Grandparent Narcissists & The Dinosaur Die-Out

Dinosaur 🦖

P.T. Barnum was a master showman but he never had a dinosaur in his circus. The death-defying feats he constructed within his tent were nothing compared to the mental gymnastics and 90-degree contortionistic angles an old patriarchal grand-master narcissist of some families will go to, to destroy their own family.

The narcissistic grandparent is about one thing: obedience. They get that obedience through control. They get control through favoritism, gifts, money, and other manipulative buy-outs to get what they want.

My fifteen-year-old son was offered a new car once by his toxic grandfather if he would refuse to listen to his “bitch-of-a-mother.” Me.

Speak out against their abuse, arrogance and entitlement; refusing to be bought— and expect to see triangulation of your offspring; their own grandchildren— just for spite. And it doesn’t matter how long it takes for that to happen. The sociopathic grandparent can wait as long as it takes. Because they never see anything more than just this moment.

They hate themselves and sadly don’t even know who they are inside. They hold up a false-self. A mask. — Add dementia and Alzheimer’s to the mix, and when that heavy mask finally falls—you have a delirious, dizzying walk through the fun house mirrors at the circus!

But, that doesn’t stop them. Their patterns are set in stone. They don’t change. Ever. These ring masters in their seventies, eighties and even nineties seek their youthful power by suiting up anyway. They stand mid-circle of their big top ring with top hat and their whip—ready to orchestrate and maneuver people for show.

Let the games begin!

Cracking their whip they create competition, making people perform; abuse, disrespect, tippy-toe, cower, dance and sing for them at will. If you can stand on one leg, while balancing a ball on your nose or jump through rings of fire and not eat them for breakfast, you’re patted on the rump with a “good job” and told to exit stage left.

They take their bow for the audience. It’s all about them.

The audience members clap in awe of the show, not realizing what they are really seeing is this person using their families as nothing more than carnies. These people aren’t people to them. They are nothing more than an extension of themselves.

When someone is courageous enough to call them out as a user and manipulator of people with no real heart or empathy for others— that person is now the problem. They cackle at how someone could dare question them or stand up to them. If YOU won’t do what they ask, here’s someone who will!

They are all little dictators. And, they use their assets as a way to make you play their game. Do and act as they say, or be written out of the will and forfeit your inheritance. This psychological abuse can cause devastating pain, grief, and even health issues so severe they can kill people within the family and go on to kill millions more.

I give you exhibit A.

Creating hard-feelings, chaos and even hatred among others within the family is the narcissist’s fuel.

But, these dinosaurs and their archaic ways of being in this world are dying out, and they know it. If you’re listening to the world now, you see and hear this dinosaur cry.

What we’re seeing now in many dysfunctional families is a tyrannical tantrum of the old patriarchal head master not wanting to go. The old matriarch that couldn’t get loose from her abuser, became abusive herself— and she cry’s out too. “How dare you!” — It’s fear. Of not having control. It’s their last ditch effort to call the shots before they go. They know what’s happening and they are fighting it every step of the way.

A new world that exists harmoniously? One that calls out abuse? One that can’t be bought? But… what about them? They won’t be able to exist in such terrain?

These damaged souls, who’ve never known peace within themselves, will destroy relationships between family members for the fun of it. How is this possible? Because they never cared about their own children, let alone their grandchildren. Their only loves in this world are obedience, control and manipulation. And an audience to see it all. Look at them! Wow!

The after affects of psychological abuse through manipulation tactics and coercion through family systems has gone on for generations. We can break these generational issues within our own families, but when the old, head master slithers in through the back door, the damage they can cause sadly lasts long after the narcissist is gone.

Looking at Old Photos: An Exercise to Help You Reconnect To Yourself When You’ve Forgotten Who You Are

My 2001 interview with Oprah, Lol!

I’m going through old photos while working on my second memoir and found this memory today.

This one is from a trip to Las Vegas in 2001 where I visited Madame Tussaud’s wax museum. I am a huge fan of Oprah, so when I ran into her that day, of course I let her interview me for my upcoming best-selling book. Lol! 😂

I was writing my memories out by hand back then for the book I wanted to write someday and was filing them away in my 3-ring binder.

I used to sit and watch The Oprah Show every chance I had at 4pm and still have the notes I took on the episode where she interviewed authors of memoir on how they approached their writing process.

This exercise of looking back at old photos is helpful for reconnecting to our old selves to see how far we’ve come, and to see how much further we have yet to go. It’s also helpful for abuse survivors who have endured decades of psychological abuse to help us reclaim who we’ve always been at our core, before toxic people projected who they are onto us.

This photo reminds me what I’ve known all along. I’ve lived authentically and genuinely from my heart. I’ve approached my big, convoluted, noisy, messy, busy life with a huge sense of humor, a love of life-long learning, the strength and dedication to keep my word to myself and follow through on my commitments, while showing up for my roles and responsibilities and continued to dream big!

And here I am. Still smiling and laughing. Still learning and growing. Still strong and doing. Still keeping my word. Still showing up. And still dreaming big!

I’m also still very realistic about what a long way I have yet to go, to get to where I dream of being. But, the most important thing about this is I kept my word to MYSELF to write that first book! How is that for learning self-trust, self-love and self-acceptance on your own?

Don’t allow the community that teaches about narcissistic abuse tell that you don’t know how to teach yourself or can’t. If what you see is good and you’re happy with that, keep doing that. If it’s not, have the guts to change it.

And, don’t let narcissistic family project onto YOU who they think you are, or should be, in order to make them comfortable and to keep you in learned helplessness. Be defiant! Be a force to be reckoned with! They’ll get over it. Or they won’t. It’s their choice to make.

Dream big or go home, baby!

projection #protection #dream #do #create #laugh #learn #grow #loveyourself

Mask Madness: Some Perspective from the Middle

This sign was in an elevator that was only 5’11”, but if it makes you feel secure, great.

In 1995 I had just graduated nursing school and was hired at a nursing home as a charge nurse. The resident doctor who did my pre-hire physical that August warned me that although I would be protecting myself with Universal Precautions and PPE, I would probably get sick on and off for months, or get one really big flu that lingered that fall/winter. (Flu shots weren’t discussed, because they weren’t pushed yet, nor would I have taken one.)

In November that year, the nursing home was hit with the Asian flu— (that’s where it originated, so that’s what it was called) — and twelve of my elderly residents died as a result.

By December I ended up getting it, and got sicker than I’ve ever been in my life, missed two weeks of work as a single mom, and got three months behind on bills as a result. Not one person cared. No one called me a hero for doing my job. No one shut the country down. And no one helped me pay my bills.

I love that the world is trying to become more compassionate, considerate and caring, but the blame game and the extremes that go on in society in order to feel superior about absolutely everything is so old and exasperating, I can barely stand it anymore. If you view everything we’re seeing on the line that is narcissism like I do, you see just how quickly both the left and right side of that line can become toxic.

If your mask makes you feel safe, by all means wear it. I’m not going to ever try to talk someone out of their fear and I can’t know what underlying issues they may have that puts them at risk. I’m not going to demand they do anything different than what they’re already doing. And, if someone else chooses not to wear a mask, I’m doing more harm to my immune system by getting angry, irate and superior about it than if I just minded my own business and stayed away from them.

We can never, ever, ever, control what someone else does or doesn’t do. If we embrace that concept and understand that what others do or don’t do has nothing to do with us personally, our immune systems won’t be as run down, our adrenals won’t be jacked up with cortisol, and we’ll be healthier as a result.

Learn to Discern What You’re Listening to about Narcissistic Abuse on YouTube.

I wish videos on narcissistic abuse didn’t go straight to NPD when discussing narcissism. Because there are healthy levels of narcissism with a little “n” that we all have in order to forge ahead and make our own paths in life. Healthy narcissism is how we get our needs met. It’s how we get out of bed and try again. It’s how we rise above. It’s how we speak up and out against injustices and stand up to be counted. It’s how we are able to put ourselves in others shoes and put our own needs on hold for another.

This kind of narcissism is full of compassion for others, takes ownership of self, takes responsibility for one’s own actions, self-partners, fulfills self from within, is authentic and genuine, isn’t afraid to look imperfect, and has empathy for self and others.

As someone who has two narcissistic parents, and is married to a man with a narcissistic mother, narcissism that comes in the form of capital “N” Narcissism, as in the personality disorder NPD—we can tell you it is completely unhealthy and void of anything that resembles empathy. They present with an inability to ever be wrong about anything, can never have faults, be responsible for their actions, don’t take ownership of self, don’t even try to understand others feelings, can’t ever look imperfect, can’t show any vulnerability whatsoever, apologize, or have remorse and empathy for others.

The video I watched today went on to talk about how “sad” it is for victims. And while it is, I also wish videos that discussed NPD didn’t pigeonhole victims of it as somehow doomed to never prosper or succeed in life. Nothing could be further from the truth! I’ve been living this life, all my life — and I’ve never thought for a second I was sad or doomed.

Telling people this or even hinting to it, is just another type of conditioning and grooming going on in the narcissistic “expert” community that wants to educate people about it, yet have us heavily relying on their products, classes, books and more to heal from it.

It’s like dumbing us down while building us up to need them. It feels opportunistic and it feels wrong to me. I don’t begrudge anyone from making a living, but I do take offense to showing pity and pandering to a group of people looking for healing, while simultaneously keeping them stuck and sick and reliant upon their content to heal by using degrading words that push people back into the pigeonholes they are trying to escape.

Don’t believe anything that pushes you back in life! And don’t listen to people who use negative language to describe your life. Only grow forward and make your own path in life with your small “n” narcissism in tow.

We are not victims, nor are we sad. We are victorious and more powerful than they want us to believe.

#nowyouknow #notsad #notavictim #justsayin

The Gifts of Invalidation

I’m revisiting old poems, letters, notes, and various other writings that I’ll be including in memoir number two.

Yesterday, I sat and read them aloud to my husband. He sat shaking his head with tears in his eyes.

In one of them, I was 32 years old and my dad was fifty-two. As I write this, I am fifty-two. That letter was twenty years ago. I was asking him to please validate my pain—explaining that I needed it for my health to live my life fully. I explained all the work I was doing on myself in therapy, and sharing the books I had been reading. I asked him if he could he please help me by explaining some of the things I remembered.

In the letter, I said it wasn’t to blame or hurt him, just to help me since I was having health issues such as depression, anxiety, panic attacks and back pain to the point of barely being able to walk. At age 32!

There was no return response to that letter.

There are other letters to him and my mother, where I fully tear into them and let them know in no uncertain terms just how awful it is for them to have such “selective memories” and how hurtful their dismissive, flippant attitudes hurt me. I tell them both how tired I am of the poking and prodding of me they do to get a response, yet, when I do respond, they insist I “live in the past and need to let things go.”

Then, there are soft and tender poems I started writing about my mother in the late 90’s. I wrote how sorry I was that I may not have always appreciated her, and how awful her life must have been. I assure her she was always loved. I was writing to her about understanding how difficult motherhood was since I was doing it alone. Then, I realized as I read, that I was searching for a common thread between us and trying to rectify in my mind that my suffering and hers were the same. I was actually begging to belong to my own damn family; giving to her what I wished she could give to me.

I know we’re supposed to be soft and gentle with our younger selves, but reading these letters and poems made me wish I could go back and actually ring my own neck! Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I was angry at first. How desperate to beg for love and belonging. But, I thought doing so meant I cared about the other person and was sending the message they were worth it. I didn’t realize I didn’t love myself fully yet. If I had, I would have never, ever, begged to be seen, heard and validated from people who proved again and again that they weren’t going to change.

Reading those letters proved I’ve been a lifelong seeker of the truth, and have spent my life thinking it was me who needed to change while those around me never did.

I read those letters now without any spark of emotion toward my parents, except for maybe some sadness. What a waste of a life to be the same at every age and stage of life. Nothing else in nature stays the same and unchanged except for a narcissist. — And, it’s all because their ego can’t take that they are not perfect and superior at every turn. How awfully sad.

Except for some residual twinges of anger about being desperate to connect with such dysfunctional people regardless of how self-sufficient I was, I’m proud of myself and who I’ve become. Because those around me refused to grow up, I’ve outgrown them by leaps and bounds from being in a constant state of change as a seeker of truth and self-healer. I had to go on to validate myself, learn to hear what it was I was really trying to say, and as a result, have always enjoyed my own company and can happily and healthily look at my imperfect self in the mirror and smile. I love me.

I took my twinges of anger toward my younger self (or probably more of a residual irritation than it was anger) to the yoga mat for mediation last night before bed. My god. I slept like a dead person last night with glorious, undisturbed, peaceful sleep and a calm mind. I awoke to such vivacious energy to continue on with writing and clarity about what comes next.

What a gift this has truly turned out to be. I am forever thankful.

My multitasking room where I write, make art, sew, do yoga, and meditate.