassle. It was something done only for me and it was obvious it was a pain. Breakfast was either a chocolate poptart on a chocolate instant breakfast (made with premixed powder and milk). By the time I was 8 or 9, I was making my own breakfast usually after my parents left for work. This experience left me feeling that I should always make breakfast for my children, that to do anything else was selfish and wrong. It's taken a while for me to see that it's not terrible for my children to pour themselves a bowl of cereal once in a while, or for my child who enjoys cooking to be given the freedom to be the one to make breakfast.

The hardest of all, though, is the whole issue of boundaries. Being wary of selfishness, I have difficulty identifying when it's OK for me to say no. I don't want to expect their lives to fulfill my needs, at the same time, I don't want to spoil them into thinking the world is all about them either. It feels like I'm walking a tightrope.

Sometimes I wonder if it's as common for people with narcissistic behaviours to skip generations as it is to inherit them directly.