When Hell Freezes Over, And The Devil Gives Out Free Sleigh Rides: Apologies From Our Narcissistic Parents

Unprovoked apologetic remorse from a narcissistic parent.  Sounds like a fantasy, right? Like zero calorie cupcakes and blind dates that look like Ryan Gosling. They are figments of our imaginations, but certainly not steeped in anything resembling reality.

I think we all have a better shot at receiving one of
these than an apology from our narcissistic parents.

Or at least that's what I thought, until two weeks ago.

I've been No/Low Contact with my narcissistic mother for the better part of 15 years. And only low contact due to the existence of my minor, teenage, sister, who still resides with the She-Devil. Sadly, a few years ago, her father passed away very young and very unexpectedly.  We only have one other living adult family member to speak of who has struggled with an addiction to crack-cocaine for most of the last 20 years. Which means, if you do the math, I become my younger sister's legal guardian in the event of my NM's early demise.

In fact, the last contact we'd had regarded this very issue, about 6 months ago. My aunt had called me to complain about my mom's craziness, and my mother and I had had falling out number 28,974 a few months prior.  So I was a little more of a listening ear that week than I might have been closer to the drama. My aunt, as usual, rattled off several batshit things my mother had said of late, and one word in particular caught my attention: "Guardianship."

"Wait, what was that about the guardianship?" I asked.
"Oh I don't know, something about changing it to some friend of hers she's only known a few months.  The woman is crazy." My aunt replied.

I was speechless.  As I said, things have been rocky between me and my mom for the entirety of my sister's young life.  Before, actually. But never had she given any indication of playing games with such serious legal issues. Sure she's disinherited me, told me I'm not her daughter, removed me from her life insurance, blahblahblah...but all of it with the understanding that if/when shit hit the fan, I'd step in to give my sister the support she would need if she found herself parent-less under the age of 18.  I broke no contact, called my mom, and she didn't answer.  So I left her a message: "[Aunt] told me you're changing [Sister's] guardianship.  I know we don't get along, but this feels spiteful and way, way over the line.  Please call me back so we can talk about this."

And I never heard back.

Two weeks ago, as I was going about my normal Wednesday routine, my sister called me out of nowhere. I knew immediately before I had even connected the call, something was wrong.  She's a teen in the millennial age.  Her calling, and not texting, on a Wednesday morning, means one of two things: the zombie apocalypse is underway, and/or something happened to my mom.  Sure enough, my mom was in the hospital.  In ICU, on a ventilator.

Holy. Shit.

I hung up with my sister, and crisis mode kicked in.  I pushed aside any emotions I'd had relating to my mother and her condition, and forced all thoughts to be about getting to my sister as quickly as possible.  As fate would have it, my employer couldn't let me drop everything on that day.  I am one of two people in my work area, and the two of us split up a large work load.  When one of us has a day off, the other covers.  That week, my coworker had had eye surgery and wasn't cleared to drive until that Thursday morning. I was stuck.  My choices were either to give up my job (believe me I considered it) or to finish out the day and drive red-eye to my sister's state the second my work was done.  And so I kept up with numerous phone calls, texts and emails with my sister, the neighbor she was staying with, and the ICU nurse's station while I painstakingly tried to get my work done ASAP.  I reasoned that it wouldn't be smart to give up my employment should I need to care for my sister financially.

Never have I felt so torn in two pieces in my life.

By the time I arrived, preparing for the worst, my mother's condition had improved and she was able to breathe without the help of machines. By that evening, they were discharging her. On my arrival, my mother jumped out of bed, ripping her IV out of her arm, and ran to me, embracing me in one of the (I think) 3 hugs I've had from her in my life? "My baby, my baby!" she said.  And I wondered if that IV had had some kind of Narcissistic Parenting cure-all potion in it.  Suddenly, I was stuck in a whole new way.  I had arranged to be off work indefinitely.  "How long can you stay?" She asked, reminding me of a child, hope and love gleaming in her eyes. "Uh, through the weekend I guess." I stammered, and then came hug #4.  "I love you." She said.  And I was grateful to be in a hospital, because I was pretty sure that state of shock I was in would require the use of a defibrillator. "I...love you too, mom." I said, and she smiled.

CLEAR!

When they released her and we got back to their house, she waited for my sister to go to bed and then said she wanted to have "real talk" with me.  I braced myself for what this has always meant in the past...a diatribe of her long list of grievances against me, my father, my aunt, Lady Gaga, Elton John, and the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir.  I have long been trained to respond to these talks with a polite "Yes ma'am, I'm sorry, woe is you, you're pretty, I'm ugly, you're smart, I'm stupid.... etc etc" lest I want to start World War Seventeen.

"I want to say something I've never said to you." She began.
"Yes Ma'am..." I said, reading from the well rehearsed mental script in my head.
"No, stop it." She said.  "You don't owe me any respect."
I couldn't help it.  My eyes bugged out.
"I owe you a thousand apologies." She said.
My eyes felt like they would fall out of my head.
"I never should have hit you. I was a bad mom to you. I treated you differently than your sister because I resented you for favoring your father.  That's a shitty thing for a mom to do and I'm ashamed of myself."

"Ok...." I said, regaining composure and looking for the catch.
"I have always loved you.  But I don't know how to show it.  I felt rejected by you, and so I rejected you to protect myself.  And when I did show it, I only seemed to know how to do it with money.  But then I would hold it over your head like you owed me and that wasn't fair."
"No, it wasn't." I said, with a cringe and waiting for the emotional bitchslap I knew would come.
"No. it wasn't."
Holy shit.  Did she just validate me? And immediately I thought of tearing down this blog.  I am a fraud.  My mother's not a narcissist.  I don't have a toxic parent.  Who am I to try to help others when these situations no longer apply to me?

And then began the diatribe against my dad.  Back into submission mode I went.

"Yes ma'am." I said.  Rolling my eyes internally at my silly self.
"What just happened?" She asked.  I stared at her.
"Nothing. I'm just listening." I said.
"I fucked it up already, didn't I?" She said. I was astounded at her perception.  Again, I am a fraud.
"I've said this to you before, but you don't ever seem to get it." I said, playing with fire. "But my dad is very important to me. I am half him.  So when you put him down, you're putting half of me down."
"You're right. I'm sorry. I won't do that anymore." She said.  I actually felt my heart stop.  I wished we were back in the hospital under doctor supervision.
"I really want us to be closer.  I hate that we only come together in times of crisis.  I hate that I don't know what's going on with your life.  I hate that I've pushed you away and I am going to do everything in my power to repair things and earn your trust."
It was then that I remembered the guardianship, and asked her about it.
"Oh boy, this is your druggie Aunt causing drama.  I spoke with a lawyer a few months ago who said I should have a backup guardian in case something happened to you as well.  I mentioned it to her on the phone and she must have run her mouth to you trying to cause problems."  She then got up, fished around in her office, and produced a legal document.  "Here," she said, "see for yourself."

Her Last Will & Testament still named me as my sister's legal guardian. And hand written in the spaces below legalese was a note to make another person guardian in the case of my death. She only needed to get it redone by a lawyer and notarized.  I sighed in heavy relief.  She wasn't playing with legal fire out of spite, she was making smart parenting decisions for my sister's future.

When I left town 3 days, and more of these types of talks, later, I was skipping. It felt like a 30 year weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  I felt something I couldn't even describe because I'd forgotten what it felt like.  Hope.  Maybe, just maybe, I could have a real mom.  As I drove home for 5 hours I didn't even turn on the radio.  I thought about what kind of flowers I would send her this year for mother's day.  I thought about how much fun it would be to take a family vacation with her and my sister for the first time. I imagined being able to talk to her and have her actually listen when I was facing turmoil in my life and to have a maternal figure who would talk me through it and assure me that everything would be alright in the end.  I let myself have those dreams of a mom for the first time in probably half a decade.

Is this a dream?

On my arrival home, I opened my email to find 13 messages from my mom. All reiterating and reassuring everything she'd said while I was with her. I felt like I was walking on clouds.

The next day, I received 4 more emails.  12 block length text messages, and 4 phone calls.

On Tuesday, 8 emails, 23 texts, 3 phone calls.

Wednesday: 7 emails, 18 texts, 2 calls.

Thursday: 20 texts, 4 emails, 6 calls.

And I noticed something.  By Tuesday the emails began talking about my dad again.  The texts were running my aunt into the ground.  One text on Wednesday talked of a temporary financial bind she's in and 30 minutes later, another text asking if she could please but me a pair of $200 sunglasses to make up for not acknowledging any of my birthdays in the last 15 years. And mixed into every email starting on Wednesday, was her own "fears and apprehensions" about our relationship.  She wanted to know if I thought she was a good mom who tried her best.  She wanted me to acknowledge how great of a mom she is to my sister.  She repeatedly asked if I was faking my desire to have a better relationship with her only because I really just wanted more access to my sister, despite my telling her no about that several times.

On Friday, she emailed me at 2 am while I was sleeping.  At 6 am, she texted me 3 times in a row asking if I was mad at her because I hadn't replied. I texted back that I was sleeping, had a very busy work day ahead and that I would read and respond over the weekend. She texted again, saying she hoped I wouldn't be mad. I said I wasn't and was going back to sleep.  Still the texts came.  So I got up, made coffee and sat down to read her email.

It was as if none of the previous week had happened.  It was roughly 5000 words.  2000 putting down my dad and asking for reassurance that he was a terrible husband to her and for me to never talk about him to her because it hurt her.  (For the record, I have no idea how good or bad of a husband my father was since they split when I was in 1st grade.  But I do know that what led him to file for divorce was her multiple extramarital affairs, one with his best friend. And I know this first hand, as I remember being about 6 years old in this man's apartment watching his fish tank in his living room while he and my mother had loud sex in the back room, and her telling me afterwards not to say anything to my dad. But I digress)  The rest was a diatribe I'm all too familiar with.  How the reason I didn't get the relationship with her that my sister has (the GC) was due to my own fault.  I was a bad teenager who was out of control.  She did the best she could.  Sure she'd made mistakes, but anyone would in her shoes dealing with a troublemaker like me.

I sighed, audibly, and took a minute before responding. I found myself grateful for therapy.  Grateful for this blog, facebook groups and research materials I've read over the last year or so.  And instead of beating myself up for getting sucked in again as I might have without the assistance of these support systems, instead, I forgave myself.  I smiled.  Knowing with FULL confidence that our trouble isn't me.  That I tried.  That I had faith and hope and love in my heart, albeit small, rational, apprehension.  That I was willing to forgive and even forget if the behavior truly changed.  And then I smiled because I realized I didn't need her approval.  I didn't need her love anymore.  Sure it would be great to have a mom I could send flowers to and talk about my life with, but I was whole without it. And I didn't need to play this game with her.  I didn't need to correct the false things she said, or submit to her bullshit on the glimmer of hope for another apologetic talk down the road. Because the truth is the things she had said to me that weekend, the validation, the promises of a better future, all of it, were things I had needed a long time ago from her.  But in their absence, I eventually created peace for myself somewhere along the way. Through therapy, I had put it to rest. I already knew I wasn't unlovable.  My self-esteem didn't hinge on her approval.  I didn't need her to apologize for or acknowledge any of the things she'd done because *I* knew they happened.  *I* knew they were wrong.  And *I* knew they weren't my fault.

I am daughter, hear me roar.

I replied, knowing full well it would result in falling out number 28,975, and completely at peace with that. I told her I felt she was ignoring me again, because of how many times I had had to repeat myself.  I told her I thought her behavior was manic, the constant communication wasn't normal and spoke to a deeper problem.  I told her it sucked that she went back on everything she'd promised about not trash-talking my father, and that she seemed to be doing the same old thing of seeking mothering from me rather than being my mom. I told her I wasn't angry, and that I would still be there in any time of crisis for her and especially my sister.  And then instead of blocking her, as I might have in the past to protect myself from abuse, I gave her an opportunity to correct it.  I didn't want to have any regrets. The reply I got was almost immediate.

In it, she explained that she was in fact removing me from my sister's guardianship because she feels I am an ungrateful loser who has psych problems and needs to be on meds. That my aunt was right but she didn't have the guts to tell me that to my face because she didn't want to hurt me.  (lol) And, well, so much of the same diatribes from the past that it's unnecessary and repetitive to illustrate. Later that night, I opened a picture text from her which was the will she had shown me, ripped into pieces. I just shook my head, blocked her, and laughed out loud.

Little does she realize, these behaviors won't put me in my place as I'm sure she believes.  They won't make me submit and cower and give in to her way or the highway.  Instead, I now see them for what they are: desperate acts from a sick person.  It's not my fault.  I didn't deserve it, and I am still, regardless of what she thinks says and feels, a valid person worthy of love.

Now excuse me while I write a thank you note to my therapist... ;)

Narcissistic Objectification and Dehumanization

Look to your immediate right and find a small object.  Perhaps it's a pencil, your phone, a bottle of water or a remote control.  In my case, it's a can of Cherry Coke. Now pick up that object and consider its feelings. What are its hopes and dreams? How could you best support its time on earth in a positive and constructive way? Ask yourself if you've ever abused it.  If so, apologize to it sincerely and make up for your past transgressions toward it. Empathize with it.

By now you should be feeling a little ridiculous and wondering why you've allowed some blogger to turn your normally rational self into a crazy person who has heartfelt conversations with inanimate objects.  And rightfully so, after all, objects don't have feelings, or hopes or dreams. They don't require companionship and support from their owners to become well-adjusted.  If you angrily toss a pen on the table during a frustrating call with your bank, it doesn't leave an emotional scar and require treatment to alleviate its PTSD.

And just as I view my Cherry Coke can as something to feed my sweet tooth and later to be discarded or recycled per my wishes at the time of my choosing; it is exactly how narcissists view the people around them.

We are things, used to serve their purposes. Whatever feelings or needs we may have are either completely unimportant, or are up to the discretion of the narcissists in our lives to decide if serving our needs will also benefit them.  If not, we are ignored, abused or discarded. Just as non-narcissistic people view the objects in their lives.

Now, some of us are better than others at taking care of the things we've accumulated in our lifetimes. And we own objects of different values. For example, while this open can of Cherry Coke next to me isn't likely to remain in my possession beyond recycle pick-up day, I have a music box that was given to me by my late grandmother as a child which I have carefully dusted once a week for nearly 3 decades in every home I have ever lived in. It's the thing I would grab if my house caught on fire and I would be devastated if anything ever happened to it. But it's still an "it."  No, I may not have ever abused it, and have kept from neglecting it, but surely not for its own needs.  Rather, my own desire to see it remain as pretty as it was when I was a child (and to keep a dust-free home) is why I tend to it so diligently.  I do not clean it so that it may flourish emotionally and I don't keep it on a safe shelf so it won't "die."  I keep it in a safe place so *I* will not suffer its loss.  Again, my own needs preempt the needs of the object. And I feel zero empathy for it.

Similarly, narcissists will place different values on the people in their lives that they have objectified.

Some will be kept in safer places so they are not damaged by every day activity (such as outright meanness, abuse and cruelty) because their untarnished presence helps the narcissist to feel as if they can care for something. Like an old High School Letterman jacket that's kept safe but only ever seen when the owner is feeling nostalgic.  Examples would be those who are kept under the narcissists benign yet somewhat relaxed control, and enable the narcissist passively.  These are the people objects which the narcissist shelves, only to be brought out at a time of need but are otherwise ignored.

Others will be kept in plain view for the rest of the world to see and will be touted by the narcissist as their most prized possession, and are also not likely to suffer direct abuse at their hands and even treated with an aura of protection by the narcissist. Think of this as a priceless antique vase kept on an entry way table for guests to comment on immediately after entering a home, or more generally as status symbols. As people, these are the "trophies."  Sometimes they are Golden Children, celebrity friends, highly successful relatives, over-achieving children and attractive, fit spouses. While they might not suffer cruelties, they are still however seen as objects.  They are still, in the narcissists eyes, *things* which give the narcissist a sense of importance and value. They are not humans with needs and feelings, they are show pieces meant to be seen by the rest of the world as proof of the narcissist's significance. And should the vase get a chip in it or the trophy person lose value, they will be quickly discarded and/or replaced without empathy.

Some objects will be kept hidden away out of disgust, and saved only out of obligation.  Such as the hideous set of bookends you received from Aunt Ethel as a wedding gift which remains stashed in your closet until and unless she visits. These, as people, are the scapegoats.  The narcissist finds them offensive, ugly and a threat to their otherwise perfectly crafted lifestyle. They are frequently targets of verbal and emotional abuse.  Sometimes, physical.  And the narcissist is entirely justified in their stance, since after all, it is the object's fault for being so awful.

And lastly, there are the tools. These are objects high in the narcissist's favor because they directly serve the narcissist's immediate needs.  As people, they are the aggressive enablers, or the more commonly termed "Flying Monkeys."  They are the hammer that smashes the damaged trophy vase, or the ridiculing box marked "UGLY" which holds the scapegoated bookends. It's the credit card the purchases the replacement trophy object, and the moth-balls that keep the Letterman jacket from being destroyed by pests. They are all objects which the narcissist uses directly or indirectly to serve their greater purposes, and the tools willingly oblige for their own senses of designed purpose in hopes of one day becoming one of the narcissist's most prized possessions.

Every human being in the narcissist's life, is no more than inanimate object in their eyes. Just as you, a person, hold yourself in higher esteem and importance than that small object you talked to, the narcissist holds themself above all other humans the same way. Each of us have our place and our purpose in the narcissist's carefully designed life. Our needs are not considered unless they also serve the narcissist's greater needs. We are undeserving of apologies, love, respect and support. We are not personified enough in their minds to carry emotional scars at the hands of their abuse.

THIS, friends, is what the DSM-IV is referring to when it says that one of the markers of NPD is a lack of empathy.  It's extremely hard for those of us who do feel empathy to fathom what that might be like. But through understanding that a narcissist sees the people in their lives as dehumanized objects, we can begin to grasp their actions and/or apathy toward us.

We stop asking ourselves questions like: "Why didn't my mom ever apologize to me?" "Why did my brother do that to me and not even seem to feel guilty?" "Why did my father push me into that career, never asking what I wanted?" "Why did my husband forget my last three birthdays?" etc. and most importantly, we stop asking those questions of the narcissist's themselves, hoping for answers we need to hear, love we need to be shown and respect we desperately need to be given.  Because we finally comprehend that these deep desires in us are impossible for the narcissist to grant.

By compartmentalizing the Narcissist into this new view, we can break the cycle of dysfunction. We are freed to grieve the loss of knowing they will never see us as we actually are: worthy of love, respect and support. We are able to separate our opinions of ourselves from the opinions of us our narcs hold. We are able to see that we didn't deserve the abuses we endured, we weren't unlovable and we weren't as devalued as they's made us feel.  And we are able to distance ourselves from their disordered personalities, knowing we are not like them and can stop comparing how we behave as a bar for how they should behave. It allows us the liberation of understanding that the way they see us, and the world around them, is WRONG, disturbed and something to avoid.

Could I be a Narcissist?

From what I've seen and experienced first hand myself, the first question Children of Narcissists ask when initially learning about these ideas is undoubtedly: Could I be a narcissist? And likely, the answer is no.  But if you're not convinced, let's first get a little test out of the way.

Alright, I know that meme is a joke, but there's truth in it. Malignant narcissists, by nature, think highly of themselves.  So highly, in fact, they very rarely engage in self-doubt, if ever at all.  So by asking the question: Am I a narcissist? you have already eliminated the number one diagnostic criteria for NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder), grandiosity, merely by doubting whether or not you could be one.

Next, let's check if you fit the following criteria for a clinical narcissistic diagnosis.

DSM-IV Criteria for Narcissistic Personality Disorder

A pervasive pattern of grandiosity (in fantasy or behavior), need for admiration, and lack of empathy, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following:[Emphasis, mine] 

(1) has a grandiose sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements) 

(2) is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love 

(3) believes that he or she is "special" and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people (or institutions) 

(4) requires excessive admiration 

(5) has a sense of entitlement, i.e., unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his or her expectations 

(6) is interpersonally exploitative, i.e., takes advantage of others to achieve his or her own ends 

(7) lacks empathy: is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others 

(8) is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of him or her 

(9) shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes

Still not convinced? Take this online test and come back when you've finished. I'll wait :)

No rush...take your time.

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Alright, got it out of your system? I hope so.  But hey, I get it.  When I first learned about NPD and started researching, I saw myself in everything I read.  Hell, not even just NPD.  By my fifth session with my therapist, I had walked in there after many a late night Google searches and too many Wikipedia entries fully convinced that I was everything from Narcissistic to Borderline to Histrionic.  Every time I came in with one of these sure self-diagnoses, I'd sulk onto my doc's fluffy couch, admit my crazy and brace myself for the inevitable: You're nuts.  Totally gone, over the edge, looney-ville.  There's absolutely nothing anyone can do to help you. In fact I am now crazier just for having listened to you.  I award you no treatment, and may God have mercy on your soul. 

Thankfully, I have an amazing doctor. Each one of these times, she would patiently listen and then pull out her copy of the DSM.  She would ask me questions to see whether or not I fit each criteria, and then reassure me that I am not, in her clinical opinion, suffering from any type of personality disorder. Whew!

I'd find myself skipping out of her office.  It's not me! I'm not crazy! Whoooo! But within days, I'd find myself on yet another Wikipedia psychosis page at 1 A.M., staring at it in bug eyed terror and questioning how I had manipulated my therapist out of seeing the real me.  

Why, oh why, does this happen? 

Here's the thing about growing up with and spending large chunks of time with narcissists. They must be the most important person in everyone's lives.  For their victims, this means little to zero room for yourself.  You are not allowed to think for yourself, and if you do, you are punished. If you dare to put your own needs above theirs, you will inevitably be called some form of "selfish."

"Irony? Party of one! Irony??"

But most of all, if you ever get the balls to stand up to them, you will, undoubtedly, be accused of being crazy or [Insert your Narc's favorite armchair diagnosis here].  This is known as Projection. 

Also, as a means of simple survival, those with heavy exposure to narcissists have a strong tendency to unconsciously recognize their narc's lack of personal accountability.  Meanwhile our internal senses of "fairness" and "justice" lead us to need to place the blame somewhere. And guess who's the easiest target when you're still entangled in the tentacles of abuse? Nope, not your abuser.  YOU. It's like your subconscious says: Hey, that person's beating up on me. It sure looks like they're having fun, so maybe I should beat up on me too.

Take all of these juicy dysfunctional messages and boil them up in a pot and what do you get? A prize-winning recipe for self-hatred and self-neglect. The kind that makes you think you have to be the one who was the problem, especially if you've been exposed to more than one narc because you rationalize that you're the common denominator. It's the kind that doesn't even know you have an internal voice, let alone how to listen to it. It's the kind that makes you want to be the problem, because then you might have control over it.

Stop.  Right now.  Stop. 

Breathe.

You, merely by still being here, by surviving so much adversity, are an AMAZING person.  No one else is like unique and wonderful you.  Sure you have flaws, so does everyone.  But you're good at something, aren't you? What is it about yourself that makes you smile? C'mon...there's something. You're kind, or you're smart, or a really good cook.  Something.  What is it about you that you actually like? Really think about it for a few seconds. 

That! Right there.  That good thought about yourself you just had.  I want you to take that thought and pluck it out of the air and put it back inside your heart.  Hug it there for just a moment.  Let yourself smile. And say out loud: "It wasn't me." even if you don't believe it right now. 

And now, I want you to watch this video.  It might not be your cup of tea.  And if it isn't, that's ok.  But do me a favor, instead of writing off the idea of self-love as hokey just because I've sent you off to YouTube to watch some goofy bald dude when there are oh so many cute puppy videos to watch instead and are waaay more fun, instead...Google: "How to love myself."  Find a book that will help you gain self-love.  Read eHow articles. Get a therapist. Do what you have to do to get happy about being YOU.

Click here if you can't see the video

Because it's the only way you're ever going to get your narcissist's voice out of your head and replace it with your own. They had their turn, and look where it got you.  Now, it's your turn.