I listened as my father bragged about my beauty and achievements to his friends at the country club. And I listened as he told the story about how Marilyn Monroe kissed my cheek at the ice cream parlor and how Maurice Chavalier took my hand to kiss it on Rodeo Drive, telling my father how he’d never seen such a beautiful little girl.
My father was a narcissist. In front of his friends, my father and I had a healthy relationship, but behind closed doors and in front of anyone who came over to visit, he was always angry that I hadn’t pleased him. He told me he could not love me the way he would have liked because I had been a disappointment to him.
When your father is a narcissist, you realize from an early age that your value depends on your behavior. Yesterday, you were his pride and joy when you were the lead in the school play, but tomorrow you will be worthless because you forgot to help your mother do the dishes or you asked for an extra helping of garlic bread at the dinner table.
My father presented me as his perfectly beautiful and talented daughter to his friends, but behind closed doors, I was verbally, physically and psychologically abused. Every time I was not his perfect daughter, I was worthless to him. And that was all the time. I was criticized endlessly for everything that didn’t measure up to his expectations, and his…
