Words from the Daughter of a Narcissist

[theblackcat]

I'm the daughter of a narcissist.

I grew up in a household riddled with landmines bound to go off, no matter how we danced or tiptoed around them. As a child, I was attuned to the particular rumble of my dad's truck roaring through the neighbourhood so that I could scurry from the living room to the safety of my room, wiping away every evidence of my presence in the process. I knew exactly how to twist my door knob so that it wouldn't attract the attention of the bear looming in front of the fireplace down the hall. Twist to the left—towards the doorframe—hold your breath as you slowly pull the door open, stopping before the hinge hits the point where it squeals. Silently glide into the kitchen and, now comes the hardest part, extract the bag of chips from the cupboard without allowing the aluminum to crinkle and alert dad of your misdeeds. If I succeeded, I'd hurry back to my room and eat in fleeting peace knowing that one of us kids would soon be berated for stealing from the junk food stash or reprimanded for opening the bag the wrong way.

I don't remember much of my childhood. It's hazy and punctuated by sharp slashes that look more like pictures or snapshots from an objective point of view than holistic, embodied, and fulsome memories. I remember being fourteen or so and perplexed that my peers were able to list all of their elementary school teachers or recount in vivid detail the mundane, everyday aspects of childhood experience.

I can only describe my life before the age of five as dark and cold. I've been told that our house at that time was just that: a dingy little rental with next to no natural light and a sandbox outside. Yet a memory came back to me recently, one that's been skirting around the periphery of my consciousness that I always internally wrote off as being a figment of my imagination. I must have picked this up from a tv show or a novel. I've misremembered. That couldn't have happened.

But it did. When I was very young, three maybe, my parents had a terrible fight and my mom gave me a phone with 9-11 dialled, telling me to hit 'call' if anything bad happened. She ended up scooping me up and taking me to a motel in the middle of the night. Two decades later, I would drive by that motel everyday on my way to university and wonder why the place gave me the creeps.

"My way or the highway;" "hardheaded," "a rebel without a cause." I latched onto these idioms before I had the language to locate my dad... to explain the emotional manipulation, the guilt tripping, the silent treatments, the desire to draw emotional blood, the sunshine stealing, the never-ending-supply of justifications and unending ability to "win" the argument.

I felt powerless as a child. I felt like I was clinging onto the grab handle above the passenger door, seatbelt pulled taunt against my chest, as we hurdled along the highway, my dad at the wheel, darting through traffic dangerously close to the cliff looming below. This metaphor is a particularly apt description because it just so happens that my dad was a terribly aggressive, and occasionally drunk, driver. But emotionally and through my day-to-day, I was tossed about at the whim of his mood or maybe how fucked up he got with his buddies that night.

I don't know exactly why I'm writing today, but I think it's because I'm finally ready to open the door and get out of that damn truck.

[guitarman]

Welcome. You are not alone.

I have an undiagnosed BPD/NPD sister. I now call her my abuser and I am her target of abuse.

I can relate to your post. Our parents were non PD but the anticipatory dread and hyper vigilance I experienced because of my sister is similar. I never knew how she was going to behave.

You may like to follow the author and counsellor Kris Godinez on YouTube. Her channel is called "We Need To Talk with Kris Godinez". She also has a podcast of the same name. She specialises in Narcissistic Abuse Syndrome and how targets of abuse can cope better. She has written a book about her abusive father. I have found her talks to be very helpful. She often talks about how people begin to remember experiences from their abusive childhoods many years later and why it happens.

You are a very good writer and describe your experiences very well.

Keep calm. Stay strong. Stay safe. Keep posting.

[bloomie]

Hi theblackcat - welcome to a community that understands and who will support you as you take firm steps to speak your truth and get out of the car and begin to fully heal!

There are great resources at the drop down menus above, recommended books, other online resources...but, for me, the most powerful help I have ever received as I began to process the toxic behaviors of my own parents has been in the conversations that take place here.

There is a unique kind of validation that comes from reading such familiar experiences of others, and though we would never wish the kinds of experiences you describe having endured on anyone, it is a balm to our spirits to know we are not alone and others do get it and will validate and walk with us through recovering.

I hope you find your time and participation here to be as helpful as I have and l look forward to supporting you. See you out there on the boards!