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Hmmmm….

…so you might wonder, after reading yesterday’s post, whether or not I’m still affected by all the shit that went down with the whole five-minute (er, five-week) engagement last year, and more specifically, by the dude to whom I was oh-so-briefly engaged. I suppose, if I’m being truthful, that I am still affected by that situation in some ways, but not necessarily in the ways one might think.

I think anytime something of this sort happens to a person, they’re affected by it. It’s a game-changer, for sure. My personal view is that we’re never the same after screwy things happen to us — the key to overcoming them is learning to love who you become as a result. Ruin is a gift, and all that, to borrow (yet again) from Eat Pray Love. The truth is, when I think about what happened with my ex, I realize that (as I wrote yesterday) I am stronger, wiser, and about a million times happier now than I ever was before.

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When we long for life without difficulties, remind us that oaks grow strong in contrary winds and diamonds are made under pressure.  –Peter Marshall

Dear Shit-for-Brains Ex-Fiance Who Shall Remain Nameless,

On April 11, 2010, on a rainy, foggy, miserable San Francisco day, we went on a tour of Alcatraz with your parents. After we wrapped up the audio tour portion of our visit, you convinced me to walk with you out of the dank, chilly network of buildings that made up the old prison, and into the even chillier, nastier rain outside, on the pretext that you needed to find a restroom. Since I’d have basically followed you anywhere at that point, I tagged along.

We wandered up some steps, bypassing at least one working restroom, and out to a high point that on a clear day would have afforded us a truly gorgeous view across the bay to the city of San Francisco. I remember catching a glimpse of the TransAmerica building through the fog and mist. You handed me the umbrella, and the wind nearly took it out of my hands. I was freezing and extremely damp, and when you dropped to one knee on the cold, wet cobblestones and reached into your pocket, I remember begging you to stand up, to not insist on such formality given the adverse weather conditions.

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Truth to power

. . .You’re like a dog at the dump, baby- you’re just lickin’ at an empty tin can, trying to get more nutrition out of it. And if you’re not careful, that can’s gonna get stuck on your snout forever and make your life miserable. So drop it.

-Richard from Texas, in Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love

I’ve shared a bit before about how much I loved this book when I first read it last summer. There was much about it that resonated with me, because when Gilbert had the experiences that led her to write the book, she was the same age I was, and she and I had both gone through divorces followed by lightning-quick forays into less-than-healthy post-divorce relationships. (In my case, I even got engaged to the dude….still shakin’ my head about that one, kids.)

Anyway….nearly a year after I read it the first time, I find it still resonates as strongly as ever. As I take stock of my life and its current cast of characters, as well as the hobbies, habits, obligations, routines, and other items that fill in the background of my day-to-day, I’m feeling a stronger and stronger urge building within me to make some very concrete and very significant changes. Some of them may not be easy — in fact, I’d be willing to bet that some of them will probably require a fair amount of gumption, courage, and inner strength. But I will get nowhere if I don’t fix what’s broken or excise what is unfixable. It’s so easy to become complacent, so easy to wish for circumstances to change without truly taking control of a given situation. As Richard from Texas also says, “You gotta stop wearing your wishbone where your backbone oughta be.”

It’s time.

I’ll close with this thought, also from Eat Pray Love:

Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark. If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it would not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be… a prudent insurance policy.

Mirror, mirror

As I wind down my discussion of NPD, I wanted to share a few final thoughts….

First off, I have found that part of the recovery process for anyone who has experienced this (and it is a process) necessitates shifting your focus away from all the things the narcissistic parent did to traumatize/damage you and instead focusing on understanding how you were affected by their behavior and growing from that. It sure doesn’t do me a lick of good to carry around a bunch of old resentments or re-hash all the crazy stunts my father has pulled over the years. Rather, what has helped me the most is the work I have done to a) strengthen myself, b) understand my weaknesses, and c) move toward greater self-acceptance while at the same time concentrating on self-improvement and growth.

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Love is a battlefield

Yesterday, I devoted many words to Narcissistic Personality Disorder, or NPD. My dad, although never formally diagnosed, shows enough of the symptoms that I think it’s safe to say he’s got it and has had it for most of his adult life. I wrote a lot yesterday about what it was like to grow up with a parent who had NPD, and based on my own experience as well as my research into the subject, there’s no question in my mind that the damage can be pervasive. I found a quote from a psychologist (Alan Rappoport, from an article published in 2005) that I thought sums all of that up really well:

These traits will lead overly narcissistic parents to be very intrusive in some ways, and entirely neglectful in others. The children are punished if they do not respond adequately to the parents’ needs. This punishment may take a variety of forms, including physical abuse, angry outbursts, blame, attempts to instill guilt, emotional neglect, and criticism. Whatever form it takes, the purpose of the punishment is to enforce compliance with the parents’ narcissistic needs.

Rappoport really hits the nail on the head when he says that narcissistic parents can “be very intrusive in some ways and entirely neglectful in others.” From my own experience, even now that I’m an adult, my father sticks his nose into areas of my life that I would rather he stay out of, and the areas of my life that I might actually enjoy sharing with him, he takes no interest in. For a long time, this bothered me (and the inappropriate questions and general snoopiness do still annoy me to an extent) but the first rule of surviving a narcissistic parent is to let go of any hope that the parent will change, to stop wishing for revenge (karmic or not), and to begin to accept the idea that while you cannot change or control your parent, you can control two very important factors:

  1. How often you are exposed to your narcissistic parent.
  2. How you react to your parent’s inappropriate and/or abusive behavior.

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Cracking the mirror

Fathers, be good to your daughters/Daughters will love like you do…
-John Mayer

One week ago, I returned home from a trip to the town where I grew up, Bellevue, Washington. I had not been out to visit in nearly three years, although my mother and father had made a couple of trips to visit me in my current home base of Charleston, SC in the interim.

Part of the impetus for this trip was that I needed to use the value of a ticket I’d booked last year for a visit to my now ex-fiance in California — I of course canceled that trip after we split up. The deadline to use the ticket was approaching quickly, though (you get one year from the original date of purchase), so I decided to head back to my old stomping grounds, spend some time with my parents, and also make a brief trip down to Eugene, Oregon to visit my brother, sister-in-law, and their two kids, including the one-year-old niece I hadn’t yet had an opportunity to meet. My boyfriend came along for the first part of the trip, too, so that he could see something of the Seattle area for the first time.

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So what does it mean?

Post note: I started writing this post well over a month ago, and then life intervened and I’m just now getting around to finishing it. Look for more blogular action from my corner of the internet soon. :)

I’m back on the marital soapbox, as it were. With today’s little post, I plan to take a step beyond the wedding ritual and start rooting around in the guts of that storied institution known as marriage.

What is marriage? What does it mean to be married? Is marriage a good thing? Do we even know the answers to any of these questions? Should we care? I certainly won’t claim to have all the answers but I certainly have an opinion or two, as you regular readers know.

So here’s my personal working definition of marriage: it’s a legal agreement entered into (typically) by two people of the opposite sex that affords them certain rights and privileges. (The debate over same-sex marriage, which I also have plenty of opinions about, deserves its own post so I won’t go into that — much — here.)

Anyway, that’s a simple enough definition, right? Take away all the emotional, cultural, religious, and other baggage, and that’s really all a marriage is — it’s a legal arrangement. But I’d posit that the cultural and societal baggage associated with marriage is what has the potential to make it, well…. kinda sucky.

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