Narcissistic War Won

Narcisistic War Won - Sample Every single time I went to see John on Mondays I wore my big brave girl pants, took a deep breath, and opened up to him more and more. It felt less strange and definitely therapeutic. He got my stupid sense of humour and pulled me up on my heavy inner critic presence which I continuously demonstrated every session. He showed me it was ok to feel after a particular session where we explored feelings and I found it really hard to label them, as I had had years of my feelings not being considered or validated, but often laughed out or belittled usually in front of someone to add to my considerable shame. “showing emotion is weakness Jade”, was a comment I often heard so you learn to not bother anymore but this piece of work shook me. What if I cannot be a good therapist because I can’t label feelings? I knew this was something I would need to continue to work on. Sadly, my previous conversation about my awakening came back and bit me on the arse. Mum being Mum told Dad about our conversation previously about talking about Dad in therapy but I wasn’t aware of it until the traditional Sunday visit where they came around for a cuppa and a catch up – but I should have known......and I would have known if I hadn’t had a busy week with the boys and assignments to notice neither Mum or Dad rang me at all that week, but Dad obviously needed that time to think of the perfect retaliation. It was Sunday and I was a grown woman of 31, married, with two perfect boys, in my own house having my parents’ round for a cuppa – what could possibly go wrong right? I was so very wrong. They arrived bang on midday, and instead of knocking Dad just walked in. Usually he knocked and waited, a bit like the devil where they cannot enter unless invited, but today he had a brand new bolchy attitude, full of bravado and slighted insults that my children gladly never picked up on, and my Mum just ignored. I made teas and coffees while the boys made a fuss of their grandparents and then continued painting the plant pots they were ‘decorating’ for me in the garden. I am thankful they did not witness what followed. As I pulled the dining room chair out and went to sit down opposite my Dad when he started. He pulled this childish but intimidating face at me as asking me, “How is school going then Jade”, finished with a dismissive laugh. My Dad didn’t approve of me attending university at all, probably threatened by the knowledge I was gaining when he liked to think he was top of the pecking order. “You mean university Dad? Yes its going really well thank you”, trying to stand up for myself while not poking the bear. I could feel the tension and when I looked over to Mum she already had her head down. Here we go again. “Yeah I heard all about your conversations to your therapist about me” he spat at me. I shot another glance over to Mum – betrayed again – her head was still down and she didn’t move an inch. “Yes Dad, the idea of therapy is to explore your childhood and identify patterns and …...”, I started before being cut off abruptly by his rant and the emotion was intensifying with his glare, like he actually hated me. “Fuck off with the mumbo jumbo bollocks, you are getting yourself into tens of thousands of pounds worth of debt over, it’s pathetic you are in your 30s and a mum of two and you are poncing around in lectures thinking you’re some free-thinking hippy, better than everyone else, when actually YOU are telling lies to your therapist” he finished and picked up his coffee and sat back in the chair looking pleased with himself. I felt my husband whole being stiffen in the chair beside me, and I knew I had to step up and stand up for myself – 31 years of shit and being put down, but no more! I was worth more than this abuse, and the irony was that he was actually the one who needed to be in therapy – and for a very long time! “That’s your view Dad which you are entitled to, but it’s not mine, plus I am not the one who tells lies, am I Dad?, I replied smartly, pleased with my response but actually shitting myself at the same time. Where was the line between assertiveness and poking the bear because with a man like him it’s just not clear and I know this game with him doesn’t end well for me ever. “You wanna hear a truth to go tell your therapist?” he smugly replied with the coldest twisted smile on his face as he then downed his coffee and slammed the mug on the table. I jumped and glanced at the patio doors, the boys were obliviously to the situation mixing colours and messily painting the plant pots and most of the decking by this point. “Sure, Dad”, I shakingly answered. Why did I say that? Why did I open myself up to it, to allow him the space to abuse me. I knew what was coming would hurt, and it didn’t disappoint. “Tell your therapist who you slag me off to although I provided for you your whole life......” he started. “Until I was 15 Dad! 15 you kicked me out when I had a nervous breakdown over your behaviour to me which you couldn’t deal with as I was too miserable remember?” I quickly replied a rage and in-just getting stuck in my throat and chest. “You think you had it hard, you would have never survived my childhood Jade”, added with a sinister laugh, “You have had a charmed life and do you appreciate it, NO”, she shouted angrily. I knew where this was going and shit was about to kick off so I started my risk assessment pattern I knew so well – kids un-aware and mixing all colours together to make brown to paint my brown flowerpots, but they were happy and unaware of what Mummy was going to get. Mum – her head hasn’t raised since he started and as a good submissive wife, she doesn’t say boo to a goose, no chance at even catching her eye to briefly plead for her assistance. One day I hope she will actually see how evil he is to me and stop him. Dave– catches my eye and there is pure and utter rage in his eyes, knowing all I would have to do is nod and he would launch himself over that table and batter that evil, hurtful arsehole who begrudges even being known as my Dad unless its beneficial for him - I briefly shake my head. Dave knows. I can’t have them fighting as then there is no going back and I'll never see my Mum again. “That’s not my recollection of my childhood, and definitely not my brothers either is it Dad?” I quietly replied knowing full well I am fulling poking this bear with a hot poker up its arsehole at this point, and I am dreading the response. “Well where is your wonderful brother who cares so much about you Jade, Ha, far far away as he got married and fucked off, and he can fucking well stay there for all I care. He doesn’t even ring your Mother anymore” he cockily replied, knowing full well he is now in control of me and Mum in this. “And there is a reason for that isn’t there Dad!! I slammed my cuppa down and the remaining contents splattered over the table and Dad smiled. He had got under my skin and he knew it, I had lost control of my reactions. I got up to go to the kitchen, one to grab a tea towel to mop the tea up and two to still my racing heart and mind....deep breathes, deep breathes Jade. He still had the smile etched on his face when I came back through to the lounge/diner, just smiling and watching for any display of emotion from me. I have no doubt he wanted me to hurt at this point. He watched me as I carefully and controllingly mopped up the tea from my outburst. I then sat down again, back straight, shoulders back, poker face on.......do your worst you bully! “Bit calmer now? You really should be in therapy Jade” Raccous laughter erupted from him before he stopped and leaned forward towards me. I didn’t move a muscle, preparing myself, what is the most hurtful thing he can hit me with? Surely I have already heard it all by now?