Mom's Surprise Visit

I suppose it wasn't as bad as its potential.

She called from a nearby truck stop and asked for directions. My dear spouse, not knowing what else to do, gave her the directions.

In retrospect, the visit was simply to show off her new toy. This time a new vehicle. She wanted attention and affirmation. It's a long-standing pattern I've fathomed just now. It's a pervasive theme, in fact; I'm dumbstruck it's taken me this long to see what was in front of me all along.

In a perverse way, it's soothing to know that because I, as a person, don't exist to her she'll not likely be back until the next time she has some special toy. While it is possible that she'll seek attention for other things, I've learned how not to give encouraging attention.

She's found another dear, sweet family member on whom to attach herself. This lovely lady has physical and emotional abuse in her background, and I worry about her. She's a grown woman, though, and has a husband I highly respect, so hopefully she'll be able to navigate her way through.

I fear a family funeral is in the near future. Several family members aren't doing well. I've not done a lot of thinking about how I'll handle these sad events. I very much want to show appropriate respect and love for my loved ones who die. There is, of course, the great potential that she won't bother to tell me until well the event. If this happens, I'll deal with it as best I can.

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.

Ghost Town

"Ghost Town" goes to a daily devotion from Our Daily Bread, part of RBC Ministries (formerly Radio Bible Class). They're not necessarily deep theology, but they are good food for thought akin, shall I say, to a morning snack.

It's likely no surprise that I am uncomfortable with having cut my self-absorbed mother out of my life. It's been three years now and, although I have great misgivings, the amount of relief involved in ditching the stress a relationship with her brings, speaks volumes. There is a certain peace that comes with it.

So, why the misgivings? Perhaps it's that same nagging feeling that I should feel badly about not having her in my life. One thing is for sure. I do not have complete peace about not having any contact with her.

First, I have no illusions that I am God. I'm not. I do believe, however, that His Word show us the character of God and that character is something we are to follow. In the devotional, we see God allowing His people to be scattered as a means of teaching them what the outcome of their behaviour was. It's here I begin to wonder if there's some insight here for me with respect to my mother. Where I get caught is in the reconciliation part. When God's people realized their sin and turned away, He restored their relationship. God desired to restore the relationship.

I have no desire to reconcile with my mother. None. On the deepest level, having her in my life means fear and pain. It means seeing very clearly what I don't have in the way of a mother. That hurts. It underscores just how alone I was as a child. It means steeling myself against what bizarre or nasty thing may happen. No doubt what I'm missing is the confidence that something will or has changed. I have no idea how to determine when, or if, a positive change has come to pass.

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.

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?

Guilt

Guilt and I are Siamese twins, joined at the hip since birth. I feel normal taking the blame for nearly anything. My spouse trips over the coffee table? It's my fault because I could have put it somewhere else. Can't find the television remote? Even though I wasn't the last one to use it, I should make sure it's in plain sight. Child drops a cup of milk? I should have reminded him to be careful. There's always a reason why it's my fault. The worst part of it all is that I do it to myself. I apologize for everything. I feel guilty for everything. It always seems that I could have, and should have, done something to make the situation better. I should have anticipated better.

Anticipation. What a word. It was the best thing to be good at when I was a kid.

Perhaps that's why I fight not to feel guilty when my mother calls and tells me all about getting in a car accident in sparsely populated west Texas. She tells me about being all alone and having no one to help her. She had to walk everywhere she needed to go, even to find the bus station to get a ticket home. I had to struggle to apologize for all her troubles, for saying how I should have been there for her. But the truth is, I do feel guilty that I wasn't there for her. Of course, she didn't call, so I had no way of knowing. I didn't even know she was traveling. And truthfully, as badly as I feel admitting it, I don't want her to call. She travels around and gets herself in strange situations, wandering with odd people. I don't want to be the cavalry, riding in to rescue her from her latest bad decision. I don't want to be responsible for her. That sounds terrible.

Since I was a kid, there has always been some reason that my mother was fragile. Physical problems, stress, there was always something. We had to take care of mother. It was a standard refrain. When I had a bad day at school, she didn't want to hear about it because she'd had a bad day at work. So, I'd listen about her bad day at work and bring home the straight A report cards and all was fine.

When my father knew he was dying, he moved nearer to me. More specifically, he moved my mother nearer to me. It was always clear that I was to take care of her. She had been mine to take care of as a child and now she was still mine to care for. It was something I'd dreaded for years. Once my father was gone, I was it. It was like a sentence to return to childhood all over again.

Acts of God

Recent weather has afforded us several opportunities to closely examine the inside of our storm shelter (and then survey the storm damage before calling the insurance company). The amazing strength of nature is humbling.

To my narcissistic father it was maddening. That the weather would not cater to his wishes was a frequent source of his anger and one of the bests reasons he had to curse God. Whether it was too windy so he couldn't do what he wanted or that it was raining and he didn't want it to be dreary, when the weather didn't fit his wishes, he treated it like a personal affront from God. How dare God not give him what he wanted! His plans were important and good, and here was God ruining it with this cursed weather!

Driving through areas with storm damage and listening to people talk about them boosts my faith in the ability of humans to behave humanely. While many buildings are missing windows, especially in areas of older homes or where the people are poorer, still the overwhelming attitude expressed is relief that no one was badly hurt or killed. I've yet to hear one angry complaint because their plans were spoiled.

The gratitude is refreshing.

Narcissist In A Nutshell

It's not the most extreme or terrible example of my father as narcissist, but I think it does a good job of demonstrating his attitude toward life.

First, a bit of background. When I was about 11 years old, my father suddenly decided he liked mushrooms and green peppers. Before that we NEVER ate them because he didn't like them. However, now that he did like them, all food dishes now needed to include mushrooms and green peppers, along with onions, whenever possible. I had a problem. I didn't like mushrooms or green peppers or onions.

So, one night we were at a pizza parlor preparing to order. My father, of course, wanted a supreme pizza with, of course, mushrooms, green peppers and onions. I asked if we could get half without the mushrooms, green peppers and onions. The answer was no. This was before my mother adopted all of my father's narcissistic qualities, so she advocated for me. This time the answer was an angry NO! Because both he and my mother liked the extra toppings, it meant that he would have to eat 1 or 2 slices from the half without all the things he liked and he wasn't going to do that. My mother even went so far as to suggest she only eat pieces without the extra toppings so all his pieces would have what he wanted. That also was unacceptable because he didn't want his wife to have to give up something she wanted.

I became very good at removing and eating around foods I didn't like.

Books Trolling

It was a stroll through a bookstore that brought me to the idea that my parents were narcissistic. A friend clued me into the fact that my parents were different. He used the word "self absorbed" to describe them. Undoubtedly that's why the book Children of the Self-Absorbed by Nina Brown caught my eye. Reading it was the beginning of truly believing there was a problem.

Before that I was puzzled by the view I had of friends' families. My closest friend's parents were entirely unlike mine. They made special arrangements to celebrate my birthday and get me a present, even while my own parents didn't even bother to contact me at all. They remembered and asked about things that happened in their children's lives. They even extended that honor to me.

As an adult, my parents would go six to eight months without even as much as a phone call. Then, all of a suddenly, it was like they remembered they had a kid and they HAD to see me and tell me all about what was going on with them. This didn't include listening to what was going on with me. Then, after they had told me about their wonderful life, another six to eight months would pass before the next call -- unless, of course, they needed help or something big and inportant happened to them.

According to my parents, our family was ahead of the curve. We were what families should be. The explanation seemed perfectly reasonable to my child mind. It even made sense to my adult mind until I was in my 30's!

It's a sad fact that children tend to believe their family and circumstances are the norm. It took years for me to put together the pieces after watching friends interact with their parents. Before that, it never occured to me that things I took for granted as being normal were anything but. I still occasionally come across something I assume to be normal that isn't. Such eye-opening realizations add valuable pieces to my life puzzle.