I remember what I felt when I declared my first real boundaries with the NFOO; relief. I'd lived my life up to that point at their beck and call, conditioned to react to their actions, desires and wants and ever the doormat. When I finally said 'enough,' it was the first time that I was able to take a significant action based on what I knew was right, regardless of their approval.
It was hard to draw that line, especially because it had been made clear to me for a very long time that my two choices were: 1. Go along with us to get along or 2. You'll be cast out. But deep in the core of my soul I knew that it was right. Finally listening to that internal voice of conscience - not to mention DH's external voice encouraging me to do the right thing - was huge, and I felt very proud of my decision to limit contact and create safety within boundaries for my family and myself.
I've always been accommodating and kind. My biggest failing in dealing with the NFOO in those early days was my natural assumption that other people are also accommodating and kind, at least to some degree. It's funny when I look back now, how naive I was about how monumental the change I was making would be within the broken family system that the Nparents created and NSis and GCYB wholeheartedly supported. To say that their reaction to my limiting access to my self and the DDs was violent would be an understatement. I was proud to have finally stood up for us, and their reaction to that was to lose their damned minds.
As they attacked and attacked and attacked me, my self-pride was replaced by ever-growing fear. Every time my phone rang it nearly sent me through the roof; my heart beat sped up, I began to hyperventilate, I stumbled in my speech, I became confused. It occurs to me now, though it didn't then, to wonder in response to what type of people this physical reaction would be normal?
A burglar in the house. A drunk driver on the road. A madman with a knife. A rapist in the darkened alley. Yeah, all those. And my mother, father, sister, brother and the minions. Wow, it seems so clear in retrospect that I simply never should have had a relationship with any of these terror-inducing people. But, at the time, it was what I knew.
So, even though I was terrified and ashamed and hurt and wounded, I was fortunate to have a couple of trusted advisers in my life who actually DID have my best interests at heart. DH would say things like; you're doing the right thing, I'm right here with you, their actions are only proof of why we have to take these actions. My therapist would say, "Vanci, the boundaries that you have set are NOT unreasonable, that they're choosing to violate them is proof of their dysfunction."
Somehow, no matter how confused I would become in the moment of full-on Narc Attacks, I was able to grasp the love, kindness and wisdom of the good people in my life and just hold on to those clear and reasonable boundaries I'd set. And as the NFOO continued to step all over my limits, I began to make them clearer and tighter, until we reached the point of No Contact.
Even then, for a time, when the phone rang - even though I knew I wouldn't be answering it - I had a visceral reaction; sweaty, panicky, jumpy, scared. When I spotted someone that I'd known from the 'old days' in a store or at a community event, I'd feel a strong urge to hide, and sometimes I did hide, or at least dial a friend on my cell phone to avoid conversation with anyone who wanted to tell me how awful they thought I'd been to my family.
It's taken a while, but I've started to realize that time has worked some miracles for me in the area of healing. Doing the work is crucial, of course, taking initiative to be the best Vanci I can be and to never allow destructive forces like the NFOO to rule my life again is what has, metaphorically, spiritually, emotionally and physically, 'saved' me. But, time is what I've found was necessary to remove those conditioned fear reactions.
When Uncle Minion called in April, it took me by surprise, sure. It didn't wreck me, though. When NM called the other day, I had a lesser fear reaction than I do when one of the DDs schools calls (my first thought is always that my daughter's been hurt, and I think that's a normal fear that all parents have.) NM''s call and voicemail didn't even register on the Richter Scale, you know?
Today, I was at the supermarket with my youngest DD, picking up some things to make Christmas candy with and thoroughly enjoying ourselves, when an old family friend spotted me. She had her sweet three month old granddaughter with her, so we ooh'd and aah'd over the kiddo as well as how grown up my youngest now is, and eventually the lady asked how my parents were.
Nothing happened to me, physically, and I gave the best honest answer I can, "I don't really know, we haven't actually talked in about four years." Of course, this registered on the woman's face; whether it was shock or joy at scandalous information, I don't know and I don't care. It doesn't matter. If she'd pressed the matter, I'd have simply told her that as she is or was a friend of the Nparents, she should contact them if she'd like more information. She didn't ask, I didn't feel the need to tell. I had chocolate chips and candy canes to buy.
I started out proud and relieved. I spent a lot of time in fear and terror. And now? They can't touch me, and not only can they not hurt me, but every time I have an interaction, every time I overcome another hurdle, I am a better and stronger person for it. Today I showed my thirteen year old daughter how to handle an uncomfortable situation with dignity and honesty.
Time is a beautiful thing.
If you're embroiled in the first or middle part of the healing bell curve, stay strong and stay true; it WILL get better, eventually. I'm so glad I was patient - there's peace at the end of the trajectory.
Love,
Vanci
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
It's A Bushwhack!
Tra la la, dum dee dum... I went about my day today. It was crazy busy at work this morning with all sorts of, um, interesting goings on. By interesting I mean, well, weird. Full-moon-in-two-days-weird. Nothing was wrong, but I was definitely up to my eyeballs in oddities that I know how to tackle but am presented with infrequently. I was working up a metaphorical sweat (as my office has a steady year round temperature of about, oh, 61 degrees, there's never any actual sweat,) trying to accomplish a whole bunch of different things at once.
So, of course, my cell phone rang.
And, of course, the number display showed the phone number of the Crazymaker's Clan Compound.
Bugger.
I turned off the ringer - just as I would do with any other non-emergency call and I kept about my business. I had a definite 'oh shite' moment, but a moment is truly and wholly all it was. Like this:
1
2
3
4
5
Done.
I was under a deadline for a particular task, so I got back to it and I didn't stop even when my phone beeped to alert me to a voicemail. Eventually, a couple of hours later, I informed my colleagues that I was going to take a break by saying, "Well, my crazy family called during all that, so I'm going to go take a break and check my voicemail, put my hair up because it's driving me crazy and have a snack."
Of these three tasks, I can honestly say that the slice of homemade banana bread I was looking forward to was my top priority. Really, shouldn't homemade banana bread always be a top priority? Ten seconds in the microwave, a dab of butter... mmmmm. Bliss.
At any rate, the VM was from NM.
"Hi Vanci. It's mom. I needed to tell you something, it's kind of important, so I'd really appreciate it if you'd call me back at your convenience."
My reaction? I laughed my damn ass off. I almost shot banana bread out of my nose. I mean, really. Really? Really, really? Who does that? What are we, ten years old? "Psst, I have something important to tell you, but not right now." Lord.
I was processing, after I stopped guffawing in the break room, to see how I felt about this cryptic message when my agile brain made a sudden leap that I didn't expect. I immediately thought of the movie Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? There's a scene about two-thirds through the movie where two of the protagonists, Everett and Delmar, are hiding from the law in a movie theater in the middle of the day. The movie stops, a whistle blows and an entire chain gang of convicts is marched into the theater in shackles where they proceed to take up many rows just a few back from Everett and Delmar in the otherwise empty theater.
Pete, the third main character who has been recently separated from the other two, happens to be in this chain gang. Obviously, he was recaptured by the law - as opposed to being turned into a toad as Delmar had assumed. Pete sees his buddies and leans forward to whisper as only John Turturro could:
"Do NOT! Seek! The treasure!!!!"
This, my friends, was the voice of sanity for me today. Fittingly, it turns out that there really is no'treasure' in the movie, or at least not the type of treasure the boys really want, just as there would be none at the other end of any effort or journey I would make to return that phone call.
I can't remember if it's in the theater or later in the movie - when the boys show up at the 'treasure' location and find an ambush waiting for them, that one of the characters exclaims, "It's a bushwhack!" But I knew right away that this is exactly that.
It's a bushwhack, an ambush, a sneak attack. That voicemail was crafted to be nothing more than a big, shiny, fat, barbed and lethal hook. I know this because I know the Narcs very, very well. But even if I didn't, look at the logic: if it was truly important information that I needed to know, why not just say it? Why the drama? The mystery? The self-importance of 'you will call me or I will not tell you my secret?'
And do you know what the next step in my process was? I don't care. Whatever 'sort of important' information NM feels obliged to share with me, I simply do not care. There is nothing, absolutely NOTHING, that I want from anyone in the NFOO, that I'm willing to give to anyone in the NFOO. Nothing they can say or do in any way affects or effects my life.
The only news, honestly, that I could receive that would change my day would be that one of them has passed away. And, to be truly honest, even if it sounds ugly, I am fairly certain that the effect this news would have would be relief.
Short of that, if NM has discovered some new disease on the internet that she can self-diagnose with, I don't care. If a family pet died, I don't care. If there's a recently discovered hereditary predisposition to random spontaneous combustion, I don't care. If GCYB was abducted by aliens, I don't care. If a long lost relative that I wasn't aware of just left me a million dollars in his will, I don't care.
So, do not seek the treasure. Why? Cause that way lies madness, dissatisfaction, harm, foul play, evil people and ultimately, nothing but a worm on a shiny hook. The good guys just don't lay in wait in the bushes prepared to, well, whack their victim.
I won't be returning this or any calls. There's no treasure there anyway.
Love,
Vanci
So, of course, my cell phone rang.
And, of course, the number display showed the phone number of the Crazymaker's Clan Compound.
Bugger.
I turned off the ringer - just as I would do with any other non-emergency call and I kept about my business. I had a definite 'oh shite' moment, but a moment is truly and wholly all it was. Like this:
1
2
3
4
5
Done.
I was under a deadline for a particular task, so I got back to it and I didn't stop even when my phone beeped to alert me to a voicemail. Eventually, a couple of hours later, I informed my colleagues that I was going to take a break by saying, "Well, my crazy family called during all that, so I'm going to go take a break and check my voicemail, put my hair up because it's driving me crazy and have a snack."
Of these three tasks, I can honestly say that the slice of homemade banana bread I was looking forward to was my top priority. Really, shouldn't homemade banana bread always be a top priority? Ten seconds in the microwave, a dab of butter... mmmmm. Bliss.
At any rate, the VM was from NM.
"Hi Vanci. It's mom. I needed to tell you something, it's kind of important, so I'd really appreciate it if you'd call me back at your convenience."
My reaction? I laughed my damn ass off. I almost shot banana bread out of my nose. I mean, really. Really? Really, really? Who does that? What are we, ten years old? "Psst, I have something important to tell you, but not right now." Lord.
I was processing, after I stopped guffawing in the break room, to see how I felt about this cryptic message when my agile brain made a sudden leap that I didn't expect. I immediately thought of the movie Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? There's a scene about two-thirds through the movie where two of the protagonists, Everett and Delmar, are hiding from the law in a movie theater in the middle of the day. The movie stops, a whistle blows and an entire chain gang of convicts is marched into the theater in shackles where they proceed to take up many rows just a few back from Everett and Delmar in the otherwise empty theater.
Pete, the third main character who has been recently separated from the other two, happens to be in this chain gang. Obviously, he was recaptured by the law - as opposed to being turned into a toad as Delmar had assumed. Pete sees his buddies and leans forward to whisper as only John Turturro could:
"Do NOT! Seek! The treasure!!!!"
This, my friends, was the voice of sanity for me today. Fittingly, it turns out that there really is no'treasure' in the movie, or at least not the type of treasure the boys really want, just as there would be none at the other end of any effort or journey I would make to return that phone call.
I can't remember if it's in the theater or later in the movie - when the boys show up at the 'treasure' location and find an ambush waiting for them, that one of the characters exclaims, "It's a bushwhack!" But I knew right away that this is exactly that.
It's a bushwhack, an ambush, a sneak attack. That voicemail was crafted to be nothing more than a big, shiny, fat, barbed and lethal hook. I know this because I know the Narcs very, very well. But even if I didn't, look at the logic: if it was truly important information that I needed to know, why not just say it? Why the drama? The mystery? The self-importance of 'you will call me or I will not tell you my secret?'
And do you know what the next step in my process was? I don't care. Whatever 'sort of important' information NM feels obliged to share with me, I simply do not care. There is nothing, absolutely NOTHING, that I want from anyone in the NFOO, that I'm willing to give to anyone in the NFOO. Nothing they can say or do in any way affects or effects my life.
The only news, honestly, that I could receive that would change my day would be that one of them has passed away. And, to be truly honest, even if it sounds ugly, I am fairly certain that the effect this news would have would be relief.
Short of that, if NM has discovered some new disease on the internet that she can self-diagnose with, I don't care. If a family pet died, I don't care. If there's a recently discovered hereditary predisposition to random spontaneous combustion, I don't care. If GCYB was abducted by aliens, I don't care. If a long lost relative that I wasn't aware of just left me a million dollars in his will, I don't care.
So, do not seek the treasure. Why? Cause that way lies madness, dissatisfaction, harm, foul play, evil people and ultimately, nothing but a worm on a shiny hook. The good guys just don't lay in wait in the bushes prepared to, well, whack their victim.
I won't be returning this or any calls. There's no treasure there anyway.
Love,
Vanci
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
To The Pain
I wrote awhile ago about my re-connection with my hairdresser, and I was lucky enough to have her fit me in a few days ago for my much anticipated - four plus years in the making - hair appointment. I'm still working out the kinks in the haircut (four years of a ponytail every day seems to have sapped my limited hair styling skills completely,) but we had a great conversation about the NFOO while she snipped about 14 inches off my locks.
Some of the tactics and painful strategies the NFOO subjected her to were exactly the same kinds of abuse they heaped on me, some were only eerily similar. I was struck, though, by how little they seem to learn; I mean really, how'd that work out for you the last time you tried it? I have a solid, non-judgmental and confident way about me these days, though, and my ability to listen to and validate Mimi's feelings about the way that she was treated seemed to be a relief to her.
I found myself saying, over and over again, "Mimi, trust me when I tell you that it's NOT you." The Narcs are so ever-loving GOOD at making all wrongs in a relationship about the other person while taking credit for all the rights. The deceptions, triangulation, gaslighting, steam-rolling and ganging up are, well, crazy-making. Poor Mimi, who grew up in a fairly stable home and has a fairly sunny outlook on life was just ill-prepared for the full scale Nuclear Narc Attack she was subjected to.
It's dizzying, you know? The find ways to make their victim somehow dependent on them, then they take advantage of that in order to suck up their narc supply. When the victim somehow, some way, finds the guts to fight back, they're just so fucking adept at making the victim believe that they're the ones in the wrong. Crazy. Making.
Narcs (and their minions) fight DIRTY. In Mimi's case, as in mine, they found the weak point - our daughters - and took advantage of the vulnerability of those young girls' hearts. Playing a child against a parent for any reason is high on my list of unforgivable crimes, for any reason. And that is, of course, just what the Narcs did to me and just what they did to Mimi. Sigh.
Fortunately, call it grace or luck or the hand of the universe, those three girls don't have to live as pawns to the Narcs anymore, and neither do Mimi or I. There's something to be said for time and distance as they relate to healing, and I was able to share my experience with Mimi; the longer I stay away from them, the healthier I am. In No Contact, I've had lots of ups and downs, but the one constant is this: my life just keeps getting better without them in it.
As I listened to her and recounted some of the dirty, stinking, rotten, awful things they've done to me and my family, I kept thinking of a line from the movie, The Princess Bride.
Toward the end of the movie, the incapacitated hero, Westley, must face the evil Prince Humperdinck with only his wits as weapons as his limbs and muscles have not yet recovered from being (true story) 'mostly dead.' When the Prince suggests that the two men should face off in a duel 'to the death,' Westley, knowing that he cannot physically best his enemy, launches into a rant about how they will instead battle 'to the pain.'
He explains further that 'to the pain' means that the Prince will be disfigured, maimed, tortured and left in physical and emotional agony; that Westley will not slice off the Prince's ears so that the horrifically beaten and physically disgusting Prince will be able to hear the screams of the children who will be terrified by the post-duel sight of him. Westley's the hero and well intentioned, not to mention a fictional character, so he's allowed this type of mind play. But it's occurred to me that this is how the Narc's fight: to the pain.
Long after I had made my boundaries clear with them and held them fast repeatedly, they tried to find a loophole. If I said "don't call," they'd write a letter. If I said,"don't write me letters," they sent emails. If I said "don't email," they sent texts. And so on.
The most disturbing thing, though, then as well as in retrospect, was the way that they reacted once they'd exhausted all possible routes around my boundaries and it became clear that they wouldn't be getting what they wanted from me. They simply began instead to attempt to battle 'to the pain.'
They told lies about me to people whom they knew I would eventually hear from. They told lies about themselves to anyone who would listen, making me look like the bad guy. They re-wrote history blatantly, at one point claiming that NM's prescription pill addiction (the catalyst of my final stand,) was MY fault. The used other people's children (including Mimi's) as spies and message bearers who were instructed to accost my DD's at school. They Facebook stalked. They enlisted distant family members as minions and at one point NSis approached my (very kind, very country and very much not interested in talking about any feelings, ever) father in law in the drugstore to bad-mouth me and send a message of guilt.
The ONLY thing they didn't do was to make an honest effort to take me up on my offer to have a straight-forward conversation in the presence of neutral third parties. Ironically, the only thing that could have been an actual means to healing or some sort of reconciliation was the only thing that simply wouldn't 'stoop' to. The two times NM did show up, she came with a loaded agenda of the same crap, different day.
In every way they could think, they attacked and attacked by proxy and attacked from a distance and attacked my friendships and relationships in the community. I watched their increasingly transparent attempt so discredit and harm me in wonder at the depths to which they seemed eager to sink and simply used it as a learning tool; after all, anybody willing to jump on that crazy train isn't really someone I want or need in my life. But, wow, they sure put a lot of energy into trying to destroy me. And when they realized they couldn't do that, they redoubled their efforts in their vain attempts to just wound me.
Here I am now, largely healthy and whole and listening to Mimi the other day reminded me of just how much the whole shitty debacle of 2006 and on into 2007 hurt. It was fresh and new and every day I woke up with the wind whistling through me. I simply couldn't believe that anyone, especially people that I'd been convinced my whole life LOVED me, could fight so dirty.
I see it clearly now, and it doesn't really hurt me so much as I find it baffling. Their epic battle 'to the pain' accomplished one thing for which I am grateful; I am absolutely convinced to the core of my being that those ugly creatures I've seen peeking out of their festering souls are the true forms of the people I grew up with.
They've lost the ability to cause me pain anymore, but they have convinced me beyond certainty that there will never be room for them in any part of my fairy tale.
I'm grateful for that knowledge just as I am grateful for the clarity that I can help to provide to people like Mimi.
And to you, fellow ACoN at this holiday season I offer the same gift: it's not you.
Love,
Vanci
Some of the tactics and painful strategies the NFOO subjected her to were exactly the same kinds of abuse they heaped on me, some were only eerily similar. I was struck, though, by how little they seem to learn; I mean really, how'd that work out for you the last time you tried it? I have a solid, non-judgmental and confident way about me these days, though, and my ability to listen to and validate Mimi's feelings about the way that she was treated seemed to be a relief to her.
I found myself saying, over and over again, "Mimi, trust me when I tell you that it's NOT you." The Narcs are so ever-loving GOOD at making all wrongs in a relationship about the other person while taking credit for all the rights. The deceptions, triangulation, gaslighting, steam-rolling and ganging up are, well, crazy-making. Poor Mimi, who grew up in a fairly stable home and has a fairly sunny outlook on life was just ill-prepared for the full scale Nuclear Narc Attack she was subjected to.
It's dizzying, you know? The find ways to make their victim somehow dependent on them, then they take advantage of that in order to suck up their narc supply. When the victim somehow, some way, finds the guts to fight back, they're just so fucking adept at making the victim believe that they're the ones in the wrong. Crazy. Making.
Narcs (and their minions) fight DIRTY. In Mimi's case, as in mine, they found the weak point - our daughters - and took advantage of the vulnerability of those young girls' hearts. Playing a child against a parent for any reason is high on my list of unforgivable crimes, for any reason. And that is, of course, just what the Narcs did to me and just what they did to Mimi. Sigh.
Fortunately, call it grace or luck or the hand of the universe, those three girls don't have to live as pawns to the Narcs anymore, and neither do Mimi or I. There's something to be said for time and distance as they relate to healing, and I was able to share my experience with Mimi; the longer I stay away from them, the healthier I am. In No Contact, I've had lots of ups and downs, but the one constant is this: my life just keeps getting better without them in it.
As I listened to her and recounted some of the dirty, stinking, rotten, awful things they've done to me and my family, I kept thinking of a line from the movie, The Princess Bride.
Toward the end of the movie, the incapacitated hero, Westley, must face the evil Prince Humperdinck with only his wits as weapons as his limbs and muscles have not yet recovered from being (true story) 'mostly dead.' When the Prince suggests that the two men should face off in a duel 'to the death,' Westley, knowing that he cannot physically best his enemy, launches into a rant about how they will instead battle 'to the pain.'
He explains further that 'to the pain' means that the Prince will be disfigured, maimed, tortured and left in physical and emotional agony; that Westley will not slice off the Prince's ears so that the horrifically beaten and physically disgusting Prince will be able to hear the screams of the children who will be terrified by the post-duel sight of him. Westley's the hero and well intentioned, not to mention a fictional character, so he's allowed this type of mind play. But it's occurred to me that this is how the Narc's fight: to the pain.
Long after I had made my boundaries clear with them and held them fast repeatedly, they tried to find a loophole. If I said "don't call," they'd write a letter. If I said,"don't write me letters," they sent emails. If I said "don't email," they sent texts. And so on.
The most disturbing thing, though, then as well as in retrospect, was the way that they reacted once they'd exhausted all possible routes around my boundaries and it became clear that they wouldn't be getting what they wanted from me. They simply began instead to attempt to battle 'to the pain.'
They told lies about me to people whom they knew I would eventually hear from. They told lies about themselves to anyone who would listen, making me look like the bad guy. They re-wrote history blatantly, at one point claiming that NM's prescription pill addiction (the catalyst of my final stand,) was MY fault. The used other people's children (including Mimi's) as spies and message bearers who were instructed to accost my DD's at school. They Facebook stalked. They enlisted distant family members as minions and at one point NSis approached my (very kind, very country and very much not interested in talking about any feelings, ever) father in law in the drugstore to bad-mouth me and send a message of guilt.
The ONLY thing they didn't do was to make an honest effort to take me up on my offer to have a straight-forward conversation in the presence of neutral third parties. Ironically, the only thing that could have been an actual means to healing or some sort of reconciliation was the only thing that simply wouldn't 'stoop' to. The two times NM did show up, she came with a loaded agenda of the same crap, different day.
In every way they could think, they attacked and attacked by proxy and attacked from a distance and attacked my friendships and relationships in the community. I watched their increasingly transparent attempt so discredit and harm me in wonder at the depths to which they seemed eager to sink and simply used it as a learning tool; after all, anybody willing to jump on that crazy train isn't really someone I want or need in my life. But, wow, they sure put a lot of energy into trying to destroy me. And when they realized they couldn't do that, they redoubled their efforts in their vain attempts to just wound me.
Here I am now, largely healthy and whole and listening to Mimi the other day reminded me of just how much the whole shitty debacle of 2006 and on into 2007 hurt. It was fresh and new and every day I woke up with the wind whistling through me. I simply couldn't believe that anyone, especially people that I'd been convinced my whole life LOVED me, could fight so dirty.
I see it clearly now, and it doesn't really hurt me so much as I find it baffling. Their epic battle 'to the pain' accomplished one thing for which I am grateful; I am absolutely convinced to the core of my being that those ugly creatures I've seen peeking out of their festering souls are the true forms of the people I grew up with.
They've lost the ability to cause me pain anymore, but they have convinced me beyond certainty that there will never be room for them in any part of my fairy tale.
I'm grateful for that knowledge just as I am grateful for the clarity that I can help to provide to people like Mimi.
And to you, fellow ACoN at this holiday season I offer the same gift: it's not you.
Love,
Vanci
Thursday, December 1, 2011
When My Words Fail
I've been a writer since the first time I pieced a string of words together and made a coherent sentence. Sometimes I'm a good writer, sometimes I'm a great writer and sometimes I'm an okay writer. I'm rarely a bad writer, but I'm sometimes a blocked writer.
I kept diaries as a kid, but even then I knew enough about the Crazymakers' modus operandi to understand that words of truth kept in black an white were evidence, and that evidence is what gets the scapegoat convicted of crimes - hers or someone else's. I destroyed diaries as quickly as I wrote in them - just another built-in safety measure I suppose. Still, it was never the act of keeping the words that provided me with release, just as it wasn't the act of sharing the words that made them real; my therapy came from - and still comes from - the actual writing of the words.
To pull an abstract concept, feeling, emotion, scenario, situation, theory or idea from the ether and use words to coalesce it, to make it black and white, to create worlds and reality out of those concepts; that's my huckleberry, baby. The act of creation is what I need. The act is what counts to me, moreso than the audience or even the impact.
Lately, due to all sorts of different distractions and demands on my time, I just don't have the words. This makes me sad.
I've placed myself at the keyboard many times over the last few weeks only to be stymied by my lack of creative energy. Like Jack, all work and no play is making Vanci a very dull girl indeed. Dull might not be the right word, actually, I think what I've been feeling is stifled, maybe even oppressed.
And whoo boy, that's a freakin' familiar feeling for me as an ACoN. So, tired leads to blocked, to stifled, to oppressed. True to my nature, of course, that oppression leads to ... make. vanci. angry.
This cycle becomes a sort of self-perpetuating prophecy for me. The claustrophobia of being unable to express myself eventually works its way into a blinding rage. Like I said, make Vanci angry. And when I'm angry, well, that's just ugly. Perhaps after so many years of the happy happy make nice game that I was forced to endure, or maybe due to the lack of emotion I was allowed to express, when I get to angry these days (not so often) it's a destructive period of time for me. I can't create when I'm so busy destroying. And if I can't create, well, everything gets backed up and I become my own oppressor.
So, this is me, putting it out there and making it real by telling the truth in black and white. I'm hoping that setting it in this stone of font helps me to move past it and maybe the mojo of this post will bring the words back in force. At the very least, now that I've said all this, I feel better.
Love,
Vanci
I kept diaries as a kid, but even then I knew enough about the Crazymakers' modus operandi to understand that words of truth kept in black an white were evidence, and that evidence is what gets the scapegoat convicted of crimes - hers or someone else's. I destroyed diaries as quickly as I wrote in them - just another built-in safety measure I suppose. Still, it was never the act of keeping the words that provided me with release, just as it wasn't the act of sharing the words that made them real; my therapy came from - and still comes from - the actual writing of the words.
To pull an abstract concept, feeling, emotion, scenario, situation, theory or idea from the ether and use words to coalesce it, to make it black and white, to create worlds and reality out of those concepts; that's my huckleberry, baby. The act of creation is what I need. The act is what counts to me, moreso than the audience or even the impact.
Lately, due to all sorts of different distractions and demands on my time, I just don't have the words. This makes me sad.
I've placed myself at the keyboard many times over the last few weeks only to be stymied by my lack of creative energy. Like Jack, all work and no play is making Vanci a very dull girl indeed. Dull might not be the right word, actually, I think what I've been feeling is stifled, maybe even oppressed.
And whoo boy, that's a freakin' familiar feeling for me as an ACoN. So, tired leads to blocked, to stifled, to oppressed. True to my nature, of course, that oppression leads to ... make. vanci. angry.
This cycle becomes a sort of self-perpetuating prophecy for me. The claustrophobia of being unable to express myself eventually works its way into a blinding rage. Like I said, make Vanci angry. And when I'm angry, well, that's just ugly. Perhaps after so many years of the happy happy make nice game that I was forced to endure, or maybe due to the lack of emotion I was allowed to express, when I get to angry these days (not so often) it's a destructive period of time for me. I can't create when I'm so busy destroying. And if I can't create, well, everything gets backed up and I become my own oppressor.
So, this is me, putting it out there and making it real by telling the truth in black and white. I'm hoping that setting it in this stone of font helps me to move past it and maybe the mojo of this post will bring the words back in force. At the very least, now that I've said all this, I feel better.
Love,
Vanci
Thursday, November 17, 2011
To Make Amends
I've been ruminating lately on the whole apology vs. amends question I've come across in this blog community as well as in life. I wanted to share my take on it.
An apology:
Saying "I am sorry," means "I screwed up. I apologize."
An amends:
Making amends is a little more complicated, I think. Amends are - technically speaking - payback. Amends mean that I'm going to engage in restitution, that I will compensate you for the behavior I hurt you with, and the payment will be better behavior.
In my opinion, amends work like this. I say, "Here's what I did, and it was wrong. I know that I hurt you by doing this. It was my fault. I am responsible. I am never going to do that again, because I have taken ownership of the choice to behave in that way toward you, and I regret it. I wish I wouldn't have hurt you because you are valuable and I had no right."
Apologies, it seems to me, are a bridge type of action. They're a brief moment in time somewhere between causing hurt and moving on. Often an apology is instrumental in moving a relationship or a dialogue forward. Sometimes, most often in the case of a misunderstanding, an apology is an acceptable action to acknowledge an insult/injury/slight and make it right or better by that acknowledgement. Apologies are simple, usually, and are appropriate in the case of simpler problems that are not part of a larger pattern of intentional hurt.
Amends, I think, are more than an acknowledgement of wrong doing; when I make amends it means that I take it a step further than recognition. Making amends is about taking responsibility for a harm that I caused, being honest about that harm's impact, making myself accountable for both the action and the harm and laying out a clear and well-thought-out plan for not only the promise that I will not cause that harm again in the future but also a how-to of the steps and changes I intend to enact in order to ensure it. Most importantly, amends are about follow-up; in order to truly make amends, I have to do what I say I am going to/not going to do. Forever.
True amends require complete honesty, deep personal responsibility and sincerity.
Apologies require acknowledgement and words.
My group of malignant narcissists, enablers and crazymakers that I call the NFOO doesn't contain a single member capable of the honesty, responsibility or sincerity that amends require.
But they are good at the type of sort of apologies that Narcs like to use to get their way:
I'm sorry if I hurt you ~ when I know damn well that I did.
I'm sorry you see it that way ~ so I'll invalidate your basic memory or logic of the truth
I'm sorry that you felt XXX ~ even though that's what I wanted you to feel
I don't remember that, but I'm sorry if it wasn't right for you ~ when I certainly remember it well and I got what I wanted out of it
I think that all of these quasi-apologies are just a means to an end for a Narc. What they all really boil down to is: hey, this stalemate where you're expecting me to acknowledge and make right the truth of my actions in order for me to gain access to you as my Narc Supply isn't working for me, so I'll say the right type of words I think you need to hear without actually changing any of my actions so that I can get what I want from you again. Okay?
It's just another trick, another manipulation that the Narc uses to place them in a position of power. So, the Narc hurts me, usually intentionally. And then the Narc asks me to carry that hurt around with me. When I refuse, the Narc makes it my fault. If enough time passes and the Narc isn't getting what the Narc wants, the Narc will try to half-ass their way back in with empty words and hollow apologies. So that the Narc can hurt me again.
Um, yeah. No thanks. Apology not accepted. Not at all. And what does the Narc do with this rebuff? What a Narc does best, of course! They use it as a way to show everyone that whatever this silly little problem Vanci had was, I tried to apologize and she wouldn't accept it. I just don't know what's wrong with her? Boo hoo, poor little Narc! So it seems that the Narc will sink to any murky depth to get their Narc Supply.
At least it's not being sucked out of me anymore. And for that, I am truly and unequivocally NOT sorry. Not one bit.
Love,
Vanci
An apology:
Saying "I am sorry," means "I screwed up. I apologize."
An amends:
Making amends is a little more complicated, I think. Amends are - technically speaking - payback. Amends mean that I'm going to engage in restitution, that I will compensate you for the behavior I hurt you with, and the payment will be better behavior.
In my opinion, amends work like this. I say, "Here's what I did, and it was wrong. I know that I hurt you by doing this. It was my fault. I am responsible. I am never going to do that again, because I have taken ownership of the choice to behave in that way toward you, and I regret it. I wish I wouldn't have hurt you because you are valuable and I had no right."
Apologies, it seems to me, are a bridge type of action. They're a brief moment in time somewhere between causing hurt and moving on. Often an apology is instrumental in moving a relationship or a dialogue forward. Sometimes, most often in the case of a misunderstanding, an apology is an acceptable action to acknowledge an insult/injury/slight and make it right or better by that acknowledgement. Apologies are simple, usually, and are appropriate in the case of simpler problems that are not part of a larger pattern of intentional hurt.
Amends, I think, are more than an acknowledgement of wrong doing; when I make amends it means that I take it a step further than recognition. Making amends is about taking responsibility for a harm that I caused, being honest about that harm's impact, making myself accountable for both the action and the harm and laying out a clear and well-thought-out plan for not only the promise that I will not cause that harm again in the future but also a how-to of the steps and changes I intend to enact in order to ensure it. Most importantly, amends are about follow-up; in order to truly make amends, I have to do what I say I am going to/not going to do. Forever.
True amends require complete honesty, deep personal responsibility and sincerity.
Apologies require acknowledgement and words.
My group of malignant narcissists, enablers and crazymakers that I call the NFOO doesn't contain a single member capable of the honesty, responsibility or sincerity that amends require.
But they are good at the type of sort of apologies that Narcs like to use to get their way:
I'm sorry if I hurt you ~ when I know damn well that I did.
I'm sorry you see it that way ~ so I'll invalidate your basic memory or logic of the truth
I'm sorry that you felt XXX ~ even though that's what I wanted you to feel
I don't remember that, but I'm sorry if it wasn't right for you ~ when I certainly remember it well and I got what I wanted out of it
I think that all of these quasi-apologies are just a means to an end for a Narc. What they all really boil down to is: hey, this stalemate where you're expecting me to acknowledge and make right the truth of my actions in order for me to gain access to you as my Narc Supply isn't working for me, so I'll say the right type of words I think you need to hear without actually changing any of my actions so that I can get what I want from you again. Okay?
It's just another trick, another manipulation that the Narc uses to place them in a position of power. So, the Narc hurts me, usually intentionally. And then the Narc asks me to carry that hurt around with me. When I refuse, the Narc makes it my fault. If enough time passes and the Narc isn't getting what the Narc wants, the Narc will try to half-ass their way back in with empty words and hollow apologies. So that the Narc can hurt me again.
Um, yeah. No thanks. Apology not accepted. Not at all. And what does the Narc do with this rebuff? What a Narc does best, of course! They use it as a way to show everyone that whatever this silly little problem Vanci had was, I tried to apologize and she wouldn't accept it. I just don't know what's wrong with her? Boo hoo, poor little Narc! So it seems that the Narc will sink to any murky depth to get their Narc Supply.
At least it's not being sucked out of me anymore. And for that, I am truly and unequivocally NOT sorry. Not one bit.
Love,
Vanci
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
The Agony of Loss
I am a creature of habit.
I have routines upon routines and lists within lists, and I largely live my life by them. Part of this, I know, is due to the symptom/side effect of trauma that I live with to one degree or another everyday; hyper vigilance. Most people who have been subjected to trauma, particularly the abuses that are perpetrated by omniscient and all-powerful authority figures while we are fragile and completely controlled by the tyrants, exhibit signs of hyper-awareness and a near obsessive need to control or plan for contingencies. At least that's what my counselor tells me!
I like to think that I've found a nice balance between pre-planning and spontaneity, though, and I can say without a doubt that the longer I am away from the NFOO and the farther my thinking is from them, the more normalized and balanced I am. I can, in other words, deal with disruptions well, most of the time.
Lately, though, there have been a lot of minor shake-ups in routine, some of which have involved my sleep cycle. I can say also without a doubt that all work and not enough sleep make Vanci a very scary girl. So I've been taking it easy when I can and trying to be patient with myself; saying to my reflection in the mirror - "Hey! It's okay that you don't have the energy to _______. Look at the _______ you accomplished today. Be grateful for _______. Be proud of ________." It's helping. My routine is becoming re-established.
But oh man oh me oh my the Narc legacy just loves to find a way to kick me when I'm down. We say in alcohol recovery that alcoholism is a progressive illness; that even if we dry out, we have to remember that the disease is in the corner behind us doing push-ups and waiting for a chance to jump us. And that the progressive nature of the disease means that it gets worse, never better, if left untreated. I think that the family legacy of the Narcs might be like that too.
I'm out. Officially. Fini. Done. Ties severed. I have no desire to go back, I have no reason to go back and most importantly I couldn't be reinserted into the Matrix if I tried. It is impossible, after all, to unknow a thing once it's known. But they're sneaky, you know, and sometimes I discover that even behind my castle walls they've found a way in. It happens in my head, don'tcha know, my own brain, trained so arduously from day one by the malignant, sociopathic, abusive and vile fucks that called themselves my parents to keep me down, just turns on me and spews some nasty crap. It's insidious sometimes.
I take 10 or 15 minutes each morning as part of my daily routine at work to read the small, poorly written and atrociously edited local "news" (read: gossip) paper. Just a looksee to keep myself informed of the local general public, you know?
I realized this morning that I read the obituaries every day with the expectation that I will see the death notice of NM or ENF. Morbid much?
Even curiouser, I realized that each day that I do not see a notice for either of them, my gut reaction is one of what I can only quantify as disappointment.
I have loss in spades, but it's the kind of loss that drags on and on. They are, after all, all living together in their clan compound only fifteen short minutes away from my house. And by all, I do mean all: NM, ENF, GCYB and his wife and her son and NOSis and her husband and son. And god knows who else lives there too. So it's a funny kind of loss; mourning the loss of one's long lost relatives in the morning while hoping to avoid them in the grocery store that afternoon. It feels incomplete, somehow, and like the disease that can rear its ugly head at any moment. It's unfinished, a loose end.
I think that I've spent enough time in the drawn out agony of loss and I'm ready to move on. I think I'm craving grief instead. I re-read that and immediately wondered what kind of person that makes me. But I have to say it's true; I long for the end.
Or maybe I'm just hurt and don't even know it yet because I am absolutely positive that when NM or ENF do pass away, I will certainly find out by reading the local gossip rag. And when I do hear from NOSis or GCYB that it's happened, as I'm sure I eventually will, they'll have found a way to make it my fault.
What a lose-lose. What a fucking waste.
Love,
Vanci
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Self-Worth and Conflict
I took a (thankfully rare) business trip last week to spend two days in the excellent company of the other twelve people within my state who hold the same job position that I do. It was uplifting to be with my peers even if the disruption of my schedule and day-to-day life was exhausting to recover from. I've been ruminating in some of what I learned of myself, and thought I'd share some conclusions I've come to regarding fear of conflict and how it relates to a strong sense of self-worth.
I have an interesting job in that I have a lot of power to make things happen. I am the face and voice of my company to all the clients within our portfolio, and I am almost solely responsible for the 'customer experience,' (and I'm captioning that because I just hate corporate buzz words and phrases.) My actions, largely, dictate our clients' continued happiness. Additionally, I function in a role that places within my hands the ability to move almost all transactions forward, to make things happen for others, while posting credit for a job well done in the name of others; those that I assist. I knew this going into my job and I actually chose the job partly because of this. I don't feel slighted and I don't miss the recognition. I enjoy the anonymity that I am allowed to function successfully within.
These same parameters are true for all of my counterparts, and the job therefore tends to attract a certain type of personality to it. We are largely nurturers; willing to work hard and toil to complete tasks from the realm of mindless to head-ache inducingly complex while claiming no credit for the job when it's done. We are behind the scenes people. We are self-motivated. We are intuitive. We are open to change and criticism and we are always looking for more efficient ways to accomplish our tasks. We're untitled and unsung movers and shakers, at least in my mind.
Interestingly, I discovered an area of personality where I am very different from my peers, though. When it comes to conflict of any kind, most of these folks are very, very shy. They are a positive group, always looking for that silver lining, but when they are directly confronted with anything other than the most passive tone imaginable, they quickly fold, cave, give in. Often, there are tears. I was shocked by this to an extent, until I remembered that I used to be like this too.
Frankly, now, daily, I am a bad-ass. I take no shit from anyone unless it's my previously dished shit being thrown back at me and I know I started it. At one point in the meeting, several of my peers were discussing a particular external partner that we all work with and how difficult he was to get along with. I'll call him Jerk. Their collective way of problem solving around this individual's attitude problem was to... find another partner to work with and not tell the Jerk they were doing so. I couldn't believe that this was their best plan, and asked why no one had just stood up to Jerk. I was asked if he was a jerk to me. My answer,
"Listen, the guy's a Jerk. So, one day he called me and needed something and he was being a jerk, so I said, 'Hey! Jerk! You're talking to me ALL wrong for someone who needs a favor!" And he backed down. He's been pleasant and respectful ever since. Amazing what happens when you burst the bubble, isn't it?
I am not grateful for the defense mechanisms and personality guards that I have to keep in place due to my NFOO. As much as I would like to say I'm grateful for these necessities, that would be a lie. I'm grateful I learned how to protect myself, sure, but I'd rather that I was never wounded so deeply that I needed them. Still, they are of use. I've faced down bigger demons in my day than any that my co-workers can possibly throw at me. Jerk's got nothing on them! And I think that this is a key to my self-worth and lack of fear of conflict.
I am Vanci. I know who I am and I'm comfortable in my skin almost all of the time. When I am uncomfortable, I know that this is just a clue that I have something I'm not dealing with and I take proper steps to rectify it. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that anyone can say or do in the course of the day that can change who I am. I embrace me. If others don't, no harm no foul. I don't have to be loved by everyone. And I don't have to love everyone else. I can be civil, when civility is called for and I live in the knowledge that what other people think of me is truly none of my business.
However, I am not passive, particularly when it comes to others' treatment of me. I understand that everyone has a different approach to communication within business, and I try to be open to other people's ways and means. Still, I am a human being, and most of the time a very good one. I deserve to be treated as such. I am not a doormat and I never will be again. If this creates conflict, so be it. Conflict creates opportunity for growth.
I can trace this self-assuredness directly to my upbringing and my life as an ACoN. I was treated like shit, and I was treated like shit for no damn good reason. There's nothing I can do to change that, but as an adult I've grown and I've taken a really hard look at myself. What have I learned? That I deserve not to be treated like shit. Therefore (and this is the uber-practical part of my that just insists on turning every scenario into an equation: 1+1=2, always) I will not allow myself to be treated like shit, and if somebody's got a problem with that boundary, well, step on into the ring and let's go a few rounds.
I'm glad for the confidence and lack of fear that this evolved attitude allows me. I get to be me, and that's apparently more than some people allow themselves. I'll take it.
You got a problem with that? :)
Love,
Vanci
I have an interesting job in that I have a lot of power to make things happen. I am the face and voice of my company to all the clients within our portfolio, and I am almost solely responsible for the 'customer experience,' (and I'm captioning that because I just hate corporate buzz words and phrases.) My actions, largely, dictate our clients' continued happiness. Additionally, I function in a role that places within my hands the ability to move almost all transactions forward, to make things happen for others, while posting credit for a job well done in the name of others; those that I assist. I knew this going into my job and I actually chose the job partly because of this. I don't feel slighted and I don't miss the recognition. I enjoy the anonymity that I am allowed to function successfully within.
These same parameters are true for all of my counterparts, and the job therefore tends to attract a certain type of personality to it. We are largely nurturers; willing to work hard and toil to complete tasks from the realm of mindless to head-ache inducingly complex while claiming no credit for the job when it's done. We are behind the scenes people. We are self-motivated. We are intuitive. We are open to change and criticism and we are always looking for more efficient ways to accomplish our tasks. We're untitled and unsung movers and shakers, at least in my mind.
Interestingly, I discovered an area of personality where I am very different from my peers, though. When it comes to conflict of any kind, most of these folks are very, very shy. They are a positive group, always looking for that silver lining, but when they are directly confronted with anything other than the most passive tone imaginable, they quickly fold, cave, give in. Often, there are tears. I was shocked by this to an extent, until I remembered that I used to be like this too.
Frankly, now, daily, I am a bad-ass. I take no shit from anyone unless it's my previously dished shit being thrown back at me and I know I started it. At one point in the meeting, several of my peers were discussing a particular external partner that we all work with and how difficult he was to get along with. I'll call him Jerk. Their collective way of problem solving around this individual's attitude problem was to... find another partner to work with and not tell the Jerk they were doing so. I couldn't believe that this was their best plan, and asked why no one had just stood up to Jerk. I was asked if he was a jerk to me. My answer,
"Listen, the guy's a Jerk. So, one day he called me and needed something and he was being a jerk, so I said, 'Hey! Jerk! You're talking to me ALL wrong for someone who needs a favor!" And he backed down. He's been pleasant and respectful ever since. Amazing what happens when you burst the bubble, isn't it?
I am not grateful for the defense mechanisms and personality guards that I have to keep in place due to my NFOO. As much as I would like to say I'm grateful for these necessities, that would be a lie. I'm grateful I learned how to protect myself, sure, but I'd rather that I was never wounded so deeply that I needed them. Still, they are of use. I've faced down bigger demons in my day than any that my co-workers can possibly throw at me. Jerk's got nothing on them! And I think that this is a key to my self-worth and lack of fear of conflict.
I am Vanci. I know who I am and I'm comfortable in my skin almost all of the time. When I am uncomfortable, I know that this is just a clue that I have something I'm not dealing with and I take proper steps to rectify it. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that anyone can say or do in the course of the day that can change who I am. I embrace me. If others don't, no harm no foul. I don't have to be loved by everyone. And I don't have to love everyone else. I can be civil, when civility is called for and I live in the knowledge that what other people think of me is truly none of my business.
However, I am not passive, particularly when it comes to others' treatment of me. I understand that everyone has a different approach to communication within business, and I try to be open to other people's ways and means. Still, I am a human being, and most of the time a very good one. I deserve to be treated as such. I am not a doormat and I never will be again. If this creates conflict, so be it. Conflict creates opportunity for growth.
I can trace this self-assuredness directly to my upbringing and my life as an ACoN. I was treated like shit, and I was treated like shit for no damn good reason. There's nothing I can do to change that, but as an adult I've grown and I've taken a really hard look at myself. What have I learned? That I deserve not to be treated like shit. Therefore (and this is the uber-practical part of my that just insists on turning every scenario into an equation: 1+1=2, always) I will not allow myself to be treated like shit, and if somebody's got a problem with that boundary, well, step on into the ring and let's go a few rounds.
I'm glad for the confidence and lack of fear that this evolved attitude allows me. I get to be me, and that's apparently more than some people allow themselves. I'll take it.
You got a problem with that? :)
Love,
Vanci
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