In a comment in response to "The Question of Forgiveness," Jeff raised a fascinating question...."Is the n-individual (for we are talking about an individual and not simply a category) , if they are 'mentally ill', mentally well enough to recognise how ill they are? Is their responsibility 'diminished' in the way that some defendants claim in legal cases?"
It really got me thinking. Do I think of my father as mentally ill? He was diagnosed in later life with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. While he was able to hold a job, marry, save money and, in some ways, rise above a terrible childhood, he was a loner all his life and was incapable of forming lasting, reciprocal relationships. He could also be mean, demanding, needy and jealous.
I've always thought of my father as mentally...deficient. I used to wonder if he had a very low IQ. Before his diagnosis, I used to wonder what the heck was wrong with him because he certainly wasn't normal...he didn't act like other fathers. Mostly, I felt embarrassed.
I think Jeff managed to articulate ideas and concepts that would occasionally pop into my mind...fleeting and half-formed...and then poof!....would disappear.
Do YOU think of your narcissistic parent as mentally ill? Slightly disordered?
Here's what Jeff wrote (brilliantly I might add):
The trouble I find is this: one moment I'll make statements about my parents based on how medical categories shed light on their behaviour, then the next, having suggested they were in some way ill, I'll make other statements that suggest they had the same mental faculties as anyone else, as though they were no different and therefore not ill according to medical categories. This doublethink leaves me alternating on their level of responsibility, whether they had the capacity to do any differently than they did, and therefore whether they can be forgiven. To categorise them while assuming they were as responsible as the next person doesn't feel right somehow, as though I'm trying to have it both ways.
The difficulty with forgiveness may be this entrapment between the intellectualisation in understanding their behaviour in medical terms and the inevitable emotional turmoil in having had parents that denied parental love with impunity. The intellectual side relies on models whose helpful explanations explain away the parent's awareness. The emotional side then craves justice from a defendant whose capacity has just been called into question.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
The Question of Forgiveness
Some people are big on the concept of forgiving. Some have said you need to forgive the person/persons who harmed you.
Then there are other concepts floating around...in the category of "Now What Do I Do With This Mess?" Some say we should try to understand the person who caused us so much grief.
When I've attempted to discuss the behavior of my narcissistic parents with select individuals, I'm often met with, "They didn't know any better; they were ignorant." This doesn't ring true. My aunts came from the same socioeconomic background and were loving, nurturing women.
My self-centered mother is long dead. While I felt sorry for her as I watched her suffer through Alzheimer's, frankly, I don't remember any authentic emotions of sadness or grief. When she started down dementia's spiral staircase, she spent most of the previous ten years giving me the cold, silent treatment for "abandoning" her to go away to college.
My father is fading fast with his dementia. I feel sorry for him, too. I know he wouldn't want to hang on in his terrible condition. Still, I don't feel any strong emotions...including hate. I used to loathe him...couldn't stand to even be in the same room with him. Okay, I still can't, but when I do spend time with him, I'm not a seething bag of resentment and fury.
Sometimes, I feel guilty I don't see him more often, but here's where the question of forgiveness comes in. I can't. I don't want to. I'd have to force myself to do it and I simply do not have the the will to overcome profound feelings of dread that accompany a visit. I can occasionally muster the energy to do so, but it does take its toll. He is well taken care of. I check on his welfare frequently. The woman who takes care of him is incredibly patient with his difficult behaviors (my father calls her and the staff the most horrible names you can imagine...his ability to lob insults is astounding).
So here's the deal. There are some things I could forgive. I could forgive...maybe...how my parents treated me as an adoptee. It was pretty bad (I have a whole blog trying to work out that one), but I could chalk it up to the total dysfunction of the Closed Era of Adoption. Then there's just bad parenting. Okay, my parents were raised poor and had lousy parents themselves and didn't know any better. Check.
Here's what keeps me from actively forgiving my parents....the knowledge that they actively made the decision to cut me off emotionally (my mother) and financially (my father) at a very young age. This was very punitive. When I asked for help....once (a loan of $75)....help never came.
If I said I could forgive my parents...and really feel it...I'd be lying. Maybe I'll work my way around to it one of these days. I don't walk around, in real life, an angry person. I reserve "my angries" for this blog.
So if not forgiveness...what the heck else is there?
Then there are other concepts floating around...in the category of "Now What Do I Do With This Mess?" Some say we should try to understand the person who caused us so much grief.
When I've attempted to discuss the behavior of my narcissistic parents with select individuals, I'm often met with, "They didn't know any better; they were ignorant." This doesn't ring true. My aunts came from the same socioeconomic background and were loving, nurturing women.
My self-centered mother is long dead. While I felt sorry for her as I watched her suffer through Alzheimer's, frankly, I don't remember any authentic emotions of sadness or grief. When she started down dementia's spiral staircase, she spent most of the previous ten years giving me the cold, silent treatment for "abandoning" her to go away to college.
My father is fading fast with his dementia. I feel sorry for him, too. I know he wouldn't want to hang on in his terrible condition. Still, I don't feel any strong emotions...including hate. I used to loathe him...couldn't stand to even be in the same room with him. Okay, I still can't, but when I do spend time with him, I'm not a seething bag of resentment and fury.
Sometimes, I feel guilty I don't see him more often, but here's where the question of forgiveness comes in. I can't. I don't want to. I'd have to force myself to do it and I simply do not have the the will to overcome profound feelings of dread that accompany a visit. I can occasionally muster the energy to do so, but it does take its toll. He is well taken care of. I check on his welfare frequently. The woman who takes care of him is incredibly patient with his difficult behaviors (my father calls her and the staff the most horrible names you can imagine...his ability to lob insults is astounding).
So here's the deal. There are some things I could forgive. I could forgive...maybe...how my parents treated me as an adoptee. It was pretty bad (I have a whole blog trying to work out that one), but I could chalk it up to the total dysfunction of the Closed Era of Adoption. Then there's just bad parenting. Okay, my parents were raised poor and had lousy parents themselves and didn't know any better. Check.
Here's what keeps me from actively forgiving my parents....the knowledge that they actively made the decision to cut me off emotionally (my mother) and financially (my father) at a very young age. This was very punitive. When I asked for help....once (a loan of $75)....help never came.
If I said I could forgive my parents...and really feel it...I'd be lying. Maybe I'll work my way around to it one of these days. I don't walk around, in real life, an angry person. I reserve "my angries" for this blog.
So if not forgiveness...what the heck else is there?
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Feeling Unsafe...and the Superwoman Complex
Billie shared in a comment her experience as a child getting a bone lodged in her tonsil...and subsequent "adventure" involving the highway, high rates of speed and quite a show of fatherly "concern." It's a doozie. (Poor Billie!) I've copied it below for ease of reading.
Based on my experience and those shared by readers here, the narcissistic parent will co-opt any misfortune suffered by their child and somehow make it all about them. Still, one would like to believe that their parent would rally and provide the necessary care and comfort if said child were sick or injured. Unfortunately, this is not the case. At least, not in my case and certainly not in the case of readers who've shared shocking stories about parents' disturbing reactions to serious illnesses such as cancer or the death of a spouse.
Knowing your parent is incapable of caring for you when you need them most is not just disappointing, it's....unsettling. You know...just know...you are on your own.
In addition to the stress of coping with the problem or illness that has befallen you, you now carry the burden of trying to manage your parent as he carries on about how terribly worried he is and generally making things much, much worse.
The result, at least in my case, was to hide any bit of information that might be co-opted for dramatic purposes. My parents were the last people I'd tell if I needed help. (Rather late in life, in a weak moment, I told n-dad I was scared about the results of a medical test. I've already written about that. Not only was he unsupportive, he was angry. If I died, who was going to take care of him?)
The end result is...the development of a bad case of the superwoman complex. I hate asking for help. I'd rather do everything myself, thank you very much. No, no, I don't want a ride back from the dentist after a root canal...I'll call a cab. I hurt my foot on a walk with the cell phone in my pocket. Did I call my husband who was sitting at home...he would have been glad to pick me up. No, no...I hobbled home. I'm clobbered by the flu? I'll drag myself to work or make dinner for my kids and take the dog for a walk...no big deal. This is different from the martyr complex, because I don't go around sighing and pointing out how no one ever helps me. It just doesn't occur to me to ask for help...this habit of hiding misfortune is so ingrained.
Just this week, I figured out I have another problem: I feel very uncomfortable when people are nice to me. It's embarrassing. For example, a good friend offered me free flight passes. While I was very grateful, I refused them. I felt like I'd be taking advantage of her...or that I wasn't worthy of the gift. She insisted she had more (she worked for an airline) and that she'd given her passes to neighbors...who'd traveled lots of places on them...and to others she knew less well than me. Still, I kept refusing, until she insisted...and now I feel guilty that I'm planning a vacation on her passes. What's up with that???
Anybody else "do" this???
Here's Billie's story:
...when I was maybe 6 or 7, I got a fishbone stuck in one of my tonsils. It was uncomfortable, yes, but not an emergency. My father loaded all of us into the pickup and drove, like, 90 miles an hour with his face to his CB radio hand-held, screaming that his little girl was "choking on a fishbone." Really???? He didn't say jack to me when I was miserably sitting in the back, hoping no one was mad at me for causing all the uproar. He just wanted the truckers on I-80 to respond to him so he could feel important. We didn't even have to take the Interstate...it would have been closer to get to the doctor on the highway. This added some excitement and attention to Ndad's life...he couldn't quit talking about how worried he was about me and telling people days later about this. He must've sounded like such an ass to normal adults. "My baby was choking to death on a fish bone, and so I had to drive like a maniac to the emergency room so the doctor could remove it. I was SOOO WORRIED. I was almost sick over it. I don't know what I would have done if she had died."
Based on my experience and those shared by readers here, the narcissistic parent will co-opt any misfortune suffered by their child and somehow make it all about them. Still, one would like to believe that their parent would rally and provide the necessary care and comfort if said child were sick or injured. Unfortunately, this is not the case. At least, not in my case and certainly not in the case of readers who've shared shocking stories about parents' disturbing reactions to serious illnesses such as cancer or the death of a spouse.
Knowing your parent is incapable of caring for you when you need them most is not just disappointing, it's....unsettling. You know...just know...you are on your own.
In addition to the stress of coping with the problem or illness that has befallen you, you now carry the burden of trying to manage your parent as he carries on about how terribly worried he is and generally making things much, much worse.
The result, at least in my case, was to hide any bit of information that might be co-opted for dramatic purposes. My parents were the last people I'd tell if I needed help. (Rather late in life, in a weak moment, I told n-dad I was scared about the results of a medical test. I've already written about that. Not only was he unsupportive, he was angry. If I died, who was going to take care of him?)
The end result is...the development of a bad case of the superwoman complex. I hate asking for help. I'd rather do everything myself, thank you very much. No, no, I don't want a ride back from the dentist after a root canal...I'll call a cab. I hurt my foot on a walk with the cell phone in my pocket. Did I call my husband who was sitting at home...he would have been glad to pick me up. No, no...I hobbled home. I'm clobbered by the flu? I'll drag myself to work or make dinner for my kids and take the dog for a walk...no big deal. This is different from the martyr complex, because I don't go around sighing and pointing out how no one ever helps me. It just doesn't occur to me to ask for help...this habit of hiding misfortune is so ingrained.
Just this week, I figured out I have another problem: I feel very uncomfortable when people are nice to me. It's embarrassing. For example, a good friend offered me free flight passes. While I was very grateful, I refused them. I felt like I'd be taking advantage of her...or that I wasn't worthy of the gift. She insisted she had more (she worked for an airline) and that she'd given her passes to neighbors...who'd traveled lots of places on them...and to others she knew less well than me. Still, I kept refusing, until she insisted...and now I feel guilty that I'm planning a vacation on her passes. What's up with that???
Anybody else "do" this???
Here's Billie's story:
...when I was maybe 6 or 7, I got a fishbone stuck in one of my tonsils. It was uncomfortable, yes, but not an emergency. My father loaded all of us into the pickup and drove, like, 90 miles an hour with his face to his CB radio hand-held, screaming that his little girl was "choking on a fishbone." Really???? He didn't say jack to me when I was miserably sitting in the back, hoping no one was mad at me for causing all the uproar. He just wanted the truckers on I-80 to respond to him so he could feel important. We didn't even have to take the Interstate...it would have been closer to get to the doctor on the highway. This added some excitement and attention to Ndad's life...he couldn't quit talking about how worried he was about me and telling people days later about this. He must've sounded like such an ass to normal adults. "My baby was choking to death on a fish bone, and so I had to drive like a maniac to the emergency room so the doctor could remove it. I was SOOO WORRIED. I was almost sick over it. I don't know what I would have done if she had died."
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Oh...Grow Up Already!
The flip side to the previous post...about narcissistic fathers acting like big babies...is the narcissistic mother acting like a helpless little girl.
One trait I've observed in my own n-parent, and I have no idea how universal this is, is their stubborn resistance to personal growth. They are unwilling to identify a behavior that causes them distress and work to change it...from within. The change, they insist, must come from external sources. In other words, they blame others. (Translation....WE are asked to change, constantly, to accommodate them)
As a result, my n-father had managed to reach old middle age without acquiring the perspective and wisdom usually associated with that age group. He remained....forever 13.
Susie shared her experience with her mother...and I thought it so well illustrated the broader point that I just had to copy and paste it! (Hope you don't mind, Susie). I also applaud her for directly confronting her parent, something I rarely did which I now wish I had! Of course, while we can't change our n-parent, there is something to be said for the satisfaction of sticking up for yourself, setting some boundaries and, well, letting it rip.
The way Susie's mother responds to the criticism...and the setting of boundaries...is, well, CLASSIC! A perfect example of how an n-parent goes into victim-martyr mode when you try to discuss their behavior, thereby escaping personal responsibility. (By contrast, my youngest daughter complained to my husband that he does this thing that really bothers her. He listened, apologized and promised to work on it...she felt acknowledged and respected...he was grateful to have the opportunity to fix something that would improve their communication/relationship).
I guess the big sad take-away is...the relationship with an n-parent is NON-NEGOTIABLE.
Still, for those of you trying to figure out if you're dealing with an n-parent, it's useful to have concrete examples....so here is an excellent "case study" written by Susie (credit to Susie for the post title).
I always felt that way about my Mom. That she should be less melodramatic and childish. Dad, on the other hand, always embraced the uber-macho-I-have-no-feelings-and-neither-should-you stuff.
Just as a current example: My mother volunteers at a.....school where she used to teach (she retired). My mother has never worked another job in her life, so he skill set and knowledge is extremely limited. She has an unfortunate habit of taking on tasks that she is unable to do without an enormous amount of support. So, naturally Dad, I, and my husband all get sucked into helping her with these projects. This year, she took on the task (among many, many others) to scan pictures into the computer for a compilation for the school year book. My mom is not very technologically savvy, so she ends up procrastinating and asking us a bajillion questions. In the end, we end up doing 95% of the work for her because she never learned how to use a computer.
I am SO fed up with helping her and I decided to put my foot down and say no. I told her that I can't do this anymore and that she needs to be able to take on tasks that she is able to do instead of committing herself to things that she doesn't know how to do because it always ends up being a shared burden. I also made the observation that things wait until the very last minute and that she needs to learn to coordinate her time more efficiently.
Ohhhh man...it was such a bad idea to bring this up. She really laid on thick the "poor me" crap. In a justified and indignant voice, "YOU'RE RIGHT. I'm stupid and incapable and I won't EVER ask you for help again!" When I tried to clarify that she just needs to take on things that she can do alone without encroaching on our time, she says, "I know what I'm able to do! I can scrub floors. I can fold laundry and cook dinner too. Why don't I just do THAT?!"(as if by asking her to take on more reasonable tasks and to set personal boundaries with her volunteer job is somehow doing to coercing her into domestic subordination) and "THIS is what makes me happy! I like doing this!" (which sounds completely contrary to her stress and frustration she seems to have with the project. It also says to me that her feelings about being able to volunteer are more important than the fact that it doesn't make US happy having to do it for her).
When she brought out the poor me stuff, I couldn't handle it anymore. I said, "Oh, shut up! Don't try to play the 'poor me act'" to which she buried her face in her hands, starting to cry and said pitifully, "Ohhh WHYYYY are you doing this to me?!" I just got out of my chair and said, "When you're ready to start communicating with me, let me know."
MAN, that felt good, but of course, it accomplished nothing. It just told me how totally impossible N-parents are when it comes to communication. If it weren't so totally frustrating, it would be almost comedic how much self-pity N's have for themselves. It makes me want to say to her, "OH grow up already!!"
One trait I've observed in my own n-parent, and I have no idea how universal this is, is their stubborn resistance to personal growth. They are unwilling to identify a behavior that causes them distress and work to change it...from within. The change, they insist, must come from external sources. In other words, they blame others. (Translation....WE are asked to change, constantly, to accommodate them)
As a result, my n-father had managed to reach old middle age without acquiring the perspective and wisdom usually associated with that age group. He remained....forever 13.
Susie shared her experience with her mother...and I thought it so well illustrated the broader point that I just had to copy and paste it! (Hope you don't mind, Susie). I also applaud her for directly confronting her parent, something I rarely did which I now wish I had! Of course, while we can't change our n-parent, there is something to be said for the satisfaction of sticking up for yourself, setting some boundaries and, well, letting it rip.
The way Susie's mother responds to the criticism...and the setting of boundaries...is, well, CLASSIC! A perfect example of how an n-parent goes into victim-martyr mode when you try to discuss their behavior, thereby escaping personal responsibility. (By contrast, my youngest daughter complained to my husband that he does this thing that really bothers her. He listened, apologized and promised to work on it...she felt acknowledged and respected...he was grateful to have the opportunity to fix something that would improve their communication/relationship).
I guess the big sad take-away is...the relationship with an n-parent is NON-NEGOTIABLE.
Still, for those of you trying to figure out if you're dealing with an n-parent, it's useful to have concrete examples....so here is an excellent "case study" written by Susie (credit to Susie for the post title).
I always felt that way about my Mom. That she should be less melodramatic and childish. Dad, on the other hand, always embraced the uber-macho-I-have-no-feelings-and-neither-should-you stuff.
Just as a current example: My mother volunteers at a.....school where she used to teach (she retired). My mother has never worked another job in her life, so he skill set and knowledge is extremely limited. She has an unfortunate habit of taking on tasks that she is unable to do without an enormous amount of support. So, naturally Dad, I, and my husband all get sucked into helping her with these projects. This year, she took on the task (among many, many others) to scan pictures into the computer for a compilation for the school year book. My mom is not very technologically savvy, so she ends up procrastinating and asking us a bajillion questions. In the end, we end up doing 95% of the work for her because she never learned how to use a computer.
I am SO fed up with helping her and I decided to put my foot down and say no. I told her that I can't do this anymore and that she needs to be able to take on tasks that she is able to do instead of committing herself to things that she doesn't know how to do because it always ends up being a shared burden. I also made the observation that things wait until the very last minute and that she needs to learn to coordinate her time more efficiently.
Ohhhh man...it was such a bad idea to bring this up. She really laid on thick the "poor me" crap. In a justified and indignant voice, "YOU'RE RIGHT. I'm stupid and incapable and I won't EVER ask you for help again!" When I tried to clarify that she just needs to take on things that she can do alone without encroaching on our time, she says, "I know what I'm able to do! I can scrub floors. I can fold laundry and cook dinner too. Why don't I just do THAT?!"(as if by asking her to take on more reasonable tasks and to set personal boundaries with her volunteer job is somehow doing to coercing her into domestic subordination) and "THIS is what makes me happy! I like doing this!" (which sounds completely contrary to her stress and frustration she seems to have with the project. It also says to me that her feelings about being able to volunteer are more important than the fact that it doesn't make US happy having to do it for her).
When she brought out the poor me stuff, I couldn't handle it anymore. I said, "Oh, shut up! Don't try to play the 'poor me act'" to which she buried her face in her hands, starting to cry and said pitifully, "Ohhh WHYYYY are you doing this to me?!" I just got out of my chair and said, "When you're ready to start communicating with me, let me know."
MAN, that felt good, but of course, it accomplished nothing. It just told me how totally impossible N-parents are when it comes to communication. If it weren't so totally frustrating, it would be almost comedic how much self-pity N's have for themselves. It makes me want to say to her, "OH grow up already!!"
Saturday, March 6, 2010
For God's Sake....Man Up
When I was growing up, I had a bad case of father envy.
My own father, a childlike narcissist, was such a big baby there were times I wanted to scream, "Act like a man, for God's sake!"
When he went to the dentist, the pain was excruciating. Only he experienced that kind of pain. When he had a cold, only he got it that bad. When he went to the Department of Motor Vehicles, only he had to wait in such long lines. Everybody was out to get him. He was always the victim, the one who deserved pity.
There's was also something vaguely womanish about my father...gossipy in an old-biddy way...a little too gleeful about the misfortunes of others.
He was so shaken and stirred by any little set-back, so rattled by daily life, that I knew...just knew...I'd be on my own if there was a big earthquake and the building collapsed on top of me. My father wouldn't dig me out. Instead, he'd need to be resuscitated by the paramedics. When I was a kid and had to have a biopsy, he (and my mother) couldn't stay in the hospital with me because he was too upset.
And then I'd watch a Clint Eastwood film and wonder...why can't I have a father like that? You know, the strong silent type capable of defending those he loved? I also had a thing for Gregory Peck playing Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird. Atticus didn't follow his kids around pestering them with endless chatter. When his son was hurt, he didn't fall apart and turn the injury into his drama.
I suppose, at the bottom of all this, was the feeling that I was not safe. Ultimately, I was in charge. My father could not be counted on. He wasn't man enough. When the going got tough, he folded.
There's a unique aspect to being the parentified daughter...of a father: the man in your life is a scared little girl who needs your protection.
My own father, a childlike narcissist, was such a big baby there were times I wanted to scream, "Act like a man, for God's sake!"
When he went to the dentist, the pain was excruciating. Only he experienced that kind of pain. When he had a cold, only he got it that bad. When he went to the Department of Motor Vehicles, only he had to wait in such long lines. Everybody was out to get him. He was always the victim, the one who deserved pity.
There's was also something vaguely womanish about my father...gossipy in an old-biddy way...a little too gleeful about the misfortunes of others.
He was so shaken and stirred by any little set-back, so rattled by daily life, that I knew...just knew...I'd be on my own if there was a big earthquake and the building collapsed on top of me. My father wouldn't dig me out. Instead, he'd need to be resuscitated by the paramedics. When I was a kid and had to have a biopsy, he (and my mother) couldn't stay in the hospital with me because he was too upset.
And then I'd watch a Clint Eastwood film and wonder...why can't I have a father like that? You know, the strong silent type capable of defending those he loved? I also had a thing for Gregory Peck playing Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird. Atticus didn't follow his kids around pestering them with endless chatter. When his son was hurt, he didn't fall apart and turn the injury into his drama.
I suppose, at the bottom of all this, was the feeling that I was not safe. Ultimately, I was in charge. My father could not be counted on. He wasn't man enough. When the going got tough, he folded.
There's a unique aspect to being the parentified daughter...of a father: the man in your life is a scared little girl who needs your protection.
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