Don’t Label Your Narcissist

There’s a ton of good stuff out there about narcissism, but let’s be like good parents dealing with trying children.  Just say “No.” Good parenting is not enabling destructive behavior.  Enabling is easy, like any sin.  You just bow to the sin. 

Years ago I got enough of a narcissist in my life and when I crossed this person they came at me, fists clenched.  I stood my ground.  “Go ahead,” I said.  “Hit me.”  That stopped them.  I then said, “Nothing I ever do is right.  Nothing I do is good enough.”

In other words, I stopped performing, stopped being manipulated, stopped responding.

The most unkind thing we can do to a  narcissist is dance to their tune.  We, as the more “well” person in the relationship, are called to put on a new song.  They can learn to sing along, or they can get along.

Someone, telling me about someone else being mad, as though that was important, was happily surprised when I said, “He can get glad in the same clothes he got mad in.”  I have to not care.  I have to be healed, set free, even delivered of the  need to please, to keep the peace. 

It seems to me that narcissistic adults are, just like brat two-year-olds, begging for someone to draw some boundaries, help them learn to behave and therefore get along in this life. 

But labels—no.  Once you decide your mom, mate, boss, friend, or pastor is a narcissist, you will see everything they think, do and say through that lens.  YOU ARE JUDGING AND WHAT YOU JUDGE WILL, IN SOME FORM OR FASHION, COME ON YOU.  You will see them as fatally flawed, and just someone to leave in the dust.  You will stop praying for them, stop letting God have say-so, and lose all your power.

So examine the relationship.  Where have you enabled?  When have you bowed to their nonsense because you’re afraid of a bit of conflict? 

Isn’t it disgusting when you see moms asking permission from a toddler  for the day’s activity?  And when she tries to give him whatever he wants to stop the whining, does he stop?  No, he whines all the more, and eventually starts yelling and screaming.  He’s absolutely begging for some non-negotiable boundaries, for someone he can trust to help him be a better person. 

Well, you can’t spank your neighbor, or your mate, right?  No, but you can get to the end of your rope, stop trying the tired things you’ve been trying for ever, and that have never and will never work.

Oh, you wanna back up to that spanking part?  You want to so self-righteously tell me you don’t believe in “hitting” your child.  Well, if you think spanking is hitting, you definitely should not spank, but that’s for another time.    

So, don’t call your kid a brat, don’t call your mate a narcissist.  Call yourself brave and wise and finished with the nonsense.

And remember this:  We often see in others what we dislike in ourselves.  Yes, that gal in the mirror may be a work in progress as well.  Let’s just all get out of God’s way, and get in His ways.  Can I get an Amen?  Amen!

Talking to myself today, because when I start listening to too much YouTube  and getting all  brilliant about everyone else’s issues, I can really get all up in God’s business, and forget all about love and forgiveness, and walking in all the fruits of the Spiritl. INSTEAD I just get miserable, mad, and pathetic.  Like a two-year-old or a narcissist who needs the “gift of No” and maybe a nap. (I HEARD ABOUT THE GIFT OF NO FROM TIM HAWKINS.)

Think of that when that person is being impossible.  What’s really going on?  What do they really need from you?  It’s not enabling, that much is for sure. 

But it’s also not getting all in the flesh because you’re the latest expert on narcissism and you’re going to tell them off right this minute.  Pray and wait.  God really wants to help us all, deliver us all, set us all free to enjoy each other.

This will help:  Think of a new label, and make it one you want TO SEE BECOME REALITY.  Your two-year-old, because of your excellent training, is “a fine young man”, for instance.  Your drama queen teenager is a “deep and good-hearted woman IN THE MAKING”, your know-it-all grouch husband is a “Dearly Beloved Child of God.”

Someone in my house called someone else in my house “such an ass” and I said, “Do not call my child names.”  So, how about we just, as I said in the beginning of this diatribe, stop with the labeling.  It doesn’t help at all.  It harms. STOP WITH THE FINGER POINTING, AND PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER AND LIFT YOUR EYES—GETTING THEM OFF NARCISSISTIC BEHAVIOR AND ON THE HEALING LOVE OF JESUS.

Hands-on Parenting is NOT Evil!

It comes from every direction.  My daughter is encouraged to drink by our “friends.”  She is on her way home and tells them that her parents wouldn’t be pleased by her driving and arriving under the influence.  They assure her that it’s time to be her own person.

She just proved that she is.  And that she’s not dumb as a post.

She leaves home and supposedly Christian women make fun of her for calling “your mommy” every day.  “You need to grow up,” they say when she won’t take their negative and decidedly unChristian advice.  No, they need to grow up to the point they can actually keep their mouths shut about that which is none of their business.

She is grown up, and yet still a child.  Aren’t we all?  I call my parents when I need to hear the voice of one who will always love me, one who will not belittle me for being a bit sad or needy or unsure.  Does that make me defective, immature?  No, it makes me human.

My daughters communicate with me – when they’re feeling on top of the world, when they’re under a cloud, when things are rolling right along fairly smoothly.  Why should they not?

Rather than apologizing for having a good relationship with a parent or a child, we should thank God for it, and continue to do those things that brought us to this happy outcome – be there for that person, pray with and for that person, and let them know we will be as the Lord Himself is, the one who will never leave them nor forsake them.

It’s called giving them a strong foundation on which to stand, as well as wings for flight.  It’s called love.  And because of that love, my child feels free to let me know when she wants to handle things on her own.  I have such faith in her and respect for her, that I always ask her how she wants me to proceed, what she wants me to do or not do.  

We prayed this morning about a difficult situation, and I read scripture aloud to her, and encouraged her.  But when it comes down to the tough part, she must walk this walk alone.  And yet, when a child knows that she knows that her parents and Jesus will never leave her nor forsake her, how can she be alone?

Something about such a person really gets to people who don’t have this kind of surety.  Is it jealousy, or is it simply the all-pervasive societal view that parents are inherently stupid and faulty and should be sidelined and ignored in pursuit of . . . what?  The lovely mess that these anti-parent folks have made of their own lives?

What is this unholy desire to separate children from their parents?  What is this need to control and convince and influence?  And why is this invariably from people who have little or no control or success in their own lives, and with their own children?  But I must say in our case, most of our most vitriolic critics are themselves childless.

And yet, no need to fret.  My daughter, the one accused from every direction of being “too dependent” on her parents, is so much stronger than her accusers.  She goes on about her merry way, and forgives.  And she prays for those who show her nothing but disrespect and contempt (that after a bit of exasperated venting).

Just as I communicate with my parents and with my Savior, I have raised a child who does the same.  So to all these busybodies, I say, “Just mind your own business,” or as my mom says, “Tend to your own pea-pickin’.”

 

Home School Help for Me!

I’m enjoying a book called  The Rhythm of Family by Amanda and Stephen Soule.  As I was reading Amanda’s writings about canning and crafting and all sort of creative and beautiful activities, I was comparing my efforts of past years, when my kids were young.

And I found myself weighed in the balance and found wanting – can you relate? Could we all just stop doing that?  I stopped myself with a positive “yeah, but . . .”

Yeah, but my kids made a hammock in the top of a tall oak tree, forts in the woods, ships on the creek, trains in the garage. They made up and wrote stories about the local rabbit family and buried and hunted treasure, caught and lost crawdads and lizards, and slew as well as drew great dragons.

They loved and were loved by an oddity of a dog. He seemed odd to us, that is, but to him his behavior was absolutely normal.  I’ll share more about this dog in a moment, but back to my kids’ having a childhood – maybe they didn’t live on the ocean in Maine and maybe their mom wasn’t the craft queen of the universe.  But she made them homemade fingerpaints when it was raining, and turned grape juice into popsicles when it was hot, and they know how to make artisan breads, and what a snake smells like when you get too close while you’re picking blackberries.

They still remember reading Timothy Tattercoat on a quilt in the shade with a thermos of iced tea and peanut butter on saltines. And through Timothy, a desire was instilled in their hearts to live where he lived, in the mountains of Colorado.

I mentioned our old dog, Buster, who died by the way, chasing a car, and as we told the kids – he died instantly as his head connected with a fast-moving fender, and it was probably painless.

Buster was better at chasing cows – they and he knew who and what he was.

We were walking in the country a long way from home one day and we came upon a pasture full of cows, in the corner farthest fro m the road. Buster went across the pasture, herded those cows to the opposite end of the field and they did exactly as he bade them. He was the boss of these big and theretofore unknown cows.

Not so Chihuahuas. There was a lady who walked her three chihuahuas past our house every day.  Benjamin, age 7 then, called her Mrs. Chawalla.  I guess Buster thought her dogs were giant rabies-infested rats – he was terrified and hid under the back porch and cried every day when they went by.

As for snakes, he would step on or over them and not even see them. Amazing.  But when it came to doing what he was created to do, he meant business.  He knew who he was.  He was a cowdog.  An Australian Shepherd.

We come to know who we are when we grasp that great truth that we are created in the image of God, who is Love, and we are therefore, when being our true selves, LOVE.

Which means – aha! – that I can rejoice in and admire the strengths and successes of other moms, and perhaps even emulate them in some areas; I can look back with appreciation for what I did right and ABSOLUTELY forget about what I might have done differently; and I can do a great service to my kids now, whatever their ages, by modeling the rest and contentment that comes from knowing who and Whose I am.

What a way to live!

A Job Well Done

 

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John and I recently had the blessing of seeing our son Benjamin receive his Bachelor’s Degree and become a commissioned officer in the United States Army.  We are blessed and highly favored by our awesome God, through faith in Jesus Christ.  Amen.

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I have tons more pictures, but I’ll stop now.

 

P.S.  John and I will be on the radio tomorrow, Friday June 24 at 2:00 Mountain Time, talking about our trip to the Pacific Northwest (for Benjamin’s graduation), about taking dominion in this life, about friendship in marriage, and more.

http://streema.com/radios/KHNC