Jeff asked this question: "if you or your readers have ever discussed in any way a) the act of judging Ns, and/or b) what it does or hopes to do for relatives?
I notice also in the comments on your current post this from Billie:'I struggle with horror at feeling sure I'm being judged no matter what I'm doing or not doing.' Perhaps this phenomenon is related?
I suppose I'm curious about the judgement thing because I'm reading key texts on narcissism and mental health and society in general, which confronts me with what I seek to judge and why, so perhaps it's something I'm attuned to."
I don't think we discussed it.
I've been mulling this one over and I'll be honest...I'm not coming up with any coherent thoughts...it comes to me in bits and pieces.
1. I suspect Billie has developed a fear of being judged because she WAS judged - HARSHLY - by her parents. My mother judged me harshly, too...whenever I disappointed her, which was often, she'd reel off a long list of my faults. I came to believe I was all those things: selfish, cold, selfish, lazy, sneaky....and selfish. (Did I mention selfish? )
2. Admission: I'm a pretty judgmental person. I don't know if I became this way because I saw it modeled for me or what. I don't think this is a very attractive quality and it's something I'm constantly trying to temper.
3. On the "act of judging N's" and what it does for the relatives: Judging our parents may be one of the few things we CAN do in regards to them. We can't change their behavior (only our reactions to them), but we can judge them. It's one of our few options and, since we were judged and labeled by our parents, it's a sort of cosmic tit-for-tat that's rather satisfying. It gives us a little power, a little control...sitting high atop the "judgment seat" for once.
I don't think judging N's has any impact on them...even if they were to know about it. After all, we are the ones who are defective, not them. My mother always used to say, "there's something radically wrong with you,"...implying that she suspected I suffered from a mental illness. I don't remember ever fighting back...except in a passive-aggressive way....or challenging her directly because she would have just stop talking to me (again).
I can recite a long list of perfectly awful reasons why my father became a needy, childlike narcissist and why my mother became self-centered and why she so terribly disappointed when I wasn't the adoring, unquestioning, dutiful daughter she'd longed for. My father expected...demanded...my sympathy for his awful childhood yet had no empathy for me....my adoptive parents - due to their needs - required me to pretend in public that I was their biological child. All I have, in a way, is my ability to judge those acts...which their "backgrounds" does not excuse.
I wonder if judging my parents is my one and only act of revenge.
In the end, does it matter if we judge our n-parents...or not? While judging people we DON'T know well is one thing, it's another to judge those we do know very well...and have harmed us.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Overcoming Social Hang-Ups
It's funny, in real life, I've devoted an enormous amount of time and energy reaching for the reset button...trying to reshape and rewire my reactions and the way I think after discovering my father wasn't just a lousy Difficult Parent, but one afflicted with Narcissistic Personality Disorder.
On this blog, however, I haven't spent a whole lot of space exploring how to get over an n-parent, probably because I'm not an expert and what may have worked for me may not work for others.
There are several issues and concerns that readers repeatedly raise...many of which I continue to struggle with...so I'd like to begin taking a look at them. If you've encountered the problem and have worked to overcome it, please share how you tackled it and how you feel about the results you've achieved.
ISSUE NUMBER ONE: SOCIALLY....HUNG-UP
Here's what an anonymous commenter wrote:
This is something I remember and only now am seeing how the incident deeply influenced how I relate/struggle to relate to others. I was 13 and had written a letter to my best friend back home. I left the letter on the bookshelf by the door to be mailed. The next day I noticed an envelope with my father's handwriting addressed to my friend, stamped and ready to be sent. I thought it was strange and decided to open it. Not only had my father opened and read the letter but he had added his own sarcastic and mean remarks in the margins and empty spaces. This was very confusing for me. After all he was my dad, and he was really smart so the letter must have been stupid, right? I am 35 now and fiercely protective of my privacy, unsure of myself socially, and always worried about seeming stupid. I guess sometimes I feel empty because I'm afraid to let my guard down. I can handle feeling numb and empty, I've had plenty of practice. I have no idea what to do with kindness and love and the fear of being hurt is greater than the pain of emptiness.
In real life, I suspect most people would be surprised to hear that I spent most of my life feeling socially unsure of myself because I am an extrovert who can pretty much talk to anybody.
However, for most of my life, I used my outgoing nature to cover up the fact that I felt very uncomfortable in many social situations...especially those involving large groups. I am best one on one. When I was child, I never felt like I fit in...always on the outside looking in. That feeling persisted through my teenage years into young adulthood. It was only until I moved far, far away from my parents that I was finally able to relax a bit and enjoy the company of others.
My best time, socially, was in my mid-thirties...in my role as mother of two young daughters. This role gave me the opportunity to meet other parents at school, at the park...pretty much everywhere. And I loved it! We had things in common...something to talk about. (I'm not advocating having kids for expanding your social circle...it just happened that way).
There's also something funny that happens when you're forty...something rather surprising and nice and totally unexpected. I seemed to care less about what other people thought of me. I seemed to relax in my own skin. When I encountered somebody who didn't seem to like me, it didn't bother me as much. I no longer went out of my way to win people over. I learned to listen more and talk less. I suspect I used to talk too much...nervous chatter...to disguise the fact that I felt uncomfortable. When I stopped doing that, I was better able to connect with others.
Here's a funny admission...but it's totally true. I began to observe how my teenage daughters behaved in groups of people. I noticed they don't feel compelled to drive the conversation...they can, well, just "hang." I've never done that well very. It seems to work very well for them. When they do talk, what they say is how they really feel (or it seems so)...their reactions are authentic and have range and depth. So at my advanced age, I began to practice it. I'd ask myself...how do you really feel about what the person just said...or did...and reacted accordingly. Basically, I had to dig deep to find out how I felt. I have to say it was pretty successful. I was amazed that I could retrain myself.
Please feel free to share your experience!!!
On this blog, however, I haven't spent a whole lot of space exploring how to get over an n-parent, probably because I'm not an expert and what may have worked for me may not work for others.
There are several issues and concerns that readers repeatedly raise...many of which I continue to struggle with...so I'd like to begin taking a look at them. If you've encountered the problem and have worked to overcome it, please share how you tackled it and how you feel about the results you've achieved.
ISSUE NUMBER ONE: SOCIALLY....HUNG-UP
Here's what an anonymous commenter wrote:
This is something I remember and only now am seeing how the incident deeply influenced how I relate/struggle to relate to others. I was 13 and had written a letter to my best friend back home. I left the letter on the bookshelf by the door to be mailed. The next day I noticed an envelope with my father's handwriting addressed to my friend, stamped and ready to be sent. I thought it was strange and decided to open it. Not only had my father opened and read the letter but he had added his own sarcastic and mean remarks in the margins and empty spaces. This was very confusing for me. After all he was my dad, and he was really smart so the letter must have been stupid, right? I am 35 now and fiercely protective of my privacy, unsure of myself socially, and always worried about seeming stupid. I guess sometimes I feel empty because I'm afraid to let my guard down. I can handle feeling numb and empty, I've had plenty of practice. I have no idea what to do with kindness and love and the fear of being hurt is greater than the pain of emptiness.
In real life, I suspect most people would be surprised to hear that I spent most of my life feeling socially unsure of myself because I am an extrovert who can pretty much talk to anybody.
However, for most of my life, I used my outgoing nature to cover up the fact that I felt very uncomfortable in many social situations...especially those involving large groups. I am best one on one. When I was child, I never felt like I fit in...always on the outside looking in. That feeling persisted through my teenage years into young adulthood. It was only until I moved far, far away from my parents that I was finally able to relax a bit and enjoy the company of others.
My best time, socially, was in my mid-thirties...in my role as mother of two young daughters. This role gave me the opportunity to meet other parents at school, at the park...pretty much everywhere. And I loved it! We had things in common...something to talk about. (I'm not advocating having kids for expanding your social circle...it just happened that way).
There's also something funny that happens when you're forty...something rather surprising and nice and totally unexpected. I seemed to care less about what other people thought of me. I seemed to relax in my own skin. When I encountered somebody who didn't seem to like me, it didn't bother me as much. I no longer went out of my way to win people over. I learned to listen more and talk less. I suspect I used to talk too much...nervous chatter...to disguise the fact that I felt uncomfortable. When I stopped doing that, I was better able to connect with others.
Here's a funny admission...but it's totally true. I began to observe how my teenage daughters behaved in groups of people. I noticed they don't feel compelled to drive the conversation...they can, well, just "hang." I've never done that well very. It seems to work very well for them. When they do talk, what they say is how they really feel (or it seems so)...their reactions are authentic and have range and depth. So at my advanced age, I began to practice it. I'd ask myself...how do you really feel about what the person just said...or did...and reacted accordingly. Basically, I had to dig deep to find out how I felt. I have to say it was pretty successful. I was amazed that I could retrain myself.
Please feel free to share your experience!!!
Friday, March 19, 2010
The Question of Mental Illness
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.
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.
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."
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