Hello my friends. Today on my journey to heal CPTSD from narcissistic parent abuse, I'm unpacking one of the many sucker punches my parents pulled on me. I haven't thought of in 43 years. And in unpacking, I recall the intense pain and confusion it caused. So I said yesterday that narcissist parents are only interested in themselves. And they expect and demand their child will be so too. It's JFK revised "ask not what you can do for your child but rather what your child can do for you." They weren't interested in me, my needs, my hobbies, anything I did, unless they could insult or exploit it. And here's one of the weirder examples of that.
The time is 1981. I'm in 10 th grade. Despite having been shunted from pillar to post between my two chaotic, neglectful parents and their new partners, and being their servant-surrogate-scapegoat, I was an excellent student. My dad had moved yet again and uprooted me from yet another school. (He would not do this with his other kids). I moved in with my mom because I needed a job and times being what they were, jobs were scarce. Why a 16 y/o needed a job was down to the fact that my parents refused to properly provide for me. My dad had plenty of hack for himself and his family but not enough to provide even basic care for me. My mom and her chronically unemployed boyfriend/husband were on the dole. What I had was stolen or sold to "pay for my upkeep." Even my child support.
So I say I was living with my mom and her husband. If you can call sleeping on an unheated porch, working as many hours as possible and keeping up with school, buying my own clothes and sanitary products, supporting my lazy ass stepdad so he can sleep all day and throws a tire on the fire occasionally, living. And then it wasn't even that. At 17, I came home 15 minutes late and he ragingly kicked me out of the house with my mother's fond approval. I was homeless. Finally an impoverished elderly lady with a two room house, from our church took me in. Mom and stepdad continued to keep my child support. My dad was unconcerned about all this. Just told me God would take care of me. Hmmm. Did not visit me because "it was too far to drive."
Anyway, through all that, I kept up my grades, job, was in a play, got myself to NYC and DC, was class secretary, on every committee, in honor society, etc. At church, I helped to start a youth group and a weekly church music jamboree, both of which became very successful. How it began was that several families were practicing for church service. These were family groups of musicians. I was helping set up for some church thing. I'd sung with a large choir in Grand Haven when living with my dad. But he sabotaged my confidence in singing, by telling me I was "showing off for attention" when I sang in the bathroom. (it wasn't till my husband asked, that I wondered why he was in the bathroom with me.) He also said I shouldn't aspire to solos because my voice was choir grade at best. And before you ask, no, he had no vocal training with which to judge. Yet he himself would sing loud and proud.
Anyway, at this music practice, probably 12 people were tuning instruments, trying out songs, etc. On a whim, I timidly asked the pianist if he knew "I feel good" (Andre Crouch) as I saw he had the sheet music. He didn't, but asked me to sing it and maybe he could pick it up. As we worked it out, a woman stopped everyone, turned a mike toward me and said "don't be shy! Belt it out!" Then everyone began riffing along and our little group was born.
We started meeting on Saturdays to practice and that led to the formation of what we called "gospel jamborees." We sang all the old songs plus some new ones. I got the idea to host companion bake sales to raise money for those in need. Several women offered to coordinate craft bazaars too. We added liturgical dance to our repertoire. Other people designed signage. I think these events were even advertised on local radio and news. There was a way that everyone could participate. We pulled in huge crowds for our small community, on Saturday nights. Kids at school came and said how impressed they were. I feel funny saying this but some treated me like a minor celebrity. I literally had groupies.
And you know what was my favorite part? The sense of belonging. Every member was valued and we got along great! Because we all celebrated each other. By that time, I had several accompanists who loved playing for me. And I loved singing for them. No one ever said I was showing off. I was begged to sing as often as I could. It's hard to admit because it sounds vain to me, but everyone loved singing with me. I went on to represent our school at the first F.A.M.E. arts competition at the Frauenthal in Muskegon County. It included around 20 different school and thousands of kids. It still goes on today.
Now you might think my parents would be proud. But they couldn't care less. No one except my grandparents showed up to this ginormous event. As I recall, my dad just sniffed and said he was too busy and anyway, he didn't want me to get a big head. To a kid who was basically homeless.
But back to the singing group. When I invited my dad to hear us, he said, with his usual belittling that he wasn't interested. Then I invited him to come join us. He played violin of which he was very proud. I liked my dad's playing, even though he was always sneering and supercilious about my singing. When they invited him to play, he was suddenly very interested. And from then on, it was the Jack Show and he was in charge. He couldn't be bothered to help me out when my mom and her husband kicked me out, at 16, to live on my own. It was too far to drive to attend any of my school stuff. But boy could he make it weekly for "his" group.
Not only that but he told me I sang far too much and should give others a chance. I was ASKED to sing! I helped start the damn thing. Everyone wondered why I stopped participating as much. They begged me to come back. Everyone except my dad. Oh he wanted me there to hear him. Even when I went off to college, he pestered me to come back to hear them. I was to be his audience not a member anymore. Never once did he ever offer to play and sing with me. He turned me down when I asked. My organist mother never wanted to accompany me either.
My dad had a falling out with the other members left the group shortly afterwards. Maybe other people saw his arrogance too, I don't know. Wherever I went, I was asked to sing. In every other venue and church. Not bragging. Just a fact. It made people happy, especially the elderly who would ask me to sing this or that old song. But for me, it was heartbreaking and freaking confusing how everyone but my own family wanted to hear me. I can never sing without hearing the shaming voices. I thought it was because I wasn't good enough. Now I wonder if it was that neither parent collaborates. They compete. They don't sing in the choir, they dominate. But it's too late because the power of gaslighting, invalidation and shaming has crippled me.
I'm 61 now. 44 years later and 38 years into marriage. And finally, I really examined that difficult experience. I told my husband and he was appalled. He'd never heard about this wonderful little thing we had in a tiny backwater called Holton and how my dad had ruined it. Evidently I'd never told him. Because I never felt confident enough to share the good things we'd done. Nor admitted to myself THAT my dad had ruined it. I made excuses for him. Smoothed his feathers. Praised him. Felt sorry for him that people in the group (my friends) had "treated him so badly." Had not appreciated all he had done for them. Never a word about my involvement or any gratitude for welcoming him as he excluded me.
It never occurred to me until two days ago, just how that experience affected me. How wonderful it was to be part of that lovely group of people. Then how a narcissist parent exploits and trashes every good thing for their child. How the joy of singing together must be destroyed so that the narcissist can get supply. That I never saw it. I just felt the pain.
I want to thank Youtube psychologists like Jerry Wise, Dr. Ramani, Patrick Teahan, Danish Bashir and Dr. Les Carter. They have helped me understand where this was coming from. How narcissist parents sabotage their child's identity, peace of mind, confidence and joy. And why I have hurt so much because of it.
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