My mom was the most fun mom ever. She told scary stories and let us build forts with the living room cushions and furniture. She encouraged us to draw and paint and appreciated what we created. A framed abstract painting I made when I was four hung over the stove for years.
But she was also negligent. We were allowed to roam the neighborhood without saying where we were going. So long as we could hear the old cow bell that hung by our front door, we knew it was time to come home for dinner. Other times Mom would say, “Get away from me, you stink.” Or, she might say, “Go away. Leave me alone.”
I ended up homeless on the streets of San Francisco
I left her alone and she left me alone. When I asked at age fifteen if I could leave home she said yes, so I did. I ended up homeless on the streets of San Francisco trading my body for a warm place to sleep and food. In intimate settings with close friends, I sometimes pull out this period in my life as being my story, my what happened to me. But the real story is that I survived and eventually thrived. But only after I faced the deep pain of abandoning myself.
Turns out I was a narcissist myself.
Once I started expressing the pain I had buried deep inside, I started to notice how poorly I treated myself and by extension other people. Turns out I was, like my mom, a narcissist myself. And then I started praying and believing that a higher power loved me and that I was a good person. Belief in my goodness and in other peoples’ blessedness has expanded over the years.
Too few of us believe in our powerful selves, which I believe is our innate state of being, God given if you will. I think most times we stay stuck in our stories. We focus on what happened to us rather than how good we are. When we are blind to that goodness, we hurt ourselves and those around us. I don’t understand how narcissists get to be that way, but I suspect it may be a cover up of poor self esteem? Self-hatred?
We are so much more than what happens to us
Like my mom saying, “You stink,” when I was ten years old and didn’t know yet that I did stink and needed to use deodorant, or bathe more often. Her words hurt me so much. I was mortified and humiliated. And deeply hurt. As if because my body stank, I was bad. We affect other people deeply in both negative and positive ways. We simply don’t see the detrimental and beneficial effect we have and the ripples of hurt or truthfulness we create throughout the world.
It took me years of therapy and experience to believe in my innate goodness; to believe I can be an agent for positive change and healing. We are so much more than what happens to us, so much more than our story. The real story, the truth about who we are is that we are spiritual beings powerful beyond belief.
Our capacity to influence others positively is beyond our wildest dreams. Do I act as if that’s true? I sure didn’t used to, but today I am conscious of my behavior and how I affect others. That’s the remedy for being a narcissist. We can be agents of healing and grace. Just by believing in our own brilliance, and believing it of others as well. That spreads joy.
To learn about my memoir A Minor, Unaccompanied, click here: https://pollyhansen.com/nasty-girl/