Chapter Two
The closing of a door behind me brings me sharply back into the room. “Good evening everyone, I know it can be difficult to get out when the weather is wet and stormy so thank you for joining us”. Ana’s voice is smooth and almost melodious. Her British accent is strong, demanding my attention but simultaneously soothing.
She’s a little rushed as if she’s almost late for the meeting but its obvious she arrived before us to set up her little sanctum. Fresh roses and a pitcher of water to the side, five small but comfortable chairs organized into an intimate circle, although that is not what we are here for - intimacy with strangers. No desk, just s small filing cabinet in the corner threatening to collapse under the collective weight of the thick spined books piled precariously on top.
She’s a sleuth I realize, avoiding the one-to-one sessions clients try to squeeze out of you when captured alone for five minutes. I’ve got to give it to her, it was a good entry on her behalf and probably well practiced.
“Since you all know me pretty well by now and given the intimate size our group let us start with a short self-introduction, your name and maybe a little fact about yourself?”.
Self introductions. I hate self introductions.
The silence is broken by a loud exhale coming from the woman opposite me. She rolls her eyes and plunges into her introduction. “My name is Frankie and i’m an alcoholic”.
Oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. I feel my cheeks flush and my entire mouth dry up, i’m in the wrong room. Do I sit here and pretend i’m an alcoholic? I work in a bar for God sake and I’m sitting here with my black bar shirt on ‘The Swan. Best Booze in Town’. I look to Ana for help but she offers none, I have to leave. I stand up grabbing my over sized leather jacket from the back of the chair.
Frankie continues with a dry laugh, “I’m Frankie and I’m the daughter of a narcissistic mother”. Frankie looks up at me, a curl of a smirk on her face “Sorry about that - little joke. I like your shirt. C’mon have a seat.” Her voice is deep and kind of lazy, almost manly. It’s like it was made for her.
Ana’s eyebrows raise in a familiar way as she thanks Frankie and looks at me expectantly. Im still standing so I figure I’ll go next. “I’m Jamie but everyone can call me J. I’m not an alcoholic yet but I do work in a bar, The Swan”. I try to smile but my lips stick to my dry gums and I sneer instead. “Err, The Mother she’s a narcissist, well kind of, with me anyway not with my sister”. I sound pathetic. I sit down quickly and try to ignore the pounding of my chest and head as my eyes start to sting, I bite my lip hard and take a breath, steadying myself although i’d rather steady myself with a shot of Vodka.
Ana uncrosses her legs and smoothes her silk skirt to her knees, her hands come to rest clasped on her lap. I’m pleased Ana is my therapist. She exudes sophistication and grace simultaneously in a way I could only dream, in a way The Mother would be jealous of. For some reason this satisfies me. I’ve often wondered what Ana would be like a mom, if she even has kids? There’s no photos in her office, she never discusses her personal life. Im pretty sure she’d be the kind of mom who attends a parent teacher conference demurely attired, attentive to their insights whilst considering how best she can support her child to thrive.
Not like The Mother, her body squeezed into a polyester dress, her pushed up breasts cascading over a low-cut neckline with a hemline to match. How at parent’s evenings The Mother sits, skirt rising teasingly further whilst reciting her mortifying mantra “people think we’re sisters,”. Ana would be an esteemed parent. Jamie could hear the introduction now “Dr Roberts, how lovely to meet you!”, modestly she’d reply, “Please, call me Ana.” so wholesome.
The next woman offers her tribute slowly but with clarity to our misfit quartet, her quiet voice laced with Chinese accent.
“Hello my name is Mei-Lin Wang, I always”- Mei-Lin’s self introduction is sabotaged as a voice of a woman cuts through hers. Graciously apologizing to Ana for her lateness, heels clicking speedily atop the wooden floor. I take an instant dislike to her and that annoying habit women do, that The Mother also does, attempting to discreetly hasten their speed taking stupidly fast but small steps that in actual fact don’t take them anywhere any faster then if they’d walked normally. “Welcome Vivian! I’m glad you’ve been able to join us, do take a seat. We’re just introducing ourselves. Mei-Lin please continue.” Says Ana with a smile, so warm, so gracious. It doesn’t matter she just trampled over Mei-Lin’s introduction.
“I always knew my mother was different from my friends’ mothers but I didn’t realize it was because of narcissism. The entire concept is new to me, parenting is very different in China. I travelled so far from my Mother and yet she still has such a hold on me! I came to this group to find understanding through shared experience”. Mei-Lin shrugs, smiles at us like a narcissistic mother is no big deal.
Maybe she’s in denial, it’s easy to brush things off when you have distance. Rejection, abuse, pain. With time and loneliness you forget your hurts, the shame, the loneliness. You want in, acceptance, love. You want to forgive you really do, so you forgive and you forget, at least you believe you have and for a while it works. Until the vicious cycle begins again. The names, the manipulation, the control. Because while you flew from the nest, stretching out your wings for a little while, nothing really changed. You find independence and revel in that new found freedom, but when you return, your wings are clipped and once more you are thrown into turmoil. You wonder again as you are pushed closer to the edge, whether to try to fly before you are pushed out. Because somethings never change, because narcissists never do.
“Thank you Mei-Lin, yes many daughters experience maternal narcissism on varying levels, outsiders as well as extended family often have no idea of the horror inflicted behind closed doors. While it is true, daughters are often treated differently across cultures, Narcissism does have specific traits which are often universal among people with narcissism. I am sure as we get to know one another we will discover at least one common thread with our stories intertwining. Vivian why don’t you go next?”.
“Vivian. Hello. A little bit different for me,” her accent is definitely the mark of a private school upbringing, posh and while her words are clipped they seem to cling to the air around them. “I had a great relationship with mother, however my mother-in-law of 11 years is definitely narcissistic. Any hints or tips gratefully received”. Vivian flashes us a smile, pearly white teeth, perfectly manicured hands, strawberry blonde hair cascading gracefully in waves past her shoulders, she certainly didn’t have to stand in the rain trying to get here. This Vivian lady must be a real snowflake. Couldn’t stand to not have family drama in her life she had to go find a narcissistic mother-in-law.
“Thank you ladies. Well now we know each other a little better don’t we. Being a daughter of a mother with narcissism is often an emotional rollercoaster. Deep hurts and entangled emotions often lead to frustrated love. Often feelings towards your Mother can be conflicted. It isn’t uncommon to feel both love and hate, strong word I know, toward your Mother or to crave being with her whilst simultaneously experiencing apprehension at the idea. I hope you will all find our group therapy a safe place to share experiences with one another, hopefully you will feel less isolated and alone in those experiences. Belonging and acceptance can go a long way in one’s recovery process.
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