Dispatches from the mirror
By the time my mother was four years old, her parents had separated and her father had died. She never spoke to me about having grown up fatherless, except to maintain that it had had no adverse effect on her at all. I think it is something she, herself, truly believed. It doesn’t compute, though, because years later someone who knew her told me that when she was in college, she lied to the other kids that she had a father. This was incredibly significant information for me at the time. It was the final piece I needed for the puzzle I was putting together – the story of my childhood.
One of the main aspects of growing up with a narcissistic parent is that they are unable to see their child as separate from themselves. [Narcissists, actually, appear to see very few things as separate from themselves.] The child is merely an extension of the parent, and there is a perpetual overt and covert demand for the child to behave exactly as the parent does and/or wishes. The underlying message is clear: if you are not as I want you to be, you will be shamed and/or rejected. Consequently most children of narcissistic parents grow up feeling as though they have no identity – and no voice.
When my parents separated, my mother displayed absolute coldness towards my father. Almost like he no longer existed. It was quite bizarre. She never spoke about him except in a very disparaging manner. To me, the message was clear: I did not have a father, so you will not have a father. After all, as M. Scott Peck explains so succinctly, “Their guiding motive is to feel good about themselves at all costs, at all times.” [See last post.] Presuming that my mother had a lot of pain around growing up fatherless [which given the evidence seems obvious] it followed that she could not feel good about herself if I – an extension of her – had a relationship with my father. If I was different from her, I could not be an extension and might – horrors! – even turn out to be a mirror. The only option was for her to exterminate the evidence.
One way to do that was to remove herself, and me, from an environment that she could not control. Until the time we left Iceland, I was in constant rebellion against my mother. It was absolutely exhausting. After all, I wanted and needed to be with my father’s side of the family, yet I felt that in doing so I was betraying her in the worst possible way. When she announced that we would be moving to Canada I threw a tantrum. I would not go. Her trump card, of course, was the dog I so coveted.
Once I started trying to work out the puzzle of my life [not like I had option – it was that or the psychiatric ward] years later, my mother grew very distant. I was around eighteen at the time, had moved away, and was struggling with depression. It made her nervous. Until then, she had never talked about wanting to have more children. At that point, she became pregnant again. With one extension gone, my mother needed another.
Significantly, that child grew up to hate her father. She and my mother formed an alliance against him. At the time of my mother’s death, she had for all intents and purposes separated from her husband, and had built an extension onto their house in which she lived with my half-sister. It was very very sick. As far as I know, my half-sister never questioned this dark alliance, nor saw it as unhealthy in any way. Granted, her father is an extremely sick man – which I believe is precisely why my mother had not divorced him. After all, if someone is there sicker than you are, you can deflect the attention and continue to feel good about yourself – at all costs.
I realize that these posts may shock some people. People may wonder how I dare speak of these things. Two things: I am very angry, and I have nothing to hide. The secrets we keep make us sicker. I resolved to stop being sick a long time ago.
Of course, my mother was not all bad. She had her good points, she did many things well, and she taught me some useful lessons. And as you will remember from this post, she handsomely rewarded my half-sister’s loyalties. Whereas I, the traitor, was dismissed.
WEATHER: Stormy. [Yes, really.] Nice and mild, though, 7°C, and sunrise was at 07.54, sunset at 19.22.
One of the main aspects of growing up with a narcissistic parent is that they are unable to see their child as separate from themselves. [Narcissists, actually, appear to see very few things as separate from themselves.] The child is merely an extension of the parent, and there is a perpetual overt and covert demand for the child to behave exactly as the parent does and/or wishes. The underlying message is clear: if you are not as I want you to be, you will be shamed and/or rejected. Consequently most children of narcissistic parents grow up feeling as though they have no identity – and no voice.
When my parents separated, my mother displayed absolute coldness towards my father. Almost like he no longer existed. It was quite bizarre. She never spoke about him except in a very disparaging manner. To me, the message was clear: I did not have a father, so you will not have a father. After all, as M. Scott Peck explains so succinctly, “Their guiding motive is to feel good about themselves at all costs, at all times.” [See last post.] Presuming that my mother had a lot of pain around growing up fatherless [which given the evidence seems obvious] it followed that she could not feel good about herself if I – an extension of her – had a relationship with my father. If I was different from her, I could not be an extension and might – horrors! – even turn out to be a mirror. The only option was for her to exterminate the evidence.
One way to do that was to remove herself, and me, from an environment that she could not control. Until the time we left Iceland, I was in constant rebellion against my mother. It was absolutely exhausting. After all, I wanted and needed to be with my father’s side of the family, yet I felt that in doing so I was betraying her in the worst possible way. When she announced that we would be moving to Canada I threw a tantrum. I would not go. Her trump card, of course, was the dog I so coveted.
Once I started trying to work out the puzzle of my life [not like I had option – it was that or the psychiatric ward] years later, my mother grew very distant. I was around eighteen at the time, had moved away, and was struggling with depression. It made her nervous. Until then, she had never talked about wanting to have more children. At that point, she became pregnant again. With one extension gone, my mother needed another.
Significantly, that child grew up to hate her father. She and my mother formed an alliance against him. At the time of my mother’s death, she had for all intents and purposes separated from her husband, and had built an extension onto their house in which she lived with my half-sister. It was very very sick. As far as I know, my half-sister never questioned this dark alliance, nor saw it as unhealthy in any way. Granted, her father is an extremely sick man – which I believe is precisely why my mother had not divorced him. After all, if someone is there sicker than you are, you can deflect the attention and continue to feel good about yourself – at all costs.
I realize that these posts may shock some people. People may wonder how I dare speak of these things. Two things: I am very angry, and I have nothing to hide. The secrets we keep make us sicker. I resolved to stop being sick a long time ago.
Of course, my mother was not all bad. She had her good points, she did many things well, and she taught me some useful lessons. And as you will remember from this post, she handsomely rewarded my half-sister’s loyalties. Whereas I, the traitor, was dismissed.
WEATHER: Stormy. [Yes, really.] Nice and mild, though, 7°C, and sunrise was at 07.54, sunset at 19.22.
Labels: dirty laundry
posted by Alda at 11:33 PM
<< Home