Living with A Narcissistic Father

I’m not ready to write this and I wish I didn’t have to. However, despite my unwillingness to expose my dad’s behaviours, I can’t find a worthy reason not to. My father is not a nice man and although I beg him to be a kinder person, to his wife, to his kids, I’ve realised now that this is beyond his grasp, and I am sad because of it.

I’ve given my dad chances and each time I’ve done so, I’ve regretted it. I don’t know why I’ve gifted him so many opportunities to save our family unit because as soon as the forgiveness is out of my hands and into his, he suffocates the seed of change under his thumb and I wonder why I expected anything less from him.

My dad takes a magnifying glass to everyone else’s imperfections and past mistakes but NEVER admits to his own. He’s a hypocrite. He will attack someone for the same offences he’s committed.

No matter the circumstance, dad always plays the victim. He will blame everyone else but himself even when the evidence of his toxicity is stacked against him.

“It’s not me, it’s her!” He’ll distribute the blame onto the innocent party’s shoulders (usually my mum’s) or find an excuse as to why his actions are justified because of something YOU did. YOU made him do it. YOU made him act that way.

I’ve been made to feel like a liar. I’ve had to question my own tact and decorum despite being reasonable. I’m the bully. I’m the nasty one and when you hear something said to you enough, you start to believe it. Your whole character is rewritten by someone who doesn’t want the best for you. And I know my dad doesn’t want the best for me. He only wants the best for himself.

I don’t think I’ll ever understand how badly I’ve been affected by growing up in a home that houses narcissism. It’s only now, as an adult, I can see what’s happened. I can put name to injury. I can recognise why I am the way I am. I’m not troubled for no reason. The reason I struggle with life is because I’ve been raised to fear it. I’ve been conditioned to feel like I’m not good enough.

In an animated room, I feel like an outline. I can’t seem to fit or belong anywhere. I’m convinced no one would ever want me. I’m hyperaware of my own inferiority and I’m always fearful of being shouted at or criticised.

It’s not a fulfilling life. It can’t be. Not when you live it as though you don’t deserve to be fulfilled.

My dad has made some truly sickening comments over the years and my eating disorder has been in the firing line more than once. He knows it’s a sensitive topic for me and yet he continues to prod and poke at it like a caged animal.

“How much do you weigh now?

“How long does it take someone to eat?”

“It’s been 2 years! You should be over it.”

“Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself, stop eating and then blame me for it.”

It’s cruel and it’s heartless and I will never be able to sympathise with a nature that is propped up by the misery and failure of others.

And yet, although it pains me to say it, I feel sorry for my father. No matter how badly I look upon narcissism, it’s still a mental condition. A condition that can be contributed to trauma, abuse or neglect. I hope my dad never had to live through any of the aforementioned, but with all things considered, there’s no warrant for treating others like they’re undeserving of kindness and respect. It’s disgusting.

Unless dad receives help for his narcissistic disorder and accepts responsibility for his actions, I cannot find a place for him in my heart, however much it breaks it.

Sourced from Pinterest