house of bonsai: 1984 and 2006: chatting, then therapy

August 4, 2006

1984 and 2006: chatting, then therapy

I'd had some therapy when I was in high school. She worked at Health Services at a large public university, and sent me to see D., one of her colleagues over at "Counseling and Testing", across campus. He was a terminally confident Burt Reynolds-without-the-moustache lookalike in his late 40s who drove a Porsche. I did like him (a close male friend of mine from my high school who was also D.'s client thought D. was the bee's knees), but I didn't trust him, because I figured that while he was probably ethical enough to not report back to her wholesale what I told him in sessions, she might have been able to get his records from his secretary (whom she also was chummy with).

So we chatted a bit for a few sessions, but it didn't amount to much. During the first session, he began by telling me that my mom thought I was depressed about my dad and she was unhappy that I'd lied to her on and off (aren't therapists supposed to begin work with clients without a particular agenda in mind?). I didn't trust him enough to say what I wanted to say to him, which was "D., I really haven't wanted to burden her much with my problems since she started telling me, in sixth grade, that she might kill herself at just about any time". So we danced all around it and I went home. I had only a few sessions in total.

Therapy is stressful when you can't really let it rip, I found. Was I protecting her, or did I just not believe he could help me? I don't even know, but it was probably some of each. I just wanted to get out of her house; I wasted no time in moving to Boston three days after high school graduation (cue violins, abandonment, I've worked so hard, your father's child support checks will stop the second you move...).

I sought therapy in June 2006, the second that school was out for the year. My current therapist, after hearing about my mom for a few minutes, mentioned NPD with no trace of hesitation. Further, she added a few weeks later, of my alcoholic marriage: "Anyone who grew up in a house with a big, unpleasant fact that was never OK to discuss --- like your mother's ridiculous temper and lack of boundaries --- was particularly likely to have a long go of it with an alcoholic".

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how to navigate this blog

Welcome!

First, please read the "first post, August 2006", further down in this column. It sets the context for everything that follows.

Then, please click on the labels section and go chronologically. Sometimes I'll write about a memory about something which happened a long time ago, so going by the dates the posts were written isn't the best way to read the blog. Occasionally, a given post that is relevant over time will have several labels applied to it (1970s, 1980s, 1990s). But overall: stick with the labels and it will be a lot clearer!

Thank you for being here, and for reading.

Note: some names have been changed to preserve privacy.

first post, August 2006

Recently, it's come to my attention that I have a challenge to meet, a life-altering decision to make: can I continue to have contact with my mother and still hold onto my integrity, my sanity, my serenity?

My mother (who at her best was at one time glamorous, brilliant, interesting, eclectic, and self-absorbed) has morphed over the past years and decades into an unrepentant, myopic, full-blown narcissist. She turns all conversations back to the topic of herself, thinks nothing of the true welfare of others (although she sometimes pretends to do so for short periods when it serves her), and can never take even partial responsibility for any of her actions or inactions. "I am sorry" is a phrase which never falls from her lips...never.

Everyone has bad times and bad luck, but in her eyes, her bad times and bad luck are always worse than anyone else's. She's been "going through a hard time" from the years of my earliest memories, at age 3 or 4, more or less non-stop up through today. Her reaction to others putting up healthy boundaries (in my case, very late in life) is to fly into one of her legendary rages. She also cannot take responsibility for the fact that her actions (and inactions) have been prime contributors to the very negative, sad, isolated place her life has now become.

Her friends, subjected increasingly to her incessant self-focus and self-pity, have been abandoning her in droves, finally tiring of the asymmetric nurturing she requires of all those around her. This trend has put even more pressure on me, in recent years, to be there for her, as one of her last remaining contacts. And now even I am throwing in the towel, going against every ounce of socialization I've received (as her only daughter) from her and from society at large.

Because one of the primary methods of a narcissist is be at the center of attention (whether positive or negative, sometimes it doesn't even matter to them) and to have others see life through their distorted point of view, it seems that children of narcissistic parents can really bear the brunt of this disorder.

It seems that it is only now --- after 40 years of life on this earth, a decade or more of escalating attempts to help her with her never-ending, chronic-by-design problems and issues, several recent severe crises due to my overextending my and my partner's energies to try to help even more --- that I am able to even look at the history, the issues, and for a sane path out of this dark thicket of her pathology. I attribute this growth to increasing self-esteem and resiliency, due in no small part to a wonderful partner and friends, as well as some therapy.

Merely telling my friends "she makes all conversations into brochures about herself" or "she can't apologize" doesn't even begin to illustrate the true depth of Narcissistic Personality Disorder. If I sit down to chat and tell these ridiculous stories over again with various friends, particularly in enough detail to give even a fraction of the full picture, it will take up too much of our potentially much more pleasant time together.

At the same time, I do want those who are close to me to understand what it is that I've experienced, on whatever level they're interested or have time for --- from skimming a post or two to reading more extensively. Much of it will come as a surprise, precisely because of the fact that the sheer oddness and inappropriateness of her behaviour leads me not to bring it up in polite company. It's all too weird, too complicated, and too unsavory to discuss within the context of an average dinner with friends...

Perhaps most importantly, these memories have been living in my head for years, and I've been holding onto them almost like a set of worry beads, a template to keep in mind in case other narcissistic people try to enter my life, so I can run in the other direction. Since, in her absence, I'm finally beginning to trust my judgment a bit more, I think I can safely begin to let these memories go, to let them fade a bit --- to the best extent possible. Writing them out, I'm hoping, will go a good way toward accomplishing that "letting go".

Whether you're an old friend, a treasured colleague, or someone whom I've met and bonded with through the online ACON community, I welcome your comments and cherish your ongoing support and friendship.

house of bonsai

August 4, 2006

1984 and 2006: chatting, then therapy

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