Inner Critics and Brain Rats

"A modern American woman with pretenses of pacifism is no match for the low blow, pitty-pat punching Australopithecus who doesn't obey protocol and doesn't warn her opponent she’s preparing to take a swing. Bare-fisted and merciless, Lucy is a brawler. You’d best not ignore her presence or you’ll be down for the count in no time. Trust me. I know a lot about my inner boxer, the one who hits without any gloves on." ~Excerpted from my blog, Knockout! Score One for Lucy! 

When people write about their Inner Critic, or their Inner Brat carrying a switchblade in lacy-topped anklets, it amuses me. Not that my personality is ultra-sensitive, prepared to fight any person crossing my path. I am a bit of a pussy in that regard. 

I would never in a million years be as critical of other people as I am of myself.

In fact, my life would be improved if I flipped the Golden Rule on it's backside and "Did unto me as I would do unto others." (Does being left-handed cause bass-akward behaviors? Anybody have a neurological study on that?) 

A few days ago, a forum member referred to Barbara McAfee's song, Brain Rats. It reminded me of Inner Critics and how their negative chatter undermines our self-esteem. Being conscious of self-destructive thoughts is the first step to mental health and inner peace. Paying attention to self-criticisms interrupts a destructive pattern of behavior that most of us don't even realize we're doing to ourselves. It is shocking to find out that EVEN when the abuser leaves, we step in to FILL THE ROLE ourselves.  That idea didn't sit well with me, you can be sure. 

As is usually the case when a situation is dead serious and overwhelming, I find a way to laugh about it.  To take the edge off. To reduce the seriousness which allows change to occur more naturally, without white-knuckling the process myself. So I hope you enjoy Barbara McAfee's Brain Rats song and the next time you hear the distinctive gnawing of pointy-sharp teeth chewing away at your self-confidence,  self-esteem, and your self-worth, awaken your inner feline and chase the rats away. A firm "MEOW!"  may be all it takes to evict an infestation of brain rats. Or as we say on the WoN forum: rat bazturds. 

Excerpted from Taming Your Brain Rats: 

 

Written and performed by Barbara McAfee

Brain Rats

by Barbara McAfee

Chorus

Brain rats...I've got brain rats

A pestilential blight upon my mind

Brain rats are the wicked thoughts that prove my every flaw

And every hopeful notion gives them something new to gnaw

I hear them chewing in the night and on and off all day

They've really got my number . . . oh the awful stuff they say

Chorus

 Brain Rats I’ve got brain rats

A pestilential blight upon my mind

My mother says she loves me but no doubts she’s telling lies

And friends are all just enemies in ingenious disguise

There’s no one to be trusted and that’s including me

The best approach to human beings is fierce misanthropy

Chorus

 Brain Rats I’ve got brain rats

A pestilential blight upon my mind

I need a lot more money than I’ll ever live to earn

And late at night I count my debts as I fret and toss and turn

I’m one step from the poor house - I can’t make it on my own

I’ll be just like that match girl dying cold and all alone

Chorus

 Brain Rats I’ve got brain rats

A pestilential blight upon my mind

They torture with such cunning like little Marquises de Sade

And wreak unstinting havoc beneath my cool facade

They tell me I’m worse than everyone - my problems can’t be solved

And I’m the piece of crap around which this whole world revolves

Chorus

 Brain Rats I’ve got brain rats

A pestilential blight upon my mind






Hugs all,
CZ

Ellie-Louise: Lessons in Love

"It is in the human connection that we see each others as human beings on this journey of life. Volunteering is an act of love. It is always first and foremost, an act of love."

"When you believe you have nothing left to give, that's the time to give! It is time to share love."

"In the virtual room of the Internet Forum, I began to give back more and more...In our giving, we receive so much more than we give." 

Louise's comments above are paraphrased from her TedxCalgary video linked below. I also added my Photoshop rendition of Ellie, the woman-with-a-screenname many of us came to know and love.

Her real name is Louise Gallagher, author of the blog Recover Your Joy. She also has a new blog called A Year of Making a Difference, probably because she's writer which means she can pop those essays out faster than I can think of a title. If you haven't read about Louise's journey, take a few minutes to bless yourself with her style, her inspirational encouragement, her story. You'll be the better for it, I guarantee.

And lest you believe Louise has always been an angel (just look at that innocent smile on her face!), take it from me: neither of us will be sprouting feathers out of our shoulder blades anytime soon. Feather dusters, maybe. We've learned to clean up after ourselves even when we didn't want to---even when it seemed impossible. Time and healing, time and faith, time and good hearts make anything possible. Even a tender friendship between a Canadian wanderlust dandelion and an American shrinking violet.

Louise was invited to speak at a Ted conference in Calgary. The very idea of getting up in front on an audience and talking about the psychopathic relationship nearly gave me a heart attack...me being more comfortable behind the kitchen sink than a microphone. To support her chutzpah and daring, I did my part: I worried about her before she gave her speech. You know how helpful worrywarts are, right? We send out our good vibes, tightly controlling our fears inside our chests and when the person we're worried about does a fantastic job, we thank the Good Lord for the power of prayers though we deign not tell our intellectual neighbors we still believe in such things. And we dare not tell our therapist lest she think we have a problem with magical thinking and a narcissistic personality.

To Ellie-Louise if you're reading this blog (and if you aren't, yer in trubble), you did a wonderful job. I'm so proud of your accomplishments this last decade. It's been almost a decade since we met on a forum discussing narcissism and psychopathy. Can you believe it? Bless you and your work.

"Louise Gallagher has a remarkable personal story that has turned tragic circumstances into a life filled with passion and joy. Her book 'The Dandelion Spirit' was turned into a documentary for the Oprah Network and has touched people's lives across North America. Louise's work at the Calgary Drop-In Centre includes inspiring efforts like the development of the Possibilities Project that uses art in its many forms to keep people of the streets. She has the soul of a warrior poet and her story is transformative." ~YouTube link

Some of you may be interested in this article posted on the WoN Connection (our WoN Forum's blog). Ellie-Louise speaks candidly about her psychopathic relationship and message board recovery. She writes:


"Those first six months were pretty tenuous. I knew I had received a miracle the day he was arrested and I knew I had been given a gift to live this one wild and precious life fearlessly in love with all of me. But, I was scared and frightened and still raw from the trauma. I’d have to say the feeling like myself is long ago. I feel like a new woman. Far stronger, greater, wiser, more confident and complete than I ever felt before." ~Excerpted from An interview with Ellie by CZBZ 



Hugs all! Love you, Louise!
CZ

So you're in recovery...now how about your narcissistic sister?

Look at the picture. You probably noticed the same thing I noticed: the buxom blonde isn't paying attention to her backside. We, her viewers, are privy to a broader view of who she is and what she stands for. All she can tolerate seeing is her limited reflection in the mirror held aloft by an angel likely being paid minimum wage for maximum services because you wouldn't want angels to overvalue their role. Besides, any narcissist worth her weight in nickels knows she must reinforce servants' fears that they are expendable, valuable only to the degree they minimize, take responsibility for, or deny the hideous truth of the narcissist's ugly backside.  

I'd imagine every full-length mirror in her castle has been shattered, painted over, or secreted beneath dust covered sheets. Like the mirrors in haunted house stories. Take one gilded mirror and put it in a ballroom in a shadowy mansion. For a two-day camera rental fee, you can make your own B-rated movie for which there will be a predictable audience. People are afraid of mirrors, even if they don't know it consciously. 

I watched a horror film as a kid. I think it played on Boris Karloff's Thriller series, about a ghost seducing passersby into her mirrored abyss. If they went back to the mirror for a second look, a third look, and stared too long at their reflection...yank! She got 'em. So I tied my sister to the tub and dared her turn off the lights and peer in the mirror until the egg timer ran out. If she fell in, I'd pull her out with the rope. We've never seen her since. I am only kidding. Maybe my fear-of-mirrors happened fifty years ago when childish superstitions reigned supreme. But lucky me today, cognitive therapy, positive affirmations, and tapping points reduce my anxiety when racing by mirrors in the dark of the night. "Even though I am scared medieval right now, I fully and unconditionally accept myself as good enough, nice enough, and gosh darn it, people like me." It's called Midnight Evacuation Tapping Therapy. I used to make the sign of the cross during nightly treks to the bathroom and called myself religious. Now I tap my way to the 2:00 a.m. toilet and call myself psychotherapous. I dare you to sort out the difference. Here. Take this rope and....

Before plowing into the reason behind this post, I'd best tie myself to the tub. Whenever I write about, or even think about sibling relationships, the abyss comes to mind as a metaphor. What could be more terrifying than staring in the abysmal mirror of family dysfunction and seeing your whole self, not just the prized bits you're proud to claim as your own? Trust me. Seeing your reflection in your sister's ass IS terrifying and if you don't know what I'm talking about, you're using a hand-held mirror and pretending it's full-length.

It has taken years to install a reliable rear-view mirror rather than limiting myself to a cameo appearance...in my own life, for heaven's sake. I now take a step back and observe myself from behind. My new tolerance for imperfection has required successive, resilience-building exercises in dimple-desensitization. Yes. I have an ass. Yes. It's best left covered. That does not mean it doesn't exist. Now my sister on the other hand, she insists we deny the fact that she has an ass which leads to all sorts of preposterous behavior pretending her ass don't dimple like the rest of us do's. As far as she's concerned, what's reflected in her handheld mirror is all there is to see. So I, the sweet cherub who selectively reflected what she wanted to see (or could bear to see), have put down the mirror. I put down the mirror. Did you get that last bit? I PUT DOWN THE MIRROR.

Which means in message board lingo: I Let Go. Detached. Rescinded control. Abdicated birth order rules. Bit the bullet. Hit the road. Refused to play the blame game, the name game, ride the shame train. Gave space. Grew up. Never blew up. Took the high road Jack, and only looked back at my own hind part in the holiday mess left behind and I'm not talking about Christmas ribbons and glitter. I'm talking about residual ego defenses lingering around family reunions like bad fruitcake nobody wants to claim has been stashed in their pocket for decades. We're smart siblings though. We can follow the smell and figure out who's still packing great grandma's moldy raisins.

Those of you who have followed my blog, know me as a stable, approachable, forgiving and validating type of woman. The kind who gets left for a bitch and wonders if she should have been less creative magnifying her husband's good traits, while forgiving his worst. You know, holding hand mirrors to magnify other people's positive virtues while fully expecting them to resolve their negative traits in private. I have deep respect for shame you see, and our human vulnerability to imperfection, to failure, to criticism, to flaws. Flaws like "feeling" jealous because parents spent more time with one sibling than they did with her. Flaws like "feeling" ignored and rejected the way she felt as the middle child in a large family. Flaws like "regression", not realizing her feelings and perceptions are out-of-sync with reality. She's defensive now. Who wouldn't be? Nobody likes being childish when their age expects them to be sage, smelling of frankincense and myrrh---not fruitcake. 

I've played a waiting game, choosing to believe sibling sanity was achievable; hoping we could coach the dysfunction out of each other's lives; believing the best service we could offer one another would be attending to each other's wounds without making them worse. I still believe this. My focus has been on seeing the good and building my siblings' confidence. As they often do for me. When people feel loved, supported, and accepted by at least one person in this tough ol' world, they're more tolerant of their own dimply backsides. I believe this and don't figure my behavior will be changing anytime soon because of that. I practice positive reinforcement. I believe in human connections, even difficult ones. Much of my maturation has resulted from relationships that challenged me, shattered my assumptions, and not-so-gently pointed out my (unrecognized) expectations. So I hope to Peter's Piper that there's never a point in my life when all my relationships make me happy, contented, and comfortable with myself. What's there to learn when all is well, all is swell? 

What I learned this holiday season and am still learning as I type this is: I am not my sister's mother, her therapist, nor her teacher. It is not my job to magnify her goodwill and ignore the harm she causes because she won't or can't turn her head around and see the ass the rest of us see. When childhood feelings reign supreme over reality, it's time to call in the experts. She won't do that. Her pride won't let her go to therapy. Fine. Don't go. Pretend it's everyone else that's irritable, not you. Seduce yourself with the lie that intentions matter more than behavior. Don't, for heavens sake, blame yourself that people are walking on eggshells, timidly suggesting you see a doctor, a therapist, the pharmacist. We're desperate.

The point here is that even though my sister can be heroic, people are not expendable in the service of her illusions. Not even this old broad and I'm willing to go great lengths supporting people's healing. I know people can get better. I have. I know we can improve the quality of our lives. I have. I know the transforming influence of supportive relationships. But this is a lesson learned from my marriage: you cannot help people if they will not help themselves. You just can't. It's hard to leave a marriage behind when a partner shines his backside in your face, insisting you call it Mister. When a sibling is struggling with narcissistic defenses, that's different. You try harder. At least I think so. If I could tie a rope around my sister's waist and tell her to "jump into the abyss, you'll be okay", I would. It's frightening reclaiming yourself from a shameful past. It's abusive to others not to.

This year, I spoke plain with my sister. I put down the gilded mirror and encouraged her to turn around because the view wasn't nearly as bad as she feared.

She called a doctor to schedule liposuction and a tummy tuck.

I am not kidding.

Hugs,

CZ

Christmas 2011: A Pictorial

I've been searching for an image that captured the essence of Christmas 2011. This one appealed to me, except we didn't go on vacation and I don't have a toddler, nor a husband, and the exhausted woman is w-a-y younger than myself. Last but not least, my toes point outward like a duck, not a pigeon. Which isn't an attractive sight for anyone other than ducks and you know what they say about ducks, right? You do not want to be attracting those folks. 

The Death of Socrates

Normal Rockwell paintings always come to mind when waxing philosophic about family and Christmas. Oh, you cannot believe how I can go on & on & on about the meaning and purpose, the values and principles of family. Then reality clashes with idealism and the image in my head is forced to adjust. SO, in the interests of personal integrity and sanity, Christmas 2011 would be better represented with this picture---->

Christmas 2011 was a dramatic Christmas as it generally is when my family-of-origin gets together. If you can bear thinking about this frightening fact, all my siblings are in their fifties (YIKES) and I am the only one who freely and without court order, sought professional therapy when John Bradshaw warned PBS audiences back in the eighties, that every family was dysfunctional. It was only a matter of degree. My family, lest you underestimate our competence, has a masters degree in dysfunction.

Ballerina at the Handrail by Botero

As the tension began to build and knuckles turned increasingly white, I danced around the kitchen making panettone, macaroni, potato rolls and pumpkin pie. Roasted turkey, glazed ham, prime rib and cheesy  gratin dauphinois. Pound cake, apple pie, poultry stuffing with spicy sausages and sage. Sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, pecan potato pie. My finale? Perfectly crafted homemade caramels wrapped in waxed paper. Then I set a crystal bowl of Antacids on the counter next to the Prozac and you can guess which bowl was empty after ten days in Hell's Kitchen. Not the Prozac. SO, in the interests of personal integrity and my sanity, Christmas 2011 would be best represented with this picture. Look left but do not post comments about stress and belly fat, nor links to crash diets or even healthy ones. Thanks in advance. Much appreciated. Some folks use drugs to get through holidays. Some folks drink, others exercise to escape family. Me? I like to share my coping methods in the spirit of community. "Sit here. Take some bread. Have some pie. Eat. Feast on your life." We won't feel better in the morning but at least we can blame acid reflux and grab the Rolaids for a quick fix. 

Cinderella

With family-of-origin issues, there are no quick fixes. Try talking candidly with your fifty-sumthing-old siblings and you'd rather they'd eat themselves into oblivion and sedate their 'siblingus rivalus' with sugar. We don't live in Philidelphia, we four girls with conflicting personalities and varying degrees of maturity. I am constantly shocked at my sisters' immaturity. Their regressive blindness. Their six-year-old jealousies and petty competitive superiority. I was so distraught by their childishness that at one point, I grabbed my bag of caramels and went home. Well, that was kinda hard since I was home already. SO,  in the interests of personal integrity and sanity , I imagined the kitchen to be a castle and denied entry to my big-footed sisters. Which worked fine for them of course, because it meant I served the meals and did the dishes and mopped the floors while they played games with their fellow retrogrades, polished their nails, and shined their jewels. I was hoping to fatten them up just prior to shoving them in the oven, knowing never the wiser would they be (nobody ever suspects the maid, do they?) and then my conscience wouldn't let me go through with it. Besides, 'cheesy sisters dauphinois' would require gigantic roasting pans the likes of which only exist in fairytales. 

There is nothing particularly interesting about my dysfunctional family. We're like most dysfunctional families---better than some, worse than others, comparatively speaking. I think what is interesting is Awareness. Consciousness. Introspection. Empathy. Imagination. Hope. Healing. Dancing between what was, what is, what could be. 

What's even more amazing than all of the above? 

Self-restraint. 

Hugs,
CZ

Invalidation: "You are NOT funny!"

Last night, a cyberfriend sent an email saying my “riotous sense of humor” was the highlight of my blog.

Yesterday, my nephew was rolling on the floor, arms crossed over tummy, grinning wide enough to swallow his ears, “You are soooooo funny, Tatie!”

A few days ago, I said something off-the-wall—bordering-on-bizarre to my daughter and she said, “Mom! You are so funny! I love you!” Last week, my son was ‘messaging’ back and forth with me as we often do since we’re each online a lot. “Yer so funny, Mom!” he said. “I <3 U!”

You know, it’s been a long time since I lived with a man who pronounced innumerable times, "You are NOT funny!" while giving me the patriarchal look of doom, forefinger poking my nose, his short legs coiled for escape. He didn't say, “You are NOT funny, I hate you!” But perhaps he didn't dare be so honest with me or himself.

The reason for this post is not to announce my new career as a stand-up comedienne because truth be known, I’m a dutiful and focused woman. Rather boring. Which may be why my random jokes evoke spontaneous gales of laughter. It’s the stark contrast. Why people laugh at my jokes is not the point of my post, either.

The reason I’m writing about my intermittently reinforcing humor is because I almost believed my x-husband more than myself when he insisted, “You are NOT funny!” He told me this so many times that I doubted my own perceptions. Someone would say to me, “You are hilarious!” and I’d reply, “No, I’m not.” Which is really funny when you think about it: me invalidating someone else’s reality because the God of Humor had invalidated mine.

Sometimes, when I was snarkily funny my x-husbaNd would say, “You are NOT funny! You THINK you are funny, but you’re NOT!” And if he were particularly sensitive that day, he’d slowly whisper between clenched teeth, “You are NOT funny and you’d better wipe that smirk off your face or I”ll do it for you!”

Those are the moments I cherish…when two hearts come together as one.

“NOBODY thinks you are funny but yourself,” he’d say. “You THINK you are funny but you know what? YOU ARE NOT FUNNY!”

After a particularly light-hearted dinner party when guests were hugging good-bye, he’d say, “People weren’t laughing at your jokes. They were laughing at YOU! You know why?” (He has my attention now) “Because you are NOT funny! You THINK you're funny but you’re NOT!”

There’s enough evidence to make a case for GASLIGHTING if he were intentionally manipulating reality and consciously denying my experience. Some people think narcissists are completely aware of their invalidating ways. I’m not convinced this is true for the majority of narcissists. I believe my X was reacting to feeling criticized. Which I was doing, o yea---albeit in a “funny” way, which works pretty well with normal people having an ‘off’ day. Not so well with narcissists. Joke with angry narcissists at your own risk. 

Or he may have felt slighted because I didn't know about Rule Number One for dinner parties: Don’t get more laughs than the narcissist. Because he will, if he is a narcissist, even the ‘score’ by denying you the pleasure of feeling good about yourself. When your confidence hits the floor, his rises.

It just struck me yesterday that after having spent most of my life being told I was not what I was, and that I was what I was not, I’m finally accepting my peculiar sense of humor as an essential part of my charm. Love me or leave me, I’ll be digging through the shitpile looking for knock-knock jokes which lift my spirits more than ponies ever could.

When my kids share stories about their childhood, they focus on the funny things that happened of which there were more than enough to lighten the dark lord’s intensity. They reminisce about the times my jokes cleared the smoke, fire and brimstone choking the life out of our family. I figure my son and daughter will be telling lots of stories over the holidays because now my nephew can join in their fun.

Maybe my jokes were funny because of our situation back then? It was peculiar to be sure: the tense air shattered by a freckle-faced mother’s wicked sense of humor. What I do know is that my kids love me today just like they did when they were six and I painted their faces with decorator icing they refused to wash off. And then they got a skin rash bad enough to call the doctor. 

“YOU SEE? Your mother is NOT funny!” their father said. “She thinks she’s funny, but she’s NOT!”

Don’t let the narcissist erode your sense of self. Trust your own judgments. Believe your own experience. Take it from me: the family that laughs together, stays together. We three, my daughter, my son, and I, plus my nephew and sister and other sister and her kids and their spouses and her husband and my parents will all be seated around the Christmas table, telling stories and validating the fact that we are just as funny as we think we are. 

Hugs all,

CZ

Reference blog: Stop Walking on Eggshells by Randi Kreger  

Kreger writes: "It's hard to tell the difference between a conscious lie and a conscious one. A man says, "It is like we both walk into the same movie theater. I thought that we entered into see the same movie. We sit together. We enter and leave at the same time. But afterwards, I learned that what she saw was entirely different from me, even though we sat and watched the same movie. Her version is no where even close to mine." ~Why some narcissists and borderlines can't seem to tell the truth

Feel like Spilling your Guts to the Narcissist?

Are you reading self-help books telling you to spill your guts and Save Your Relationship? If so: the Royal Narcissist does a happy dance because YOU'RE finally admitting you're a mess! 

<-----------Please note: King Baby's royal finger is pointing at YOU! 

Keep your self-examination PRIVATE. Do not tell your spouse. Do not send him or her a letter of apology, listing your many flaws and faults. Many of us make that mistake before learning about pathological narcissism. There is a huge distinction between normal narcissism and pathological and one of the differences is introspection. When people who naturally introspect realize they have contributed to problems in the relationship, they take responsibility for themselves and alter their behavior. 

In a normal relationship, both people recognize their 'shadow side': the things we do unconsciously that disturb us and confuse a partner. We see it and we change it and we grow as a result. We assume our relationship with a narcissist works the same way--that once we admit we were selfish or self-centered, they will do likewise. 

Have you noticed how healing an argument can be when both people take a hard look at themselves, admit their flaws, and apologize? When people apologize, I've noticed that other people are quick to forgive because they also realize that despite their best efforts to love someone, they ALSO make mistakes. With the narcissist however, admitting your flaws LETS THEM OFF THE HOOK. What happens afterwards is that during another altercation, the narcissist USES every intimacy you revealed about yourself to justify WHY they did what they did. You feel like a failure and the narcissist is off the hook....AGAIN. As long as we admit to having contributed to 'the problem', the narcissist will AVOID (deny) his or her responsibility! 

This is counter-intuitive for people who are NOT narcissists. So we apologize again, hoping the narcissist will mirror our behavior by doing likewise and they DO NOT. In fact, they will build on your humble admission of fault as a character trait. For example: everyone does things that are 'selfish' (insert whatever 'trait' you want here). You say, "I am so sorry for only thinking of myself!" and you expect this admission to trigger a similar response from your partner. Instead, each time you are taking responsibility for your behavior, the narcissist accuses you of being selfish. He or she doesn't say, "I feel neglected when you do such-and-such". No. Why not? Because "I feel neglected" is self-revelatory. Instead, the narcissist says, "You are a Selfish person. Even YOU admit it."

Most people who have written about their break-up with a narcissist, have learned to introspect and take responsibility for their part in the fiasco. Most people also learn over time, that the narcissist will use any excuse, ANY EXCUSE AT ALL, to avoid taking responsibility. Your short list of defects, mistakes, flaws, and weaknesses become the reason WHY the narcissist acted the way they did.

It may appear to others that we're pointing accusatory fingers at narcissists without examining ourselves. This is simply NOT true. We have learned, even if we aren't conscious of it, that our admission of personal weakness will be used against us.

In a normal relationship, people are LOATH to bring up any intimacy someone has revealed about themselves. They respect the person's willingness to be honest about their problems. They empathize with how it feels when your weaknesses are used like weapons of humiliation. There's an invisible line that we do not cross, even if we are angry and defensive. We do not use someone's painful revelations against them.

Most people have been taking responsibility throughout the relationship, catching themselves in the act and apologizing. They didn't realize the narcissist was gathering ammunition instead of examining him or herself. The narcissist may cry or weep or appear to be suffering when you apologize but sad to say, it's not real. You'll know that the next time you've done something really swell and the narcissist says, "You may have excelled at that project, sweetie, but that's because you are so incredibly SELFISH. Even YOU said so!"

During my divorce, I read a recommended book titled "Spiritual Divorce" and dutifully listed my mistakes, flaws, ignroance, blah-blah-blah and tried to have a 'closure' conversation with my spouse. I did not know about narcissism at the time. Do Not Do This if you believe your partner is narcissistic. It releases them from whatever introspection they are capable of and increases your VULNERABILITY. It's humiliating when your tender admissions, offered in 'good faith', used against you. Or shared with the narcissist's new rescuer.

You must be cautious when sorting through self-help books that are NOT recommended for pathological relationships. YOU, the non-N, may end up being humiliated, degraded, and your most spiritual aspects of yourself brutalized. If you want (or feel a need) to self-deprecate, please post to a support group that allows you to express your feelings whatever they may be. For some reason, most people WANT to admit the things they did 'wrong'. We need to purge and confess to being flawed. That's the good and the bad about having a conscience.

Remember: Pointing fingers at narcissists is difficult for Non-Ns. We want to be fair. We want to be honest. For every finger pointed at the N, we have three pointed back towards ourselves. So in order to feel good about ourselves, we can admit to having flaws, shadows and defects, too. But we CANNOT, SHOULD NOT, DO NOT need to admit this to the narcissist. It's not good for YOU and it's definitely NOT good for the narcissist.

When narcissists feel threatened, they cannot stop themselves from using whatever ammunition they have to defend themselves. Some narcissists regret their behavior afterwards but not nearly as much as we regret having trusted them. 

Hugs,
CZ