Resurrecting The Dead

For me, part of being raised by a narcissist was learning that in all things my narcissistic father is Right. His choice of music is Right. His choice of television programs is Right. His philosophy of life is Right. His opinion of me, his child, is Right. As a kid who was I to question that? So I learned it, lived it, trained myself to love it.

Part of becoming an adult was the realization that I had nothing that was mine. The things I liked, believed, etc. were his. I had learned them, rote, much like my multiplication tables. Behind them was only the passion of knowing that I was taught they were Right. As it is taught, so let it be done. *gong*

When I was 16, I discovered that spiritually I believed something different than my parents. This caused me to be rejected by my self-absorbed, self-righteous parents. In making my own spiritual decision I had, unknowingly, committed the unforgivable sin against a narcissist: I had made up my mind for myself. I was flabbergasted when the swift slap of renunciation seemingly came out of nowhere. At that time I was truly naïve. The thought that there was something amiss with my parents child-rearing philosophy never crossed my mind.

Now, I find myself on a life journey to think for myself. At age 43 I have come to the startling discovery that I don't know what I like. It's been a difficult exercise to discover those things which are my own passions. It's meant digging back into my childhood and find things that I very much wanted, but for whatever reason were deemed unacceptable. It's meant finding those things that I didn't even dare acknowledge to myself that I liked for fear that simply in liking something I was trespassing the unwritten rule that Daddy is Right.

This self discovery closely ties into goals. I must know what I like to set goals and I must know ways to reward myself for achievement. It's something that's been sorely lacking in my life. It's certainly played a part in my recent stagnation. When I have no idea where I'm going, I have no idea when I've arrived and the journey becomes meaningless.

Finding Self

Every so often I stumble across this. Yesterday was one of those days -- a day when I struggle to know who I am. That sounds so cliché (or stupid, depending on your bent), but I can't find better words to describe it.

My father decided to mold me in his image. I was told what to like, or rather what was acceptable to like. Being a compliant child, I followed his lead. Somewhere around 30, I discovered that what I'd been convinced to like and be, wasn't what I wanted. Thus started the process that got me to the place of learning about NPD.

When it comes to goals of my own, I don't have a lot of experience. I was a pretty good stooge and as such all I had to be good at was following and doing what I was trained to do. Yeah, a lot like a puppy. But, now that I'm no longer content to live like that, I need to find my own goals, and even my own likes. It's proved a difficult thing to learn.

Yesterday I started thinking: for most humans, they begin to develop their own likes, dislikes and goals as a child. Kids try stuff. New stuff. Different stuff. They explore and find what they like. And, if done properly, the kids do this naturally without a thought to whether they succeed, or do it well, or the people around them approve of it. Eventually they find their own self, what they like, what they want to do, to be, how they want to live.

This seems like it's becoming the stuff of a mid-life crisis. It's not that I'm unsatisfied with my life. It's that I have no purpose in it other than being a good spouse and parent to my amazing small humans.

The question, "where do you see yourself in 5 years?" has always puzzled me. It's the goal thing. I've rarely had an idea where I was going to be in 5 years, and when I did, it was because someone else had prescribed it for me.

This all came about because yesterday was a gloomy Monday. I needed something to keep me on track and give me a reason to continue what seemed like only drudgery. I couldn't find a reason why I cared if tomorrow even existed. The thought of the future is blank. Why bother if tomorrow is going to be more of the same, followed by another day, week, month, year, decade of more of the same. I need a goal. Or two. I need a reason why I care if tomorrow comes.