"White Indians don't get any money."

It's what a young Cherokee girl told my young son when he told her that we have a Cherokee ancestor. He was appropriately puzzled by the response.

Undoubtedly my son looking more Swedish than Cherokee is at least part of the reason for her response. Our Cherokee ancestor is four generations back. His mother was Cherokee, his father, a white man. Born just after the turn of the last century, as a mixed-race child he was looked down upon. He was given to a white family to raise; he was not treated well, and left home as a boy to find "his people". He spent much of his youth looking for his family, white and Indian, to no avail.

The same desire for belonging the young boy sought more than a hundred years ago, his great, great, grandson still seeks. Thankfully, my son wasn't discouraged by the odd response to his attempt at friendliness and commonality with a potential friend.

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.

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.

I *Can't* Relate To That

I was sitting in Sunday School today when a mother shared her concerns, and a prayer request, for her son in boot camp. The class's teacher, a man, did a good job of empathizing and then assuring her that her son would be OK. I wasn't ready for what happened next, although there really was no surprise. The teacher commented that being a mother, her concern for her son was understandable. The whole class verbally agreed.

It was then that I knew I was in a room full of people with whom I shared an entirely different experience of "family". It was a type of loneliness I've never felt before. In the same way their experience was so foreign to me, so mine would be to them. In "Birth of A Self in Adulthood", there is a chapter where McArthur describes reinitiating or maintaining a relationship with what she calls an "enmeshed parent". I've not researched McArthur's background, but I'd guess the parents she describes in the book are not like hers. She states it's natural for adult children of "enmeshed parents" to desire a relationship with the parent(s). Where I think McArthur misses the boat is the belief that such a relationship can exist with the enmeshed parent. Where a relationship is one-way and is based primarily on a shared dysfunctional history, learning techniques may allow these adult children to manage some sort of what McArthur herself describes as a superficial relationship. Every time I consider this, I can't escape coming back to the same question: why bother putting so much effort into pursuing a superficial relationship with a person simply because they were one's parent?

It

When my grandmother would speak of one of her nieces, she always had to tell me that the parents would tell the girl how special she was because they chose her. It bothered my grandmother a lot. I don't know whether it was on grounds of principle or being competitive, but it obviously put a bee in her bonnet.

I was exactly the opposite of this girl. I was the surprise child that changes everything about my parents' lives, and not necessarily for the better. At times I've wondered if I was someone's idea of a plan to keep my father from being drafted and sent to Vietnam. At others, if I was a hook to cement a potential marriage. I've thrown those ideas out. It was the look in my mother's eyes when she told me she knew how to take care of "it". There was a pause and then she returned to the present. The next sentence was something to the effect of, "But, now I'm glad everything turned out the way it did." It wasn't convincing.

This is not meant as a discussion of abortion. I don't want to go there. For the record, I believe abortion is wrong. Still there are times I wonder if it wouldn't have been a better idea in my case. She didn't want a kid, wasn't prepared for a kid, and didn't have a good father-figure to help her nurture a kid. It feels weird knowing I truly was a problem from the first, knowledge of me was considered very bad news. I suppose it would be different had I been raised by a mother who soon discovered her own motherly side and cherished being a mom. That didn't happen.

One phone call that went particularly badly had her sniping at me that she had friends, and she would watch her friends' children and how she could see they enjoyed spending time with their parents and doing things together, and how she didn't have that. And, she doesn't. The thought of getting together with my mother and "doing something" brings anxiety and revulsion. There's simply no enjoyment there. How could there be? The woman's known me 40-some years and has no idea who I am.

Thankfully, I didn't think to ask her if possibly *I* had felt the same way when I was a child watching other mothers with their children. But my mother would never understand this. She saw that I was fed, clothed, and had lots of nice things. To her, these are the things of a Good Mother. She doesn't see that what was missing was the specialness, the knowledge that my parents wanted *me* in their lives. It goes beyond simply wanting a child, to wanting to discover who your child is.

I've heard of a theory that says we all have an emotional bank account. People's actions deposit or withdraw on that account. My mother added precious little to my account; my father practically nothing (unless I was doing what he wanted). They had very little to withdraw before they were overdrawn.

God Works in Mysterious Ways!

Today, one of the children decided to listen to Focus on the Family's audio production of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. I hadn't listened to it since I'd heard of NPD. It has new meaning to me now.

I understand that Dickens' wrote the story as an allegory. It tells the well known story of Scrooge ; it also tells the story of a culture losing the value of human life. It would be hard to argue that there's lots of narcissism involved in both stories. Is it safe to describe Scrooge as a narcissist?

At university, one of my literature professors made an interesting observation: in a good piece of literature, a character never does anything that is not in some way foreshadowed. In theatre one might say that the character would always behave "in character". I believe this is true in real life also. It's why some people can read others so well. People's behaviour should never really surprise us.

So what of Scrooge, the narcissist, making such a radical turn around with his life? Is it the remembrance of the loving kindness of his sister that ultimately softens him? Perhaps. Might it be remembering his first employer and the way he lived his life? Maybe. Could it be the knowledge that despite his nastiness, his employee and his nephew still loved him? Possibly. What of the people who so callously stole the dead man's possessions? I think not. The same Scrooge who wouldn't sign Marley's death certificate until after the close of business would think nothing of the living appropriating the material possessions of the dead.

So what's the point? While not ignoring the fact that Scrooge is fictional, what changed Scrooge's life with, of course, the help of the spirits, was love. It was love, even in the face of nastiness and cruelty. Now, to be sure, the people who purposefully engaged Scrooge the narcissist and treated him with love were people who had the ability to be secure in themselves with a support system to help anchor them. In the end, their relationships mattered.

As an ACON, I may not be in the position to engage a narcissist, but I'm glad there are people who can. I watched people like that engage my father. I have no idea how the Holy Spirit dealt with my father, but I'd like to think that the seeds planted and watered by those godly people who put themselves in the path of a narcissist could have bore fruit. I'm glad, too, that I can have the same hope for my culture.

A Tale of Two Deaths

It's an odd thing, the difference between how I felt when my n father died and when my father-in-law died. Neither man professed any real interested in their Creator, although my father often cursed God. I was there when both died, both of cancers.

My father-in-law died, with all his children, his adult grandchildren, and the spouses there. Out of town family members had stayed in contact daily with local family and drove through the night to be with him before he died. It wasn't a conflict-free time, but we all made our way through it, still caring for one another.

While sitting at the foot of my father-in-laws bed, listening to him struggle to breathe, I felt an amazing *need* to pray. It's not something I can easily describe. It was a deep, urgent, feeling that I must pray. So I did. I prayed in a way that day, pleading and praising like I never had before, or since. I could feel an amazing spiritual battle happening around me, but I had no idea how or why. It was only months later that I was told a family member there, who was taking a lead role in caring for my father-in-law, had been studying and practicing shamanic rituals. She'd been working with my father-in-law with special stones and other objects. I believe this was the reason my spirit felt so burdened to pray.

When he died, I was sitting next to his bed, holding his and my mother-in-law's hands, listening to her share loving family memories.

When my father died, my mother and I were there: she asleep after exhausting herself attempting to meet the demands of my n father, I by his bedside. I advocated for him, for pain management and other comfort issues. I watched and listened to him die.

The scene was so different from that of my father-in-law. There was no spirit of family, no shared comfort in a time of distress. It was just me, a sleeping mother and a dying father. And the machines.

I tried to talk to God, but there was nothing there, only a stagnancy that defies description. I was not without God presence, but there was no call to pray, no spiritual battle. My father's impregnable fortress of narcissism had held strong. I couldn't even muster a struggle to find sadness. He had made his choice.

My mother awoke just before his end came. As he struggled for breath, panic-stricken she urged him to keep breathing. Before long the time came that I needed to urge her to let him go. He died with his anxious wife and stoic daughter at his bedside.

Now, years later, after typing all this, I see that both deaths are a perfect summation of the lives that preceded them. My father-in-law knew he was far from perfect, but he had done his best to be a loving husband and father. He died surrounded by his imperfect family, doing its best to make it through a difficult time. My father was perfect in his own mind. He'd done all he could to make the world around him serve him. In his death he was surrounded by the anxiety and cold distance he had so well cultivated. The world provided its service to him one last time and then it was finished.

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.

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?

Do I Know You?

A dear friend said this to me years ago. Apparently I'd "disappeared". Rather than disappearing, I saw it as leaving her alone or letting her get on with her life. Keeping in touch is a foreign thing.

Recently I moved close to grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. I did let them know I was nearby and that my address was temporary. I just never let them know when I moved into my permanent address. It's partly intentional and partly not.

Announcing that I'd moved nearby felt strange enough, I can't imagine writing or calling and saying I was coming for a visit. It seems like such an imposition.

Come to think of it, the whole idea of keeping in touch seems like an imposition. Phoning people seems like an intrusion. In truth, people phoning me can feel very much like an intrusion. I expect to be asked to do something without the option of saying no without much emotional pain and guilt trips. This brings me back up to keeping in touch being a foreign thing. Keeping in touch means obligation and loss of personal choice.

Loss of personal choice is a rat's nest, a tangled mess that I've yet to completely unravel. Personal choice implies there's a person involved. I'm still learning to be a person and all that that means.