It is difficult to deal with a narcissist when you are a grown, independent, fully functioning adult. The children of narcissists have an especially difficult burden, for they lack the knowledge, power, and resources to deal with their narcissistic parents without becoming their victims. Whether cast into the role of Scapegoat or Golden Child, the Narcissist's Child never truly receives that to which all children are entitled: a parent's unconditional love. Start by reading the 46 memories--it all began there.
Showing posts with label dangerous. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dangerous. Show all posts

Friday, May 3, 2019

Entitlement—you, me, and the narcissist

We all know that one of the hallmarks of narcissism is an overweening sense of entitlement, but just what does the word “entitlement” actually mean? The Oxford English Dictionary first defines it as “the fact of having a right to something[1].” That doesn’t seem very pernicious, does it? In fact, it sounds quite reasonable—don’t we all have rights to certain things, like Human Rights?
Scanning further down the OED entry, however, we come across this little entry: “The belief that one is inherently deserving of privileges or special treatment[2].” Now that sounds more like the narcissist’s sense of entitlement. The American Psychiatric Association includes entitlement in its diagnostic criteria for Narcissistic Personality disorder in its Diagnostic and Statistics Manual. The fifth revision states: “Feelings of entitlement, either overt or covert, self-centeredness; firmly holding to the belief that one is better than others…” and “…personal standards are unreasonably high in order to see oneself as exceptional, or too low based on a sense of entitlement [3]” The fourth revision of the manual stated it even more clearly: “Has a sense of entitlement, i.e., unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his or her expectations.[4]”
To feel entitled is to believe you have a right to something. And we do have rights to some things, both by law and by the social contract of your culture in addition to the “human rights” to which all of us are entitled. The narcissist, however, believes that s/he has rights that the rest of us do not have, rights that advantage him over you, an absolute right to have what he wants regardless of the cost to others. This kind of entitlement is what I call “toxic entitlement.”
Narcissists defend this entitlement very vigorously. They get angry and indignant if you even hint that they are not entitled to whatever it is they think they are entitled to. And those entitlements can be bizarre to the rest of us: my NexH, Jack gave a perfect example when he accidentally ran a red light with a police car behind him and the cop didn’t pull him over. Jack took this as a sign that it was okay for him to run red lights and so he deliberately ran another one, the cop still behind him and, of course, he was pulled over and ticketed. When he got home, he was livid—in Jack’s mind, the fact that the cop didn’t pull him over the first time meant it was okay for him (not anybody else, mind you, just him) to blow red lights. When the cop pulled him over, Jack genuinely felt betrayed—in his mind, the cop had given him permission, Jack acted on that permission, then the cop betrayed him by giving him a ticket. He insisted that the cop had deliberately set him up so he could write him a ticket and “fill his quota.” It never occurred to Jack that the cop may have been distracted the first time and didn’t see him run the light or maybe it was the cop’s end of shift and he didn’t want the hassle of a stop and writing up a citation. Nope—in Jack’s narcissistic mind, he was entitled to run that second light because the cop didn’t punish him for running the first one, and to cite him for the second light was unfair, unjust, and police entrapment.
Jack had a lot of entitlement issues—there was the time that the Highway Patrol had set up a duck pond—very visible, with police cars parked right out in the open and officers standing in plain sight with ticket books in their hands—for drivers who were turning a one lane freeway on-ramp into a two lane ramp by driving in the shoulder. Every car that tried to access the freeway via the shoulder of the ramp was flagged down and the driver given a ticket. Most drivers were obediently staying in the marked lane while the cops were there and the few who were arrogant enough to try using the shoulder were duly pulled over and cited. Jack, of course, got cited for being in the shoulder despite seeing what was going on because he believed he was entitled to use the shoulder. Why? Because he had been using it for a year and nobody had told him he couldn’t. But the story doesn’t end there—the following day, Jack did it again—in front of the cops who were standing there with ticket books in hand—and got another citation, which made him red-in-the-face, eye-poppingly, foaming-at-the-mouth mad. How dare they give him another ticket? They gave him one yesterday, wasn’t that enough? Now, lest you think Jack was perhaps a little bit thick, the guy was a brilliant engineer with a genius-level IQ: he was just a narcissist who believed that he—not everybody—was entitled to drive that shoulder.
Narcissistic parents create the same kinds of bizarre entitlements that accrue to themselves only. My NM used to tell me “parents are entitled to the fruits of their children’s labours” as a way of justifying turning me into an unpaid servant (literally my labour) and taking and keeping money that came my way, especially money I got for singing (she put me in contests, talent shows, and even arranged guest performances at bars and nightclubs when I was between the ages of 6 and 9), money I earned picking crops in the summer, and money I earned with my after-school job. Any objection I raised (in those rare moments when my indignation was stronger than my fear of her) was met with a smug “Who do you think paid for all those singing lessons [that I didn’t want] or the roof over your head and the food you eat?” That, of course, is irrefutable, since she did pay for all of those things but, being a child, I had no idea that I was actually entitled to those things and she was not entitled to recompense off the sweat of my brow.
Perhaps the worst entitlement that a narcissist parent puts on their children is the never-ending entitlement. From my earliest childhood, from the very day I learned that I could be legally free of her once I turned 18, that was my goal in life—to be 18 and get away from her. What I could not have anticipated was that, in her narcissistic mind, she was free of her obligations towards me but I was not free of my obligations to her. Many of us bump our noses on this particular bit of narcissistic entitlement, the idea that our Ns are entitled to remain in our lives, in whatever capacity they choose, for as long as they choose to be.
An ignoring NM, like mine, will let you go—sometimes for years—without popping back into your life until there is something they want from you. I got married six weeks before Christmas and moved into my own place, just 17 years old, and that year I received nothing from my mother—not even a phone call or a Christmas card. In fact, I didn’t receive so much as a letter from her for several years and she showed no interest in me and mine until a situation emerged in which I had something that she desperately wanted. Then she became my mother and a doting grandmother to my kids.
Despite their feelings of entitlement, most narcissists are not stupid enough to think that everybody else agrees with their entitlement. This is where manipulation comes in: they manipulate situations, perceptions, and information to support their feelings of entitlement. If manipulation doesn’t work as well as they had hoped, they will tell outright lies, fabrications that will bring about the desired result. All of this stems from entitlement: they believe they not only have an absolute right to whatever they want, they also believe they have an unfettered right to do whatever is necessary to get what they want because you are in the wrong to withhold it from them. This is key: you are in the wrong when you prevent a narcissist of from getting what she wants and that, which the narcissist takes as fact, is what allows the narcissist undertake the most awful actions without a shred of remorse or sense of wrongdoing: they believe what they are doing is not only right, they believe they have an unfettered right to do it.
When you, yourself, do not feel an inflated sense of entitlement, when you don’t know what that feels like, it can be difficult to grasp what it actually means. I often hear people say things like “I don’t know how she sleeps at night…” or “her conscience must be eating her alive” when speaking about the behaviour of a narcissist. When we do that, we are projecting how we would feel—we would find it difficult to sleep at night, our conscience would interfere with our sleep—onto a person who does not share those feelings with us, who may actually be incapable of sharing those feelings of conscience and remorse. What we don’t understand is that the narcissist feels just as entitled to fuck us over, to manipulate us, to take what she wants from us, as we feel entitled to receive a pay check at the end of a pay period. The fact that she did not earn that right like we earned the pay check is immaterial: she feels just as entitled and believes her entitlement to just as valid as you feel about your pay check. And if someone stands in her way, she feels just as indignant as you or I would feel if we found our pay arbitrarily shorted.
Your narcissist truly believes she has a right to anything she decides the wants, including things that belong to others. Ordinary people like you and me take our sense of entitlement from our culture and its rules: our laws and our customs tell us what we are entitled to and, by and large, we accept that. We know that it is wrong to steal, for example, and even thieves know it is wrong to steal, they just choose to do it anyway. The narcissist thinks differently, however. The narcissist believes she has an absolute right to have or do whatever she wants, even while acknowledging that other people might think it is wrong. Peculiar to the narcissistic mind, the narcissist believes the rules apply to you and me and that we are wrong to violate them, but she, the narcissist, is the exception: she sees herself as literally above the rules of her society and culture. In the narcissist’s eyes, you and I need to abide by those rules because 1) we are not special like she is and, 2) it makes us predictable to the narcissist, giving her the advantage of being able to fairly accurately predict our behaviour and reactions. But they don’t need to abide by them because they are special, they are above the petty rules of society—they are entitled.
But they aren’t stupid—they know that there are penalties for violating the rules, assuming they are caught, and so they manipulate. Lying is an effective form of manipulation and they use it without a hint of conscience. Your own mother can, with a straight face and sincere expression, tell your grandmother that you are a prostitute or a drug dealer or mentally ill or a host of other horrifying things that will not only turn your grandmother against you, it will make Granny worry about the safety of your children. Your mother can tell these lies to a judge, jerking out a tear here and there for effect, along with a big lie about how she worries for your children, what if they get up one morning and find you dead on the floor with a needle in your arm? The fact that this kind of thing has actually happened and been featured in news reports all over the globe doesn’t help you—even though the strongest non-prescription drug you take is the occasional aspirin—and it alarms your FOO to the degree that there is a good chance that your narcissist can enlist one of them the lie and give false evidence against you in court, rationalizing that it is ok to break the law against perjury in order to save those innocent little kids from the trauma of finding their hooked hooker of a mother dead on the floor one morning.
Narcissists have no conscience. If getting custody of your children is her objective, she not only honestly believes she is entitled to have custody of them, she also truly believes that she is entitled to do whatever it takes to achieve that goal. And, as much as we don’t want to admit it, there are narcissists who use the sexual assault laws to punish people who don’t bend to their will or who do not behave as the narcissist expected, believing themselves entitled to do so because that is what was necessary to get what they want. Nothing is off the table for a narcissist, as long as she can maintain plausible deniability or shift blame onto someone else. The woman who falsely accused my friend of sexual assault in order to escape conviction for assault and property damage, laid the groundwork for shifting blame even as she testified against my friend. She blamed her late filing of the complaint on “bad advice from another [conveniently unnamed] lawyer” while she was in jail, thereby creating plausible deniability if someone later accuses her of misusing the sexual crimes laws for personal gain: that unnamed lawyer told her she had a case, otherwise she wouldn’t have filed it.
What is important for us to remember when it comes to narcissists and entitlement is that narcissists do not see things the same way we do. They honestly believe they are entitled—they have a right—to have whatever they want and anyone who tries to stand in their way is wrong and, if they succeed in keeping the narcissist from her goal, deserves punishment. It never occurs to the narcissist that she is not entitled to what she wants any more than it would occur to you that you were not entitled to take a walk around your block if that appeals to you. And, just as you would feel wronged if a couple of thugs tried to prevent you from walking on the public sidewalk, the narcissist feels wronged if you try to prevent her from having what she wants, whether it is your husband, your children, credit for your idea, or your time, efforts and expertise.
Being special and entitled, the narcissist truly believes she should not have to pay for your services, whether you are a wedding planner or an accountant or you bake and decorate beautiful cakes as a hobby: you should be honoured to give them to her for free. She does not feel obligated to respect you or anything about you, from your marriage to your parental rights to your ownership rights of everything from your earrings to your clothing to your car and home. A narcissistic mother will rearrange your kitchen cupboards, closets and furniture, a narcissistic sister will “borrow” your clothes and jewellery, a narcissistic “friend” will seduce your husband and blame you, saying it’s not her fault that you can’t keep your man satisfied… They will do these things—and more—believing that they are doing nothing wrong because, while they acknowledge that society has a set of standards, they do not accept that those standards apply to them. In fact, it is not uncommon to hear a narcissist say something like “Well I have my truth…” that truth being what serves the narcissist, even if it is diametrically opposed to the objective truth. Narcissists have their own sense of right and wrong and what serves them is right and what does not serve them is wrong. The narcissist is just as convinced that she is entitled to whatever she wants and those who obstruct her are wronging her as you are convinced that the sun rises in the East and sets in the West.
It is called entitlement and it is a sincere belief that the entitled person has an absolute right to whatever s/he wants and any action taken to secure the entitlement is justified by the existence of the entitlement. You and I know that is just so much convoluted, self-serving bullshit but the narcissist doesn’t see it that way: she’s not kidding, she’s not even over-the-top: she is entitled and will break every rule in the book—and every person who stands in her way—to get what she wants because she believes in her entitlement and will move heaven and earth—often in small, passive-aggressive and painful ways—to get it. And any hurt you suffer is just collateral damage for which she takes no responsibility.
It is important to grasp this, to wrap your head around the idea, that his narcissistic mistress truly believes you are in the wrong because you aren’t the wife she thinks he should have—as such you are not entitled to anything beyond the roof over your head (and she will work to deprive you of that) while she is entitled to champagne suppers and expensive sparklies. She will have no sense of guilt that your kids are deprived of music lessons or a trip to camp because the money was spent on her—she will only feel bad that she had to give up on that Christmas trip to Aruba because he decided to spend the money on his kids. Your narcissistic co-worker will not feel bad about stealing your idea and presenting it to the boss as his own and he has no compunctions against calling you a liar when you tell the boss the truth: your co-worker has his own truth and that is that he thought of it first, even if you were the one who voiced it first. Your narcissistic neighbour doesn’t care that your lawn is pocked with yellow spots where his dog pees, or that his cats use your carefully-tended flower beds for litter boxes, digging up your newly planted greenery—he is pleased that he doesn’t have to clean up after them himself and proud for having found a way to make you do it. For the narcissist, life is a series of triumphs, of getting one over on the next guy, either to advantage himself or to relieve himself of something onerous. She doesn’t care if your brother goes to prison for three years on a bogus sexual assault charge, just as long as she isn’t convicted of assaulting him and damaging his car. She doesn’t care if your business goes belly-up because she failed to pay for the goods and services you provided to her and now you can’t pay your suppliers. It doesn’t affect her so she simply does not think about it and, when she does, she is pleased with herself for having succeeded, for her cleverness, for her superiority. She is, after all, entitled to it all...





1.      Oxford English Dictionary. “Entitlement.” https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/entitlement. First accessed April 25, 2019.
2.      Ibid.
3.      American Psychiatric Association. “DSM-IV and DSM-5 Criteria for the Personality Disorders” https://www.nyu.edu/gsas/dept/philo/courses/materials/Narc.Pers.DSM.pdf. First accessed April 25, 2019.
4.      Ibid.

Sunday, September 17, 2017

When your N dies, the flying monkeys take over...


For most of my life I didn’t know what a flying monkey was but the minute I heard the description I knew I had one: my brother, Pete. Reflecting over time I came to realize he was not the only one, but he was by far the most blatant.
Pete didn’t bother with gaslighting, he told lies—big, bold, outright lies—and because he was the GC, my mother gobbled them up like candy. They didn’t even have to make logical sense…if Pete said it, then that was the truth. If it contradicted what I was saying, I was a liar. Period.
Needless to say, Pete and I were never close and when we became adults we led lives so disparate that our paths never even accidentally crossed. It should have been a red flag to me, then, when out of the blue my brother showed up at my front door one sunny afternoon. Last I heard, he was in the military and stationed overseas. But, never having had a real relationship with most of my family, I was cheered that he made the time to come and see me and meet the niece and nephew who were strangers to him.
When my mother started dropping in unannounced bearing gifts for the children (junk that fell apart almost before she went home), it should have been another red flag but it wasn’t. Naïvely I thought that she was trying to create a relationship with me—finally! at last!—but the truth turned out to something far more sinister. Within the year my mother would have a guardianship of my children, gained under false pretences and with perjured testimony and the assistance of my brother, and then she would disappear with them.
One of the things we tend to forget when dealing with flying monkeys is that they really aren’t the auntie or cousin or dear friend we remember from childhood—not any more. Whether you have recognized it or not, there is a war going on in your family and they have been recruited by—or volunteered themselves to—the other side, the side headed up by your N(s), the side that is out to sabotage and undermine you and herd you back into the role created for you by your N so that she can play out her drama. These are not people who you can “talk sense into,” nor are they people who will take to heart your side of the issue, even if they will sit and listen to your own tale of woe: all they will do with that is take it back to your N where it will be downloaded and analysed in order to fine-tune the N's campaign against you.
So what happens when your N dies? You would think that without their unifying leader, the gang would fall apart and they would all go their separate ways, wouldn’t you? Unfortunately, that is all too infrequent. Sadly, not only do the flying monkeys stick around and even continue their evil undertakings, they often take over right where your N left off.
It would not be unusual for the death notices, obituaries and funeral arrangements to be handled by one of the flying monkeys. Even the in-family announcements can be manipulated to put you “in your place.” I learned of my mother’s death, for example, from my daughter. My brother, executor of her will and listed as next of kin in her papers (despite me being the eldest), couldn’t be bothered to call and tell me…he told my daughter and she told me. This is how scapegoats get left out of the obituaries: my NM’s obit listed all three of my children (including the youngest one who my NM had refused to meet or acknowledge for all of his 26 years) and it listed my grandchildren—but my name was left out.
The flying monkeys may be in charge of the estate and even be named trustees on monies to which you are entitled, and they will attempt to control you on behalf of your deceased narcissist. From outright redirecting your legacy elsewhere to suggesting you give some of it to them or their family to flat-out stealing that which should be yours, the flying monkeys who have their fingers in the N's estate will do their best to get as much—and leave you as little—as they possibly can.
But even after the last clod of earth is heaped on the grave, the last silver spoon distributed, the last farthing sent on its way, your N still has reach beyond the grave through the flying monkeys she left behind. These people will not change the way they treat you, they will not listen to your side of things any more now than they would while your N was alive and if they appear to, it is with a bias that allows them to turn what you are saying into an attack on the dead. They may even tell you how unfair you are being, saying bad things about a person who is no longer there to defend themselves.
You may be called upon to give a eulogy for your N, a double-edged sword that will force you to either decline (and be gossiped about as being spiteful) or to get up in front of people and lie about the person who was your chief tormentor. You could always oblige and get up and tell the truth, but that would strike horror into the hearts of everyone present and end up with you being ostracised and possibly even called a narcissist yourself for turning a funeral into an event all about you.
Flying monkeys will make it as difficult for you as possible, less out of intent than just pure insensitivity. Cultural rituals like throwing dirt or flowers into the grave or who keeps/scatters the ashes, where these rituals will be held—for any of these you may find yourself assigned tasks—or you may be treated like you simply do not exist and the whole thing goes on around you, with you present but not a participant.
If you are anything like me, you will react to news of your Ns death with a combination of elation over being finally set free and a painful sinking feeling as you recognize that there is no longer any time or hope of your N becoming a real human being who acknowledges and apologizes for all of the pain s/he inflicted on you over the years. That brought me to tears, even while I smiled at that other shoe having finally dropped. Your feelings about your deceased N will be assumed by others, nobody will ask how you feel because nobody really cares. Your N has trained them to view you in the same way s/he did, and that will not melt away with the narcissist’s death.
It will not be, I am sorry to say, a time of rejoicing your freedom and subsequent re-entry into the bosom of the FOO because your N has poisoned that well and left the flying monkeys to guard it.

In the Western culture we grow up with the idea that the death rituals of our particular segment of the culture are important and provide a meaningful emotional service to survivors: closure. That may well be true for many, but for us, for those who were not beloved family members but scapegoats and victims, it doesn’t really work that way. Seeing a tormentor safely buried six feet under doesn’t change how s/he behaved in life, doesn’t change the legacy of hurt and abuse and now-unresolved issues that you carry with you. My brother got $300,000 and the confirmation that he was our mother’s favourite; I got nothing but more lies about me read aloud at the reading of our mother’s Will. That is the legacy I was left: her everlasting enmity.
But I learned some important things as a result of my malignant narcissistic mother’s death: I learned that funerals and death rituals do not bring closure, closure, such as it is, comes from within each of us regardless of rituals or ceremonies or the lack thereof. I learned that, despite her last-ditch efforts to hurt me for the rest of my days with her snide little remarks in her Will, I can analyse what was said and done—and even the reactions of others—and come away with a more complete picture not only of my mother, but myself as well.
Did it hurt when she rejected me for all eternity and did her level best to humiliate me in front of the assembled family weeks after she had been cremated? Yes and no. On the one hand, I fully expected it. On the other hand, that little glimmer of hope that continued to flicker in my breast, that hope that in the very end she would relent and include me in the family of her heart, flickered out. I would no longer be tormented with the desire for, no longer surreptitiously seek a “sign” hidden in her words, that her heart had changed. No amount of reviewing old conversations or interactions would ever glean the hoped-for sign, the granting of the deeply buried wish for a real mother, could ever surpass the brazen truth of her feelings as revealed in her will. The cat was dead and the mouse now could choose: stick around for more torment from all of the well-trained kittens? Or GTF out of there?
I got out.

I didn’t go to the memorial service or attend the scattering of her ashes. I pondered them and realized that the rituals were hollow and without redeeming merit, at least for me. When I briefly considered going, I knew that I had become so devoted to the truth of who and what she was (even though at that time I knew nothing of narcissism) that I would likely find it impossible to sit quietly through a litany of lies about how wonderful she was. I knew that if I found my way to the podium to speak, my truth would be alien to the assembled who had not been her victim and who, if they had ever witnessed her abuse of me, were sure I had earned it. I would be a pariah, whether I spoke or not. Those people on my mother’s side of my family who actually loved me were already dead and those who remained were either ignorant of who she really was or they knew and were okay with it. And I realized that I did not need to be there, not even for “closure.” I already had my closure when my brother read to me, over the phone, the parts of my mother’s Will that referenced me. It was all I needed: she slammed the door in my face—but I am the one who put the lock on it.
When your N dies, you will be conflicted and you may very likely be in unexpected pain. Even if you have been NC for ten years, some part of your subconscious may be holding that little flicker of hope that, before she dies, your N will finally come around and try to make amends. But your N doesn’t know when she will die, so if she ever had such an intent, it is very unlikely to ever occur simply because that last minute she was waiting for came and went without warning and she was gone before she could say anything. Even in this, even if she wanted to fix it, she wanted that dramatic exit—to say her piece and then leave dramatically with a final exhalation and no opportunity for you to ask questions.
When your N dies, the flying monkeys you know about will mass and ones you don’t know about will come out of the woodwork. You won’t even be spared this if you and your parents were all only children—there will be somebody put him- or herself in your path as an FM, someone who remembers how wonderful your N was, someone who will not respect either your feelings or your truth.
When your N dies, if you aren’t in charge of the final arrangements, one of them will be and your feelings will not be considered in the making of those arrangements. When my late husband died, I had never met his daughter despite a 12-year relationship with her father: she had simply indefinitely postponed any meetings he tried to set up—he had grandchildren he had never met and she only lived 200 miles away. And yet, I contacted her to find when a funeral would be convenient for her, knowing she worked, had young kids, and had a 200 mile trip to make. Don’t expect that kind of consideration from those who make the arrangements, and don’t be surprised to learn of the arrangements from the published obituary that omits your name.
But know this: when your N dies, you do not need rituals and ceremonies and formalities for closure because those are not where your sense of closure comes from. Closure, in fact, is a modern myth, a fairy-tale substitute for the old-fashioned work of learning to cope with loss through the grieving process and acceptance of painful reality[1]. Only when you have experienced the grief and processed the experience and come to the acceptance of the new reality can you hope to find that feeling that can be identified as “closure.” And trust me, if you still have your N’s flying monkeys in your life, your path to that peace and acceptance is going to be longer and harder than it needs to be and they may even prevent you from getting there at all.
Why? Because they don’t care about you and your feelings. They are sycophants of the N you have buried and they will keep her memory—and her perspectives—alive. Just when you are beginning to feel you have a handle on your N’s rejection, just as you think you are finding acceptable explanations for things and can put them to rest, a flying monkey can appear and shoot you down. This isn’t a train wreck if you are expecting it and are prepared for it, but if you aren’t aware and prepared, being blindsided in this way can be devastating, cause you to doubt yourself, and knock you off the path to healing and acceptance that you were doing so well on. Flying monkeys believe all of the shit your N has said about you, they trust her perspective as being correct, they see you through her eyes. And if you think that this will dim as time goes on, I am sorry to say that, in truth, because of confirmation bias, it will only get worse: they will be seeing you through her eyes and they will habituate that and, despite the fact that your N is dead and buried, she can live on in the minds and hearts of her flying monkeys.
So what to do about it? Well, first of all, recognize this is a real thing and if you escape it, you are lucky. Be prepared for it. How? By simply knowing this may happen, recognizing it when it does, and dismissing it as the ravings of a puppet, a parrot, a person who would rather accept someone else’s opinions than do the work of thinking for themselves.
Don’t do things you don’t want to do because of pressure or concern for what others might think. They are flying monkeys—they are going to think ill of you no matter what you choose to do, so do what works for you. Don’t want to go to the funeral or ceremonies? Don’t. Will they talk bad about your absence? Yes. But they will talk bad about your presence, too, so do what makes you feel best. I didn’t go to my NM’s memorial service or the reading of her Will and it stirred up gossip; but if I had gone, that would have stirred up gossip as well so I did what was best for me: I stayed home. But if attending is what works for you, if you need to make sure she really is dead by looking at her corpse in the coffin, by all means go. Don’t let the prospect of other people talking behind their hands about you get in your way.
With your N dead, you now have unprecedented opportunities to start making choices entirely for yourself. Yes, the FMs will keep her legacy of ill-will alive but they won’t be expending the kind of energy your NM expended in slighting and hurting you. They don’t have the motivation and while their incursions into your life will be disconcerting, they won’t have the same impact. They are also more likely to give up and leave you alone with only the occasional missile sent in your direction: with your N dead, their primary impetus for dropping bombs into your life is gone. Given enough time, they will likely find more rewarding ways to waste their time. If you can just refrain from giving them the satisfaction of knowing that their barbs have hit home, without your N there to encourage them, the appearance of FMs will likely diminish over time until they become little more than an unpleasant memory.
But do expect them when the drama of your N’s death is fresh, and don’t let them herd you in any direction you don’t already want to go: do what works for you, ignore them to the greatest extent possible, and look forward to a much more peaceful life when the rituals are over and you have processed that little flicker of hope that, until now, has refused to die.




Monday, August 7, 2017

Emotional Abuse: Finally! An "Official" Definition!


For many years the term “emotional abuse” has lacked a definitive description. It was one of those things that we each believed we understood but each understood differently. This rather nebulous defining of the phrase has given rise to confusion and question when we look back on our dysfunctional childhoods, knowing what happened to us but wondering “Was that abuse?”
Recently I was doing some research for a blog entry and I happened on a positively brilliant paper entitled Emotional Abuse, Practice Guidance for Children’s Services.1 And while it really didn’t relate to my search criteria, my curiosity was piqued and I clicked the link…
O. M. G! I could not believe my eyes! There before me, neatly tied up in a .pdf document, was the most accurate, complete and perfectly nuanced definition of the emotional abuse of a child that I have ever seen in my life! I am publishing it below for you, and have added comments (in violet) to expand upon the points—

2.1 The definition of emotional abuse as contained in ‘Working Together to Safeguard Children’ (HM Government 2015) is:
Emotional abuse is the persistent emotional maltreatment of a child such as to cause severe and persistent adverse effects on the child’s emotional development.
In other words, emotional abuse is not a one-time thing nor need it be an overtly abusive act to be considered abusive, it need only “cause severe and persistent adverse effects on the child’s emotional development.” The criteria, then, is not the specific act or acts but how those acts affected you: if they had a long-term negative effect then, ipso facto, those acts were abusive.
Emotional abuse, by its nature, can be subtle and in some cases, may even appear to be justified. I recently had occasion to overhear a woman berating a child in a department store, scolding the child for asking for something her mother deemed frivolous. By itself, the act was deplorable—because it was public—but not necessarily emotional abuse. When I had occasion to see the pair in question, however, I saw the child was no more than four years old and the mother was buying something “frivolous” (branded flip flops) for one of her sons. If this kind of event is commonplace in that little girl’s life, then this was an episode of emotional abuse. Why? Because the child was publicly humiliated and then, by buying something frivolous (branded merchandise) for another child, the message was transmitted to the little girl that she is not worthy of “frivolous” goods but her sibling is. And that is emotionally abusive.

  •  It may involve conveying to children that they are worthless or unloved, inadequate, or valued only insofar as they meet the needs of another person.

This is about a child being valued for what they do, rather than who they are. As the scapegoat child in our household, my value lay in my ability to perform, not in my intrinsic self. Early in my life it was clear that I was of more value to my mother if I stayed out of her sight; later she discovered I could sing which gave her delusions of grandeur: I was going to be a child star, making myself famous and her rich. When that didn’t pan out, my value reverted to my ability to relieve her of responsibility: chores, minding my brother, and staying out of her sight. When I did exceptionally well on standardized tests2 in the second grade, she insisted I be skipped a grade: that was a brag-worthy event because for at least the next year because it proved “my kid is smarter than your kid, therefore I am superior.” When I stopped singing, when my math grades plummeted, when I did my chores poorly either because I wasn’t instructed how to do them or they were simply beyond my physical development, I became worthless and “good for nothing.” Only when I met my mother’s needs for a housekeeper, nanny, or provider of things to make others envious—only when I met her needs and wants—did I have any value to her. And that is emotionally abusive.
Other children may find themselves directed into other channels of parental pride: the unfortunate child of a sports-mad father who is the screaming maniac on the Little League side lines, the mother who pushes her daughter into pageants, the parents who desire a violin virtuoso in the family: parents who put more value in the child’s accomplishments than the child itself. This is depersonalizing, dehumanizing and abusive.

  • It may include not giving the child opportunities to express their views, deliberately silencing them or ‘making fun’ of what they say or how they communicate.

While it is often appropriate for an adult to shush a child, emotional abuse takes it much, much further. I cannot begin to count the times I heard the following phrases from my mother: “Children should be seen and not heard,” “When I want your two-cents worth I will ask you for it,” “Who asked you?” “Why are you talking?” “Nobody asked your opinion,” and “Speak when you are spoken to.” When I was little and lost my front teeth, she mocked my lisp saying things like “If you keep talking like that after your permanent teeth come in…” in a threatening voice. She made it very clear that it was not my place to question her or anything she did or said and contrary opinions from me were not only unwelcome, they were potentially dangerous.
For others, this may come in the form of ridicule of speech habits or patterns or even the use of teen slang. It may come in the form of teasing or even sarcastic comments. The message to be essentially invisible can be conveyed with gestures or “The Look,” intimidating the child into silence. Again, it is the repeated nature of this silencing that is abusive, the fact that the child is prohibited from expressing herself, that is at the core, because the message conveyed is that the child and her thoughts, opinions and feelings are without value.

  • It may feature age or developmentally inappropriate expectations being imposed on children. These may include interactions that are beyond the child’s developmental capability, as well as overprotection and limitation of exploration and learning, or preventing the child participating in normal social interaction.

This was a common occurrence in my mother’s household. The moment my brother started first grade—and therefore was out of the house most of the day—the live-in housekeeper/nannies were given their walking papers and minding him became my responsibility. Considering that I was only two years older (and he outweighed me), this was a wholly inappropriate expectation. Chores were much the same. I was tasked with baking cakes with no adult supervision at the age of eight, using a gas oven that had to be lit with a match. At ten, still spindly and lacking much body mass, I was given the chore of mopping the kitchen floor every weekend, even though the entire task was too big for me: I couldn’t lift the bucket of water down from the sink, I wasn’t strong enough to wring out the mop, and I was never instructed how to do the job properly, but got punished for doing a poor job just the same.
There were nights we were left home alone, with me nominally in charge of my younger but bigger brother—I was given responsibility but no power or authority and he well knew it. I remember the stress of trying to cajole or bargain my brother into obeying our mother’s edicts and his cavalier dismissal of them because he knew I would be the one to take the punishment, not him.
Surprisingly, while my mother was not over-protective, you would have thought she was: we had to come straight home from school and were not allowed to go out to play or have other children over. We had little freedom and she insisted on knowing where we were at all times—which, in those days before cell phones and pagers, meant we could not stray far from the landline in case she called. Children of genuinely overprotective parents find themselves with no autonomy, even in adulthood. The parent is a constant and often intrusive presence, wanting to know about intimate things (such as menstrual periods or bowel habits) in detail and being punitive if the child is not forthcoming. Over protection is just as damaging as insufficient protection because the over-protected child is denied the opportunity for growth and it sends a message that the child is hopelessly incompetent to learn to care for himself.

  • It may involve seeing or hearing the ill-treatment of another. (i.e. domestic violence)

I cannot tell if my mother made sure her fights with my father were quiet, if I was so heavy a sleeper I didn’t hear them, or if I have blocked them out. I do not remember ever hearing my parents fight but it is clear that they did, both from evidence left lying around and from the fact that they divorced—twice! Some people might contend that parents arguing in front of the children is a bad thing, but I woke up one morning to find my father suddenly—and permanently—gone from my home, without a clue it was coming and no idea why.
More than 30 years later a psychologist asked me to name—quickly, with no time to mull the question over—the most traumatic event of my life and “my parents’ divorce” popped out of my mouth. I, however, did not hear anything abusive between my parents (at least not that I can remember), but abusive language and ill-treatment was rife in our household. And the person taking the brunt of it was me.
And while my mother’s ill-treatment of me was abusive to me, it was also an abuse of my brother because, among other thngs, it demonstrated bad parenting to him: it taught him that beating, ridiculing, browbeating, devaluing and rejecting your child is acceptable parenting behaviour.
Others may grow up in households that are chaotic or violent. The violence can be physical or verbal, it can occur in front of the child or not—for a child it is enough to see the aftermath on a loved person, particularly a parent, to understand that he is not safe—no one is safe—in his home. Causing another person to live in fear is emotional abuse, whether any threat is levelled at him or not.
What we as adults and parents ourselves may not realize is that even though we aren’t the ones throwing the punches or dishes or screaming invective or manipulating or pulling passive aggressive stunts, exposing our children to those things makes us just as culpable as the aggressor. Our first responsibility is to protect our children, even against their other parent or even our own parents, if need be. When we allow our need for approval from an emotionally abusive parent or our fear of that parent to take a higher precedence than protecting our children, we also emotionally abuse them by putting our needs ahead of their emotional well-being.

  • It may involve serious bullying (including cyberbullying), causing children frequently to feel frightened or in danger, or the exploitation or corruption of children.

The birthright of a child is to be loved and nurtured, to be safe and sheltered, to be valued and treated with respect. When a child is bullied, especially if parents don’t protect the child from bullying, when a child lives in fear, that child is denied his birthright. Too often we expose our children to toxic people with the misguided belief that because the person has some kind of relationship to the child, it will be ok. But being related to our own abusers didn’t protect us and being related to those abusers won’t protect our children, either.
Many parents exploit their children, some consciously, some without being aware. My mother wanted me to be a child star and she put a lot of money and effort into trying to make that dream come true. The problem was, it wasn’t my dream, it was hers. I didn’t want to be a child star, I wanted to go play paper dolls with Janie across the road.
Parents who put their toddlers into pageants, who dress them like dolls and fuss when they get dirty or rumpled, parents who put violins in the hands of toddlers or push their children to prepare for a career before their permanent teeth have come in, are living vicariously through those children and exploiting them for their own selfish ends. No matter how noble it sounds on the surface (“This will help him get into Harvard…” or “She’s learning poise and self-esteem…”), the bottom line is the child is being used to feed the parent’s ego and that is exploiting a child and exploiting a child is emotionally abusive.
Bullies are everywhere. They are in the schools and churches, workplaces, places of leisure. Roads, running paths, walkways, malls—any place you can think of can contain a bully or two—and that includes households. Bullying inside households and families can be child on child, adult on child, adult on adult and even child on adult. All it takes to become a bully is to discover that intimidation works to get you what you want and then to make use of it as a means of ensuring your success. Bullying doesn’t have to be loud or physically violent—it can be wholly silent and consist only of a certain “look” levelled by the bully upon his victim.
If you don’t bully your child but you allow someone else to do so or you allow one of your children to bully another, then you are as guilty of bullying as if you did it yourself. Nobody stops bullying because it is the right thing to do, they stop because either the target is removed from the bully’s sphere or somebody imposes a consequence that is too onerous, a situation in which the reward no longer outweighs the risk.
  • Some level of emotional abuse is involved in all types of maltreatment of a child, though it may occur alone.
There are many, many kinds of child abuse and what many people fail to realize is that they all cause some kind of emotional injury. Many people discount the importance of emotional abuse, believing physical abuse to be much worse, but the truth is, the act of physical abuse of any kind is also emotionally abusive. And while bruises and marks fade with time, emotional abuse doesn’t. It sticks with a child, it festers, it grows—and it causes long-term harm to the child, his self-esteem, his sense of his place in the world.
Children are not sophisticated thinkers and are much more prone to primitive reaction than emotionally balanced adults. It is natural, therefore, for a child to assume that people who hit them do not like them. Corporal punishment is not something that can occur in a vacuum. You strike a child and he immediately learns that you are willing and able to hurt him. You go from protector to potential danger in the child’s mind.
My own experience with this was to be afraid of my mother and to feel deeply wounded and unloved every time she laid into me with her whip-like “strap,” a thin leather dog leash with the metal clip removed. I did not really learn anything from the punishments—at least not what she thought she was teaching me—getting hit didn’t make me suddenly acquire knowledge or skill I didn’t have before, but it did teach me that my mother was volatile, unpredictable, dangerous, and could not be relied upon to protect me: in fact, I learned that I needed protection from her. So I grew up believing I needed protection from my own mother: isn’t that abusive right there?
Emotional abuse is a constant undercurrent in a household in which children are ignored, enmeshed, manipulated, or otherwise made to feel unloved and unvalued. Corporal punishment or other physical abuse (scratching, pinching, hair pulling, being yanked or jerked around) or even threats of physical abuse are also emotionally abusive because they cause the child to live in fear. As a child I used to spend summers with my grandparents, more than a thousand miles from my mother. The difference in me was profound: at my grandparents’ home I did not have that cloud of anxiety hanging over my head, that ever-present sense of danger for which I had to be continually alert, would melt away. But on day my mother came to fetch me back for school, the cloud returned, to follow me around until the next summer arrived and I was again ensconced in the safe haven that was my grandparent’s home.
Emotional abuse is no less devastating to a child just because he does not bear the imprints of hands or instruments on his body. The lessons learned through any kind of abuse are painfully embedded in the child’s psyche and when we are physically abused we learn early that hitting someone else is not a gesture of love, it is a gesture of hostility. And what can be more abusive than living your entire childhood believing that your own parents are hostile towards you?

2.2  Enshrined within this definition is the central principle that emotional abuse, to be considered as such, must be a typical and pervasive feature of the parent/child relationship.
This is very important. A “one-off” event is more easily set aside as an anomaly, and while the event itself may be abusive—and even permanently scarring—it does not create a pervasive atmosphere of abuse in the relationship. But when a child is afraid of a parent, even if that child continues to seek that parent’s love and approval, that fear in and of itself may bespeak an abusive relationship between that parent and child. It is important, however, to recognize that a child may fear a parent through no fault of the parent’s: a parent who has been largely absent (military deployment, for example) may trigger fear in young children; parental alienation may also come into play, with one parent painting a frightening picture of the other to a trusting child. This, in fact, is also emotional abuse of a child.

Emotional abuse is real and, in my personal opinion (having suffered both emotional and physical abuse in childhood), is profoundly more damaging to a child than physical abuse like corporal punishment. It is longer lasting, it is more deeply wounding, and much easier to hide from the prying eyes of others. And unlike physical abuse, emotional abuse can continue unabated long after the scapegoat child escapes the abusing parent’s home. Using myself as an example, my bruises faded and my skin returned to normal, but my mother continued to emotionally abuse me even after I had children myself and even after they had children of their own. The effects of my mother’s emotional abuse have remained with me for decades, still capable of generating fear and pain more than fifty years after I escaped. And that is the true tragedy of emotional abuse: not only is a person’s childhood tainted by it, the aftermath can follow for the rest of their days.