Adoption is like a magnet to narcissists. While natural parenting is probably still preferable to narcissists, for some reason adoption seems have a particular appeal. I personally believe at least part of that appeal is to the narcissist's proclivity for pretending life is other than reality. I think the "as if born to", "blank slate", and "love makes a family" myths play a large part as well. We cannot disregard the narcissist's deep need for the "mirror mirror on the wall", and who better to push into that mirror than the random child one purchased who has "no" (known) "past"? Especially once your ability to create your own little mirror resident has been removed?
The possession factor of adoption particularly seems to appeal to narcissists. In my studies, I've learned most narcissists are collectors. My mother collected spoons, sheep figures and linens, those fancy-ass blue and white dishes from Europe, and Waterford Crystal. There was other stuff, but those were the biggies. They love to collect "nice" things around them, and to show those things off at every opportunity. The crowning jewel of my "mom's" collections was her shiny redheaded girl.
She dressed me up like a dolly and paraded me about like a prize Pomeranian. I, a tomboy who liked to ride bikes and roll around in the grass, was always being admonished to "not get dirty! You look so cute in that outfit!" and when I inevitably got dirty, it was, "get inside and get cleaned up before the neighbors see you!"
That was a huge concern for her, for any narcissist, really. What do the neighbors think? Her friends? Their friends? Her coworkers, the townsfolk, society at large? My friends, their parents, our teachers, the school, the other town's school?
In short, what everyone thinks, except me. What I think only matters when I'm agreeing with, reinforcing, praising, or validating her.
Things I like? Stupid wastes of time. Unless, of course, she likes it too. If SHE likes it, I must care about it, spend as much time on it, and put as much effort into it as she does. If I show anything less than thorough enthusiasm, I am "sabotaging her efforts", "trying to take the wind out of her sails", or "being deliberately hard to get along with".
I am supposed to be her best friend, her confidant, and her support system. To tell her what a wonderful mother, coworker, boss, and friend she is. To reassure her that she was not obese or unattractive, although she is neither slender nor a great beauty. I am to maintain her house like a showpiece in case someone drops by, although we almost never have unannounced guests. I am to do everything, from the care of my commercial animals to cooking and housecleaning to ironing my "father's" shirts.
I have free time to play, of course. What will the neighbors think if I never go outside? How will I be popular if I don't make friends?
Problem being, "mom", you want me to be popular in a tiny town where I'm the different weirdo and no one likes me much. I say weird stuff out of the blue that makes them look at me funny. I talk to myself because I have no one else to talk to. I make them feel dumb because I like to read, I like words, and I'm not afraid to use them. They hate me because all our teachers like me... I'm painfully shy and get really good grades. There is exactly zero chance I will be popular.
That doesn't stop her from throwing the parties, buying the expensive gifts for my friends, conniving with their mothers from her community bigwig perch to always get me invited. Even when I was punished and she wouldn't let me go, the invitation had to be received. It doesn't stop her from pushing me to play sports I suck at and to try out for teams and squads I don't want to be part of. She wants to be the cheer mom, the prom queen mom, the pep squad mom, the basketball mom. What she doesn't want to be is the mom of the bookish black sheep weirdo who wears all black and sits in the corner reading alone all the time. Sadly for her, I am that weirdo.
Because our whole lives were "The Mom Show". Everything that was done was her way, right away, because she wanted it that way. My first day of kindergarten? The weepy, overbearing, standing in the back of the class sniffling Mom Show. Birthdays? The what a wonderful party I threw Mom Show. Xmas? The look how many lovely things I bought you Mom Show. My eighth grade graduation? I was in trouble for something, banned from prom (I think I pulled a low grade on a final or something else earth shattering). I was only able to attend the ceremony, and wear my pretty white lace dress I was so excited about, because all my grandparents had driven in from afar to see me graduate. She spent the whole ceremony loudly whispering about how much trouble I'd caused, how hurt she was, and how lucky I was she'd let me go at all. The look how magnanimous I am Mom Show.
The "look how much trouble she is" Mom Show.
The "I try so hard, what is wrong with you" Mom Show.
The "she's so terrible, look how much she hurts me" Mom Show.
And if it wasn't The Mom Show, she could freeze you out for days. No eye contact or acknowledgement. I'm not sure which was worse, the silence or the violence. Only after days of groveling and asskissing would she relent and deign to acknowledge your existence. After that it could be weeks before she would be kind again.
The Mom Show was the hardest show to be on. One slip and your character would be eliminated.
The possession factor of adoption particularly seems to appeal to narcissists. In my studies, I've learned most narcissists are collectors. My mother collected spoons, sheep figures and linens, those fancy-ass blue and white dishes from Europe, and Waterford Crystal. There was other stuff, but those were the biggies. They love to collect "nice" things around them, and to show those things off at every opportunity. The crowning jewel of my "mom's" collections was her shiny redheaded girl.
She dressed me up like a dolly and paraded me about like a prize Pomeranian. I, a tomboy who liked to ride bikes and roll around in the grass, was always being admonished to "not get dirty! You look so cute in that outfit!" and when I inevitably got dirty, it was, "get inside and get cleaned up before the neighbors see you!"
That was a huge concern for her, for any narcissist, really. What do the neighbors think? Her friends? Their friends? Her coworkers, the townsfolk, society at large? My friends, their parents, our teachers, the school, the other town's school?
In short, what everyone thinks, except me. What I think only matters when I'm agreeing with, reinforcing, praising, or validating her.
Things I like? Stupid wastes of time. Unless, of course, she likes it too. If SHE likes it, I must care about it, spend as much time on it, and put as much effort into it as she does. If I show anything less than thorough enthusiasm, I am "sabotaging her efforts", "trying to take the wind out of her sails", or "being deliberately hard to get along with".
I am supposed to be her best friend, her confidant, and her support system. To tell her what a wonderful mother, coworker, boss, and friend she is. To reassure her that she was not obese or unattractive, although she is neither slender nor a great beauty. I am to maintain her house like a showpiece in case someone drops by, although we almost never have unannounced guests. I am to do everything, from the care of my commercial animals to cooking and housecleaning to ironing my "father's" shirts.
I have free time to play, of course. What will the neighbors think if I never go outside? How will I be popular if I don't make friends?
Problem being, "mom", you want me to be popular in a tiny town where I'm the different weirdo and no one likes me much. I say weird stuff out of the blue that makes them look at me funny. I talk to myself because I have no one else to talk to. I make them feel dumb because I like to read, I like words, and I'm not afraid to use them. They hate me because all our teachers like me... I'm painfully shy and get really good grades. There is exactly zero chance I will be popular.
That doesn't stop her from throwing the parties, buying the expensive gifts for my friends, conniving with their mothers from her community bigwig perch to always get me invited. Even when I was punished and she wouldn't let me go, the invitation had to be received. It doesn't stop her from pushing me to play sports I suck at and to try out for teams and squads I don't want to be part of. She wants to be the cheer mom, the prom queen mom, the pep squad mom, the basketball mom. What she doesn't want to be is the mom of the bookish black sheep weirdo who wears all black and sits in the corner reading alone all the time. Sadly for her, I am that weirdo.
Because our whole lives were "The Mom Show". Everything that was done was her way, right away, because she wanted it that way. My first day of kindergarten? The weepy, overbearing, standing in the back of the class sniffling Mom Show. Birthdays? The what a wonderful party I threw Mom Show. Xmas? The look how many lovely things I bought you Mom Show. My eighth grade graduation? I was in trouble for something, banned from prom (I think I pulled a low grade on a final or something else earth shattering). I was only able to attend the ceremony, and wear my pretty white lace dress I was so excited about, because all my grandparents had driven in from afar to see me graduate. She spent the whole ceremony loudly whispering about how much trouble I'd caused, how hurt she was, and how lucky I was she'd let me go at all. The look how magnanimous I am Mom Show.
- The "look how hard this is for me" Mom Show.
The "look how much trouble she is" Mom Show.
The "I try so hard, what is wrong with you" Mom Show.
The "she's so terrible, look how much she hurts me" Mom Show.
And if it wasn't The Mom Show, she could freeze you out for days. No eye contact or acknowledgement. I'm not sure which was worse, the silence or the violence. Only after days of groveling and asskissing would she relent and deign to acknowledge your existence. After that it could be weeks before she would be kind again.
The Mom Show was the hardest show to be on. One slip and your character would be eliminated.
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