One of the most cathartic experiences I’ve had in therapy in recent years was learning that my father was a narcissist. He only supported me when I was performing an activity or behavior that mirrored his or reflected his own hobbies, dreams, and opinions. When I discovered a liking for art, he spent hundreds of dollars on oil paints, charcoal pencils, and sketch books. It reminded him of his artistic abilities. I only received affection in the form of gifts when I got good grades or had a milestone graduation–these were tangible experiences he could show off to his friends. Otherwise, he left me alone until he wanted a punching bag. There were no hugs, kisses on cheeks, and words of affection. He never got to know me as an individual.
My father was narcissistic, controlling, a flirt and a cheat, self-centered, emotionally immature, and stoic (except when he was upset or angry). He didn’t have that many close friends, but he always had a way of getting close to women. He prioritized these female friends over his family. He eventually chose one of them over us.
He set me up to repeat this toxic relationship later in life. As much as I intentionally, conscientiously tried to avoid men who reminded me of him, I repeated the cycle continuously. A part of me was attracted to men with these qualities because I wanted to fill that void of affection and approval I never got from my father (and my mother as well). In hindsight, many of the men I’ve been in love with were narcissistic, stoic, emotionally immature, or some combination thereof. I married a man who never got to know me as a person but tried to mold me into someone who was a reflection of himself. He used to talk at me about his books and opinions of the world, but my interests and ideas didn’t matter to him unless they overlapped with his. I was there to fill a role, to hold up a mirror, like my father had expected of me.
It’s only been in the last three years that I’ve learned to speak my truth and to recognize that I am an individual person who is to be heard, especially by people who tell me they care about me.
My father has called me a whore and by many other hurtful names that children should never have to hear from their parents and caretakers. So when I choose my partner now, I often ask myself if this person would be a good parent. I ask myself, “Is this someone I want my children around?”
Related post: “Breaking Up With My Father”