Happy Children of Drunk Narcissists Day!
Posted on July 17th, 2011
Yes, indeed! Today is the third Sunday of July, and thus the first annual Children of Drunk Narcissists Day! It’s completely made up, of course (by me) as an antidote to Mother’s Day and Father’s Day but hopefully one of the greeting card companies will see the error of their ways and start supporting this one, too. (Not really. The world doesn’t need another excuse to plunk down $2-5 on a card. Ecards would be perfect.)
What can you do to celebrate CoDN Day? Here are some of my suggestions:
- Share some of the most crazy, awful things your parents did or said – without embarrassment. Because it isn’t your fault you ended up with them for parents, and it isn’t your fault they acted the way they did.
- Hug your kids and reassure yourself. I already know you have a mantra in your head that goes something like, “I just don’t want to be as bad as my mother/father was.” Why do you think it took me so long to have a child? I was terrified I’d turn into my parents. Finally someone plunked me down and told me the secret: I’m not. You’re not. You’re trying, consciously, to be a good parent. Yes, you screw up. I screw up. But we’re trying, and that’s what matters.
- Do something nice for yourself. Just for yourself; even if it’s a bath or a piece of chocolate or a walk alone. It won’t turn you into your mom or dad. Honest.
If you’re worried that – oh, no! – you could be part of the next generation of drunk narcissists, here are some things to avoid:
- Saying to your kids (or anyone else), “How could you do this to me?” Kids act from lots of different motivations. They certainly aren’t doing it specifically to you (not normally). This was said by both of my parents on so many occasions that I can’t remember what any of the circumstances were. All I remember was that it instilled a deep shame in me and I never knew why.
- Forgetting you’re a parent, not a friend. Your job is to set limits and healthy boundaries, not break them.
- Getting falling-down drunk in front of your kids. A little bit of booze is fine. But slurring your words and falling down and puking on the stairs? Never cool, not even when your kids are adults and not even when your kids pretend it’s OK.
Here’s one of my stories. When I’d finally gotten over enough of the shame of my first pregnancy, a couple of months later, to tell my family about what had happened, I told one parent over a lunch out in a restaurant. My parent was so completely unengaged with me at lunch that I blurted the story out in an effort to force engagement. What happened? My parent looked me in the eye and said, “Oh, my friend’s son died last week.” If I was looking for sympathy, clearly I was in the wrong place.
So, then! Happy Children of Drunk Narcissists Day!
It took years and years of therapy to FINALLY understand that my my mother was physically and mental incapable of being emotionally involved in ANYTHING that didn’t directly involve her. To say she was self-centered, is like saying Japan had a bit of an earth quake recently.
When I was twelve, my birth father started to sexually abuse me. It was endlessly, horrendously frightening. When I was sixteen, I finally screwed up the courage to tell her. She told me it was ENTIRELY my own fault. If I didn’t run around the house half dressed yada, yada, yada and I should not expect her to get a divorce or do any other thing about it just because I had chosen to be a tart (her actually word) in front of my father.
Obviously, I still have issues with my mother – lol. After all that money spent with various really incredibly good shrinks (for the most part), I finally got to the point of actually forgiving my father; however, it’s not quite that easy with mum. I think because I expected her to protect me and she just threw me further into the deep end.
By the way, I looked like a nun in my own home. I wore turtleneck sweaters and mid-calf skirts ALL the time even when (1960′s) the styles in skirts were much shorter.
There is absolutely NOTHING you can do to get these people to focus their feelings outside of themselves. They are totally incapable of feeling ANYBODY else’s pain. It’s incredibly frustrating, I know, but you will waste your life if you ever expect it to change. You and I need to learn to let go of the resentment and to only take our need for empathy to people we know are capable of returning our feelings. If you figure it out first how to accomplish this, will you let me in on the secret (smile)?
Anyway, you have M and you have Pea and they are incredibly wonderful people who love you so very much. The trick is to find a way to not allow the past to take away the beautiful colors of your now. I know you know this. Your love for your family shines through your very good writing. I know you know how lucky you are.
I live in Salem which is one of the reasons I really enjoy your blog so much. Although I actually know very little about Portland, it’s fun to read what you write about the city just down road.
My father took a trip abroad shortly after my mother died. I was so depressed I was concerned for my physical safety, and I told him. I told him he didn’t have to cancel his trip (he was relieved) but asked him for some guidance. He told me to go to the hospital and tell them what I’d told him. Later that year, (and nine months after my mother died), my father spent Christmas with his soon-to-be wife in another town in CA. His cell phone was off, I didn’t have her family’s number, and he never called. That year I realized I was totally on my own.
My situation is different than others’ because until my mom died I had a pretty normal family. Thank goodness she lived to see me graduate. I now know why she was so insistent upon that: I think she could see what was coming down the pike. Over time I have learned to accept my father’s shortcomings and appreciate what he can give, but my appreciation hinges on the fact that I expect very, very little.
I haven’t hit the point yet where I’ve came to full terms and understanding of why my mother has done the things she has done and why she thought that my dad (my step/adopted dad ) would be a good thing to bring into her life let alone mine when I was only 5. Maybe some day I will. And maybe I will understand someday why after he was sober for 17 years she encouraged him to start drinking again. Maybe not. But one thing I promised myself and my son is that he will never have to step over my drunken ass laying on the bathroom floor when he wakes up in the morning. Keep up the good work, because I think you are a great mom.
“the shame of my first pregnancy” — I hope you no longer feel this way.
Hugs.
Thank you all for your comments, here and in email. I really appreciate them all. Some people just don’t get good parents; it’s the only thing that’s ever really comforted me about the way I was raised. That, and realizing there are even worse parents out there. (Misery and company.)
CM: I do struggle with it sometimes. I can talk about it now, which I couldn’t do two years ago, at least not without crying. But even though it was the right decision, it was an awful one to make.
I can’t really compete with these stories, and I’m glad about it. My parents are narcissists, but I’ve never felt like they were bad people, per se. I think there’s a difference between a narcissist and a bad person. There’s my dad, who is basically disinterested. Not a bad guy, but not interested in a daughter. He just never came to anything (when I asked him about it, he said it was because I had my mother and, besides, my “shit” was boring. Unfortunately, it was a sentiment my mother echoed). Then there’s my mother, who once told me that if Nazis made her choose between her children–if one of us had to die–it would be me. Kinda traumatic, since Dad had already left in round one of the never ending parental divorce drama, we’d just moved across the country, leaving behind everyone/everything I’d ever known, and I was eight. There were a lot of these type of moments.
But I have to give them props for this: I turned out relatively normal (I think). I wasn’t so out of whack I chased after men who were emotionally unavailable (but volatile and inconsistent) like my father. I actually wound up with a man who loves me and thinks I’m pretty great, even after 15 years together.
Incidentally: Thanks, EH.
So I guess I have to give them that. And big props to you too! My kids have a GREAT dad because of you.
Tonight, I really needed that. Thank you.