The Aftermath of Narcissism
I’m not an angry ex-wife I’m a mother fighting for her children
I’m tired of being mischaracterized by a few. I’m not an angry ex-wife. I’m a mother. One who couldn’t protect her children from their own father. Unless you have experienced this particular brand of terror you wouldn’t possibly understand it.
I was never talking about my husband to talk about him.
I was begging for help, for someone, anyone to listen. Anyone to help me. I couldn’t find assistance. I was surrounded by family and friends and an excellent marriage counselor. It was futile because narcissists operate outside of societal norms and boundaries.
It didn’t matter how large my emotional arsenal was.
My support system was no match for an individual with diagnosed Narcissistic personality disorder.
If anything illustrates the true degree of this misunderstood, mistaken, and masquerading charmer it’s that a woman’s cry for help could be interpreted as negativity rather than severe abuse.
I was in the fight of my life as a parent.
Not just for the obvious food on the table, electricity, car, housing, and other things the narcissist was pulling out from under us. But for my three courageous, beautiful boys' emotional well-being.
They are survivors.
Because while it’s disturbing for a mother to realize what a father will do, imagine the painful confusion a child experiences. When they resist and then ultimately have to come to terms with a dad who will abandon them for money and a win.
I am a mom who has seen that pain on the faces of her handsome boys. One who has had to forgive herself for choosing a guy who could hurt his own babies to hurt their mother. But my inner turmoil is nothing compared to my children experiencing an emotional death of a father they once called their own.
Do they love him? Absolutely.
Every single child deserves to be loved and to love their parents.
But they are conflicted at the same time.
I understand this push and pull. My own father was not at all abusive but he was a great disappointment because he could never overcome his alcoholism. I know what my boys mean when they say they love their father but they don’t want to be like him.
I lived with my children saying, “Why won’t dad stop? Why isn’t dad worried about us? We live here too.”
I watched the people closest to the narcissist look the other way, those in the community or at work find it impossible to believe this charming, attractive, successful guy has an actual personality disorder.
I watched my children suffer while otherwise good people threw back beers and laughs with their father. And no one held him responsible for what he was doing to his family. We teach our children they have to be accountable for their actions, we talk to them, discipline them, and use consequences. Yet a grown man was allowed to do bad things and prosper.
If you think that upset me, imagine how it felt to my children.
They craved reality as much as I did.
They needed people to understand what we were living.
Because Narcissistic personality disorder is abusive and confusing enough. My children needed security, support, and safety. And I fought for it. At every single emotional corner of our lives.
You’ll excuse me if it hits a nerve with me to be called negative.
If a man was beating a woman and children would you call her negative?
No, because you would sound as cold and empathy-lacking as the abuser.
And because that’s identifiable to the naked eye. The physical bully can’t escape detection. The naysayers are kept at a distance because there’s too much evidence.
But while the almighty judgements were being delivered by some adults, my children were in a kitchen without food. A school without school supplies. A doctor’s office without insurance. A college without rent. A driveway without a car.
They were with their mother.
Who was in the fight of her life as a parent.
Who had never felt so vulnerable, so desperate, so frightened, who had never been one to ask for assistance. Who couldn’t understand why her pleas for help were going unnoticed.
Who never wanted to talk or write about narcissism. Who picked up the phone and called otherwise good people and asked, “Would you watch a man beat a woman and children and do nothing?” But people still didn’t get it. People did nothing.
People close to the narcissist still didn’t worry about her children.
There will always be those who judge me.
Colleen has changed. Colleen isn’t happy. Colleen isn’t fun anymore. Colleen is always talking about her husband.
No, Colleen is crying for help.
Colleen is a mother.
If anything illustrates the true degree of this misunderstood, mistaken, and masquerading charmer it’s that a woman’s cry for help could be interpreted as negativity rather than severe abuse.
