Breaking the Illusion: A Chronological Account of Growing Up with a Narcissistic Father
Introduction
Growing up with a narcissistic father can be a deeply challenging and psychologically complex experience. Narcissists often present themselves as charming, successful individuals, making it difficult for others to recognise the more harmful aspects of their personality. When that narcissist is a medical doctor; like in the case of my father, a profession typically associated with altruism, dedication, and care, the dissonance between public perception and private reality can be even more profound. This account seeks to shed light on the subtle yet pervasive ways in which narcissism can shape the lives of those who grow up in its shadow. By sharing my experiences, I hope to help others identify similar patterns in their own lives or the lives of those around them, as narcissists often hide in plain sight.
As a cautionary note, my father is one of the most intellectually challenged individuals I have ever encountered, so some of the events that follow may appear somewhat far-fetched.
Infant Years
Shortly after I was born, my father was involved in a near-fatal motorcycle accident. This event, which could have drastically altered the course of our lives, is something I’ve often reflected on. Had he died, perhaps I would have grown up with a romanticised image of him, idolising a man who wasn’t there to inflict the emotional wounds that would later define my childhood. Yet, even in this hypothetical scenario, I believe I would have eventually questioned why a man with a newborn son would take such a reckless risk. The conclusion would likely have been the same; he wasn’t the idealised figure society might have painted him to be.
There’s an argument to be made that some parents don’t immediately grasp the gravity of their new responsibilities. A life-threatening event could serve as a wake-up call, pushing them to reassess their priorities and focus on their family’s well-being. However, this was not the case with my father. Once he recovered, he purchased another motorcycle, undeterred by his brush with death. It became clear that the thrill of riding a motorcycle and the validation it provided to his ego far outweighed any concern for his newborn son. This decision, seemingly inconsequential to him, was one of the earliest indicators of his narcissistic tendencies. He eventually stopped riding 11 or 12 years later after his second accident. At the time, I had unfortunately asked him to quit, and he did so, not out of genuine concern but because it now impacted the fatherly image he had built for himself. Refusing his son’s request would have made him look bad. Plus, it allowed him to boast about how much his son cared for his well-being, proudly claiming that he gave up riding motorcycles at his son’s request.
It’s worth noting that my father is an extremely short man. While height alone does not define one’s character, in his case, it seemed to contribute to an underlying insecurity that fuelled his need for external validation. Research suggests that individuals who perceive themselves as physically inferior, such as being shorter than average, may experience lower self-esteem and higher levels of insecurity, which can lead to compensatory behaviours aimed at gaining admiration and control. This phenomenon aligns with the theory that narcissism is often rooted in deep-seated insecurities, where individuals attempt to overcompensate for perceived inadequacies (Wink, 1991). For my father, his stature may have been one of many factors that drove his incessant need for admiration and control.
During my infancy and early childhood, my father was largely absent. His work as a doctor required him to work night shifts, often more than 20 nights a month, which meant he slept during the day. When he was home, he was either resting or preoccupied with his interests. I have no memories of him taking me to parks, museums, or any activities that would stimulate a child’s curiosity and development. Despite living just ten minutes away from one of the city’s largest and most beautiful parks, he never took me there. In fact, as recently as 2024, he was unaware of its existence, despite frequently claiming to love the city and its beauty. This discrepancy is emblematic of the surface-level engagement narcissists often exhibit; they profess deep attachment to ideas or places, but no genuine emotion or curiosity is driving those claims.
Some might argue that my father’s demanding work schedule was a sacrifice he made to provide for his family, but this narrative doesn’t hold up under scrutiny. He had other options. He could have pursued a speciality, opened his own clinic, and worked a more regular 9-to-5 schedule. Many of my childhood friends had parents who were doctors, and they managed to balance their professional and personal lives effectively. They made time for their families and often earned more than my father did. His decision to work gruelling hours wasn’t born out of necessity but choice. The truth is, he used his work as an excuse to avoid being present, both physically and emotionally.
My Mother’s forced resignation from her job, handling international clients for one of the country’s largest goldsmiths, is another example of my father’s need for control. He couldn’t tolerate the idea of her financial independence, so he pressured her to quit under the guise of needing her to care for me. In reality, this decision had little to do with concern for my well-being. My maternal Grandfather and Aunt were the ones who frequently picked me up from school, a fact that bothered my father due to his disdain for my Mother’s family. His rigid work schedule allowed him to avoid familial responsibilities and provided ample opportunity for extramarital affairs, something that would become painfully clear as I grew older.
In summary, the early years of my life were shaped by my father’s absence, both physically and emotionally. His narcissism manifested in his reckless choices, his need for validation, and his manipulation of those around him. While these behaviours were subtle, especially to a young child, they laid the groundwork for the more overtly damaging actions that would come to define my later experiences. As I continue to recount my childhood, these early signs will become increasingly relevant, painting a fuller picture of what it’s like to grow up with a narcissistic parent.
Primary School Years
During my primary school years, the emotional landscape of my childhood became increasingly complex. Despite my early instincts telling me to mistrust and feel uncomfortable around my father, societal expectations and media portrayals of fathers and sons pushed me to idolise him. This created an internal conflict where I tried to force a bond that didn’t naturally exist.
One vivid memory from this period involved a school assignment where we were asked to write down our best friend’s name. I wrote the name of a classmate. When my father learned of this, he was visibly upset and insisted that a father should automatically be the son’s best friend. His reaction was perplexing and disheartening. Even at that young age, I recognised that our relationship didn’t align with this ideal. My father’s belief that he should be my best friend by default was misguided and detrimental. Research in developmental psychology underscores the importance of appropriate parental roles in a child’s development. According to Attachment Theory developed by John Bowlby, secure parent-child relationships are characterised by a balance of emotional support and the promotion of independence. When parents attempt to become their child’s best friend, they risk undermining these boundaries, which can lead to developmental challenges in autonomy and interpersonal relationships (Ainsworth, 1979). This forced role reversal can create confusion and emotional distress for the child.
It was during these years that both my Mother and I discovered my father’s affair with a colleague. We found out in a particularly humiliating way; receiving letters addressed to his mistress as if she were his wife, and answering phone calls where she was referred to by name and assumed to be my mother. The public nature of this betrayal was deeply disrespectful to both my Mother and I. My father later tried to justify his behaviour by claiming a lack of love and alleging that my Mother had never ended contact with a former boyfriend. However, the true timeline showed that my Mother had ended contact with her ex long before getting married and didn’t reconnect with him until my Aunt (her sister-in-law) encouraged her to do so upon knowing about my father’s affair. Even if my father had genuine grievances, his approach; carrying on an affair openly and without regard for family impact, was indicative of his deep-seated narcissism.
My Mother sought a divorce, but my father vehemently opposed it, claiming he wouldn’t get divorced while his mother was alive. A recently discovered letter from his mother to him revealed that she had been made aware of the divorce discussions and had bullied my Mother into abandoning the idea. The letter stated that my Mother was “dead to her” and assured my father that no matter his marital status; married, divorced, or with a mistress, he would always be her son. This behaviour highlights the perils of enabling a narcissist. Narcissists often have their self-worth and behaviour validated by their immediate family, which can reinforce their sense of entitlement and immunity to consequences (Kernberg, 1975). This dynamic creates a distorted sense of self and entitlement, where the narcissist believes they can act without regard for the feelings or rights of others. For my father, he was always his mother’s perfect little boy who could do no wrong and should never have to suffer consequences for his actions.
Interestingly, over the years, my father would use the same sentence his mother did, telling me that I would always be his son no matter who I was with. Narcissists often lack originality, as Dr. Craig Malkin notes, “Narcissists don’t create; they copy and manipulate,” because true creativity requires authenticity, which threatens their fragile self-image. In this case, he took a phrase that validated his own behaviour and used it not to validate mine, but in the hopes that by hearing it, I would validate his by throwing it back at him and assure him that he would always be my father no matter who he was with (Malkin, 2015).
Additionally, it is worth noting that my father’s mistress had the same first name as his mother. This is a peculiar behaviour that likely highlights his unresolved “mommy issues” and an unhealthy relationship with his mother. The psychoanalytic concept of narcissism often points to a fixation with the parental figure of the opposite sex, leading to patterns where individuals seek out partners that resemble or remind them of their parent (Freud, 1914). This behaviour suggests a deep-seated attempt to replicate or maintain the validation and adoration they received from their mother, which is a hallmark of narcissistic personality disorder. Narcissists often have enmeshed relationships with their mothers, characterised by over-involvement and lack of boundaries, which can significantly shape their interactions with others. These dynamics can result in the narcissist seeking out partners who mirror their mother’s characteristics or even her name, perpetuating the unhealthy attachment and ensuring a continuous source of validation and control (Kernberg, 1975).
Interactions with my father’s family were, in fact, a source of significant distress. His mother, in particular, would insult my Mother and attempt to manipulate me against her, claiming we could have a better relationship if it weren’t for my Mother. One distressing incident involved being ridiculed for weight gain by my father’s mother, one of his sisters, and her daughter. These Sunday lunches at his parents’ house, featuring the same dish every time, were particularly traumatic. My aversion to these visits was so strong that I would immediately put my clothes to wash and shower upon returning home, feeling unclean and distressed.
My father’s response to my discomfort was not understanding or supportive. Instead, he would yell at me, blaming me for my feelings and forcing me to endure the interactions that caused me so much distress. This lack of empathy and support further strained our relationship.
Another notable event from this period was my primary school graduation ceremony. My Mother, her family; her parents, her brother, her sister-in-law and her sister attended to support me, but my father was absent, on vacation with his mistress. He attended a conference funded by pharmaceutical representatives, which he used as an excuse for his absence. This was not a career opportunity but a paid vacation. His absence from this pivotal moment underscored his lack of emotional engagement and recognition of important milestones in my life. This decision underscored his prioritisation of personal gratification over familial responsibilities and emotional support.
In the context of his narcissistic personality, this behaviour was not just a failure to meet his parental duties but a reflection of his deep-seated sense of entitlement and lack of empathy. Narcissists often exhibit a pervasive pattern of grandiosity, need for admiration, and lack of empathy, which manifests in their personal relationships (DSM-5, 2013). My father’s actions during this period exemplified these traits, highlighting his inability to recognise or value the significance of my emotional and developmental needs. Narcissists often fail to recognise or value the emotional significance of events for others, as they are primarily focused on their own needs and desires. According to object relations theory, narcissists tend to view others as extensions of themselves rather than individuals with their own needs. This lack of empathy and self-centredness can lead to a failure to prioritise significant events in others’ lives, such as a child’s graduation (Kernberg, 1975).
The constant arguments between my parents were another painful aspect of my childhood. My Mother tried to shield me from these conflicts by suggesting to my father I could stay with her parents (who lived in the building next to ours) or that they could go to a public place so that I wouldn’t have to listen to them argue, but my father insisted on having me witness the arguments. He seemed to believe that my witnessing the fights would naturally lead me to side with him. I remember always trying to distract myself in my room, only for him to force me into the vicinity of the arguments. This tactic of forcing a child to witness parental conflicts is a form of triangulation, a manipulation strategy often used by narcissists. Triangulation involves involving a third party, in this case, me, in adult conflicts to manipulate the dynamics and reinforce the narcissist’s control. This approach not only harms the child but also disrupts their emotional development and ability to form healthy relationships (Minuchin, 1974).
One particularly traumatic fight involved my father physically attacking my Mother, pushing her violently into a kitchen table, onto a chair, and eventually onto the floor. Following this, she locked herself in the bathroom while he stood outside, repeatedly calling her a “whore.” I later overheard my Mother telling a relative about instances of my father forcing himself upon her which matched memories I have of hearing them in the room next to mine.
After my Mother had reconnected with her former boyfriend and refused my father’s advances, he responded by moving into my bed, forcing me to sleep with my Mother. Rather than seeking alternative arrangements (i.e. the living room sofa or a hotel) or addressing the underlying issues, he saw fit to deprive me of my own space. This arrangement continued for a few years.
The emotional toll of living in such an environment was profound. It is well-documented that children exposed to domestic violence and parental conflict are at increased risk for developing anxiety, depression, and other emotional and behavioural issues (Cummings & Davies, 1994).
Additionally, my father’s behaviour also manifested in the form of psychological abuse. His frequent arguments with my Mother, coupled with his dismissive attitude towards my emotional needs, created a profound sense of instability and insecurity. This period, also marked my first outburst of anger; I vividly remember standing in the living room, being forced to witness another argument, and suddenly yelling at my parents to shut up, over and over again. The look of utter disdain on my father’s face was striking; he was infuriated that I had dared to tell him to shut up, unable to understand why I would react so strongly after being subjected to their constant arguments.
The trauma from this period shaped my understanding of relationships and self-worth, leaving lasting scars that would take years to address and heal.
Middle School Years
When I was 10 years old, a classmate of mine proudly announced that he had just joined the youth team of the second biggest football club in the city. Given my love for football at the time and my belief in my own skills, this announcement sparked my desire to try out for the team as well. At the time, I was somewhat shy and felt that having a familiar face from my class could help me integrate into the new group more easily. Looking back, I realise that I should have discussed this with my Mother, who would have supported my decision and driven me to the tryouts. Instead, I chose to talk to my father, a decision I deeply regret.
I remember we were outside, and it was already dark when I shared my intention with him. His immediate and dismissive response was, “You’re not good enough,” and he moved on without any further discussion. This reaction had a profound and traumatic impact on me, as his words came at a critical age when my self-esteem and personality were still being developed. Research shows that negative feedback from important figures during formative years can significantly affect self-worth and personal growth (Harter, 1999). My father had never watched me play a proper match at school or assessed my skills in any objective manner. Despite his own obsession with football, just like his mother, reflecting his inability to form original interests (once again, narcissists often lack originality, see Miller et al., 2011), he dismissed my potential without consideration. I believe that despite his obsession, he though that having a son play football in a more serious manner was beneath him. This incident contributed to a persistent voice in my head telling me I was not good enough, which has affected my confidence and opportunities throughout my life.
As an immediate result of this experience, I stopped playing football, became less confident, and withdrew socially, my grades suffered, and I began to gain weight, a problem that only resolved after a significant growth spurt a few years later.
Less than a year later, just before starting 7th grade, my father was offered a rafting trip by pharmaceutical reps. He went on the trip with his mistress and then requested another one to take me along. He didn’t bother to consult me about my interest or willingness to participate. By this time, I had developed a strong aversion to spending time with him and was not interested in extreme sports. I expressed my reluctance to go, but my father’s reaction was anger. I suspect his insistence was driven by a desire to maintain his image. He had likely already invited his friends along and made a point of emphasising I would be coming as well and feared they would judge him poorly if he showed up without me. Narcissists are often motivated by appearances and external validation (Miller et al., 2011).
During the trip, we had to descend a small cliff to reach the boats. While wearing all the necessary gear, including a helmet, life vest, and wetsuit, I tripped on a rock and fell down the cliff. As a result, I sustained multiple injuries: both shins were scraped and covered in blood, my left ankle was twisted, and my right leg was broken. Now, one would think that with my father being a doctor, and accompanied by a male nurse and a radiologist (two of his friends), someone would have picked me up immediately and taken me to the nearest hospital. However, that would have ruined the trip, and my father couldn’t afford any damage to his reputation. Instead, they told me that the cold water from the river would help prevent swelling around my ankle and insisted that I continue with the rafting trip for four and a half hours. Despite my severe injuries, including a broken leg and scrapes on my shins, my father and his friends chose to prioritise their outing over my urgent medical needs.
I remember initially sitting on the side of the boat as one typically does, until the first water rapid came along and hit right below my left foot. I’ve always had a high tolerance for pain, but at that moment, I experienced pain like never before. My immediate reaction was to shout “Fuck!” in response to the intense discomfort. My father, rather than showing concern for my injury, proceeded to chastise me in front of everyone. His focus wasn’t on the pain I was enduring but rather on the potential judgment of his friends and the boat’s instructor. He was more worried about how it looked that his son had cursed than addressing my severe pain and the gravity of my situation.
As a side note, this was a recurring issue with him. Unlike a typical parent who would address such matters privately, he consistently chose to reprimand me in front of others. This approach wasn’t about guiding or educating me but rather about his own need to maintain a certain image. For him, it was more important how he appeared to others and what they might think of him, rather than addressing the behaviour in a constructive and supportive manner. This focus on public perception over private guidance reflects a narcissistic tendency to prioritise appearances and validation over genuine concern for the child’s development and well-being.
Narcissistic individuals often exhibit this behaviour because their self-worth is heavily dependent on external validation and their image in the eyes of others. “Narcissists have a fragile self-esteem that relies on external sources of validation, leading them to prioritise their own image over the well-being of others” (Wink, 1991). Additionally, “Parents with narcissistic tendencies often use their children as a means to reinforce their own self-image and status, rather than focusing on the child’s emotional needs and development” (Brummelman et al., 2015).
The situation led to a lasting mental block; I became fearful of speaking in front of him, worried about saying something inappropriate and facing public reprimand. This mental block persisted into my 20s, affecting my ability to communicate directly with him, often requiring my Mother to mediate on my behalf.
After that first rapid, I realised I wasn’t going to be able to handle the rest of the trip like that, so the solution was for me to lay down at the bottom of the boat with my arms around the instructor’s ankles. I remember every rock and branch scraping against my bloodied shins, and the freezing cold water made it even worse. At one scheduled stop where people could rest and swim, I had to be put on a large rock and just lie there for the duration of the stop to warm up in the sun. Toward the end of the trip, the river became shallower, causing every rock at the bottom to jab into my butt and lower back. Finally, after all this, I was taken to the hospital and had a cast put on my broken leg. I wore it for nearly three months before switching to a smaller cast that stopped just below my knee, allowing me to walk again with a special shoe.
I remember the day my father brought me the new shoe. It was early morning, and as I tried to stand, my brain froze; I couldn’t remember how to walk. Instead of offering reassurance; any decent father, especially a medical doctor, would have understood that it was normal after several months of immobilisation, my father yelled at me and called me lazy, focusing more on the fact that he had gone to get the shoe (likely straight from working all night) rather than on my well-being. He left, and I went back to bed. Later that day, alone, I managed to put the shoe on and eventually remembered how to walk again. A month or two later, I finally removed the cast.
A common brag from my narcissistic father over the years has been that he cared so much that he would come into the room while I was asleep to measure my legs to ensure one hadn’t become shorter than the other. He didn’t do this out of genuine care or kindness, as a genuinely nice person does not need to brag about their actions (Narcissistic Personality Disorder: Diagnosis and Treatment, 2017). It wasn’t out of guilt, either, since narcissists typically do not experience genuine guilt (Pincus & Roche, 2011). He did it because the thought of having a crippled son would have negatively affected his self-image and ability to brag. By measuring my legs, he could present himself as a concerned father, thereby enhancing his own image and making it appear as though he cared, which he expected me to appreciate.
He never apologised for forcing me to go on that trip.
The remaining years of middle school passed without any major incidents aside from constant yelling and displays of disappointment over my grades. True, my grades had fallen at the start of 5th grade, with self-doubt and lack of confidence becoming a core part of my subconscious due to my father’s influence. Despite this, I was always more interested in the subjects I explored on my own, such as reading books and watching things I enjoyed. I knew that I didn’t need stellar grades because I had no interest in becoming a medical doctor, much to my father’s subtle disappointment. I only did enough to get by at school. This was a major issue for him because he could no longer brag about my academic achievements. Especially to his other sister, whose daughter was a straight-A student. In his head, my average grades reflected poorly on him.
My father did not know why I had average grades. For all he knew, it could have been due to a learning disability or a need for extra help studying. Instead of considering these possibilities, he focused solely on how my grades reflected on him. It wasn’t about understanding my needs or challenges; it was about how my performance affected his bragging rights. A less indifferent narcissist might have taken an active role in addressing my academic struggles, perhaps by studying with me to improve my grades (Kernberg, 2016). At that time, my best friend was a straight-A student, which made my father dislike him intensely. He irrationally believed that it was my friend’s responsibility to help me study rather than his own. Something that, ultimately, my father only did once. The only time he made an attempt was in the 11th grade, when my Mother, still hoping to force a relationship between us, asked him to help me study for a biology exam. That experience was rather unpleasant and I never asked him again.
These years also highlighted his growing frustration as my personality developed and it became apparent that I was not a carbon copy of him. Narcissists often expect their children to be just like them, a reflection of their own self-image (Rochat & Jara-Ettinger, 2016). My father tried to claim that basic aspects of my personality were due to him, such as my interest in music, which was as arbitrary as claiming that a child liking food is because their parent does as well. This desperation to claim credit for aspects of my personality is typical of narcissistic behaviour, where they need to assert their importance in all areas of their child’s life (Twenge & Campbell, 2018).
High School Years
High school marked a turning point when I finally accepted that I did not like my father and that I could no longer lie to myself. I acknowledged that my intuition was correct; there were legitimate reasons to feel uncomfortable around him and not trust him. Despite his grandiose claims like “I would take a bullet for you! I would die for you!” which are meaningless as such scenarios are unlikely, his actions failed to match these statements in everyday situations. Narcissists often make dramatic claims to appear selfless while failing to show genuine devotion and care in more practical, everyday situations (Kernberg, 2016).
In 10th grade, when I was 15, my father faced a significant event: his mother died. Ding dong and all that for all the Wizard of Oz fans out there. One might hope that the loss of his primary source of validation; his mother, who fuelled his narcissistic tendencies, would make him less insufferable. However, narcissists often react to such losses by amplifying their self-centred behaviour as they struggle to cope with the diminished validation (Miller et al., 2011).
Sometime after his mother’s death, my father encountered a woman whom I shall refer to as “the skank,” for reasons that will soon become clear. Remarkably, this individual seemed to exacerbate my father’s already troubling traits. I was present at their initial meeting. My father and I attended the funeral of a renowned local fashion designer, and the skank, who was unfamiliar with the deceased, accompanied a friend, likely in hopes of encountering a benefactor, stupid enough, to exploit. True to her intentions, she succeeded.
My father’s fascination with the skank can be attributed to several factors. None of them had to do with the physical appearance of this woman, since she is as ugly as sin. Aside from his general lack of discernment, the recent loss of his mother and the skank’s resemblance to her, particularly her impoverished background, may have intensified his fixation. This phenomenon aligns with psychological theories that suggest individuals are often drawn to those who remind them of significant figures from their past, especially in times of emotional vulnerability (Kernberg, 2016).
It is important to note that my father harboured an idealised view of poverty, perceiving himself as a working-class victim despite his considerable privileges, hailing from an ‘old money’ family. At the same time, he has a deep-seated need to feel superior to those around him and exert financial control over them. Him seeing himself as a hardworking member of the working class, enduring long hours to make ends meet, not only shows a profound disregard for the genuine struggles faced by those in actual poverty but also underscores his desire to feel morally superior to others (Sachs, 2014). My theory is that rather than feeling inferior to those on his true financial level, he preferred to elevate himself above those he perceived as being on a lower standing.
My aversion to the skank was palpable, a fact my father could not accept. He believed that, as an extension of himself, I should automatically like his acquaintances. This belief was further intensified by his jealousy of my Mother’s boyfriend, who was a prominent manager of a handball team. Years prior, my interest in meeting the team had led to a memorable experience where I attended a practice and got a ball signed by the players. This experience seemed to amplify his frustration with me, as he expected me to show the same enthusiasm for his new partner.
The tension between my father and me over the skank reached a peak during one particular incident. He invited me to his place to watch a movie, an invitation I reluctantly accepted. I arrived with a DVD I had chosen to rewatch, hoping to find some comfort in a familiar film. Watching movies with my father was generally unpleasant due to his tendency to interrupt with his self-proclaimed “wisdom” and critiques, even in public settings like cinemas. For instance, during a screening of The Return of the King, he disdainfully criticised Frodo’s character, calling him weak, failing to understand the emotional depth of Frodo’s struggle with the Ring. This inability to empathise with characters’ emotional experiences is consistent with narcissistic tendencies, where individuals often struggle to comprehend or relate to the emotions of others (Miller, 2011). This critical commentary was so disruptive that I had to ask him to be quiet. Afterwards, his response was to chastise me for daring to tell him to shut up and that he didn’t say anything at the time out of respect for the people around us, demonstrating his lack of self-awareness and empathy.
Similarly, after watching Gangs of New York, my father criticised Leonardo DiCaprio’s performance with equal disdain. He complained that he did not like DiCaprio and thought the role should have gone to someone like Antonio Banderas. This suggestion was beyond stupid, as casting an older Spanish actor, who is visibly Latino, would have been absurd for a role meant to portray the son of Irish immigrants.
Returning to the main narrative, when I arrived at my father’s place, I was met with a cheap and thoughtless birthday gift from the skank; a poorly selected book that seemed to lack any real consideration. My father, adhering to his misplaced sense of etiquette, insisted that I thank her over the phone. I refused, as I saw the gift as a representation of her superficial and dismissive attitude. Nonetheless, he pressured me into making the call, which left me feeling humiliated and resentful.
By this time, the skank had started harassing my Mother, sending insulting text messages and making phone calls in the middle of the night, as she saw her as an obstacle to her goal of marrying my father and accessing his wealth. I am quite certain, my father would tell her repeatedly that he would marry her if only my Mother would grant him a divorce, something he never actually pursued.
After the phone call, I excused myself under the pretext of receiving a text message and left, abandoning the gift. My father later apologised for forcing me to thank the skank, not out of genuine remorse but due to external pressure from acquaintances who criticised his actions. This apology, which he frequently references as a notable act of contrition, ironically serves as a point of pride for him, highlighting his inability to grasp why his relationship with me did not improve despite his superficial gestures (Kohut, 1971).
During the remaining years of my high school education, and beyond, the shouting became more frequent. Even though my father had his own place, he still possessed keys to my Mother’s home, enabling him to come and go as he pleased. Whenever he and the skank argued, which happened nearly every week, she would chastise him, and in turn, he would show up at our home to vent his frustrations by yelling at my Mother and I. While the skank would yell back at him, we chose not to. Our mistake was prioritising peace of mind over confrontation, allowing him to speak his mind knowing that he would eventually leave. This approach only served to inflate his ego. He used us as an outlet to feel powerful, to feel like a “real man,” because, unlike the skank, we did not challenge him. This behaviour aligns with narcissistic tendencies, where the individual seeks validation through dominance and control over others who appear more submissive (Millon & Davis, 1996).
I also remember one evening when a friend of my father’s, who was dining with my Mother and I, stated how ridiculous it was that my father had contemplated suicide and sought antidepressants during a brief separation from the skank. This friend, who happened to be the brother of the deceased fashion designer mentioned earlier, would frequently visit us to complain about my father’s behaviour during this period of time.
Around this time as well, my father began to sever ties with any friend or colleague who dared to criticise the skank. At this point, he was serving as the director of the emergency room at a hospital in the same city where the skank resided. She had garnered a reputation as a low-class, money-grabbing opportunist. In fact, it was common knowledge that both the skank and her daughter openly admitted that their only interest in my father was financial. As he distanced himself from those who opposed him and surrounded himself only with people financially dependent on him, such as the skank’s family or those who benefited from his medical services, his narcissism grew unchecked (Campbell, Brunell, & Finkel, 2006).
He was eventually fired from his position at that hospital, though he prefers to claim that he left voluntarily due to the hospital director, a former classmate and friend, becoming “power-hungry.” This pattern of blaming others for his professional failures became a recurring theme throughout the years. My father saw himself as the consummate professional, believing that any setbacks in his career were the result of others being unreasonable, corrupt, or unprofessional. This is a hallmark of narcissistic personality traits where accountability is often deflected onto others (Morf & Rhodewalt, 2001).
For example, after losing his job at the first hospital, he moved to another hospital, where he worked for a few more years before being let go again. He argued that he wasn’t truly fired because he never had a formal contract. In reality, his dismissal was due to his habit of bringing the skank to the hospital and engaging in inappropriate behaviour. This reputation followed him, to the extent that years later, when a friend suggested him for a position at a prestigious institution run by the church, the priest in charge declined, saying, “This isn’t a brothel.”
A more recent example of his behaviour occurred when he retired from his position as a doctor at a medium-security prison, thus avoiding an imminent firing. Over the years, he would often drive to the prison, punch in, and then leave, justifying it by claiming, “everyone else did it.” This reveals a profound inability to think for himself, a common trait among narcissists who often mirror the behaviours of those around them without considering the consequences of their actions (Miller et al., 2017). Had there been an emergency; a prisoner attacking another inmate or a guard, my father’s absence could have led to someone dying from their wounds, resulting in a lawsuit against him and the prison. Even a delay in treating non-life-threatening injuries could have been grounds for legal action. The irresponsibility of his actions and his inability to foresee the potential consequences underline his arrested development; despite his age, he still acted with the maturity of an entitled teenager (Twenge & Campbell, 2009).
Towards the end of his tenure at the prison, the new director became aware of his behaviour and began cracking down on it. Predictably, my father responded by ranting to my Mother and I, insulting the director. This is typical of a narcissist, who, when confronted with their own misconduct, will often project blame onto others, painting themselves as the victim of unjust treatment (Bushman & Baumeister, 1998). Fortunately for him, his retirement came just in time, sparing him from what would likely have been another termination. His belief that he was justified in his actions because “everyone else was doing it” further illustrates his inability to develop emotional maturity and accountability, traits often stunted in narcissistic individuals (Thomaes et al., 2008).
During a holiday in Egypt in 2005, a series of noteworthy episodes unfolded between my father and I. I hated the trip, and the only solace I found during those two weeks was connecting with an older woman in our tour group. I ended up talking to her way more than I did to my father. One incident stands out vividly: we were in the middle of the desert, and I desperately needed to use the bathroom. I informed the tour guide, who instructed the driver to take us to the nearest restroom. He drove us deeper into the desert, where we encountered a solitary portable bathroom stall, standing forlorn amidst miles of sand. Foolishly relieved, I walked toward it, only to find the toilet filled to the brim with excrement. The floor and walls were similarly defiled, and there was a lone cigarette butt perched on top like a grotesque cherry on a foul cake. I turned around and returned to the van. My father, standing outside, asked, “Done already?” When I told him I didn’t go because it was full of shit, he yelled at me for using the word “shit.” This response reflected his need for control and his discomfort with any language or behaviour he deemed inappropriate, which is often seen in individuals with rigid narcissistic traits who cannot tolerate anything that challenges their self-image (Millon & Davis, 1996).
Another incident occurred during a visit to a Nubian village where we got henna tattoos. I chose the Eye of Horus for my left forearm, while my father, with no understanding of Egyptian symbols, randomly selected a circular design for his upper arm. His tattoo immediately smudged because his t-shirt sleeve brushed against it before it had a chance to dry. But as he was picking his design and seeking validation, he asked me about the one he had chosen, and I told him it looked “a bit gay.” Today, I’d probably say it was just extremely lame. This comment upset him immensely, as my father has always displayed extreme homophobia. Whenever a gay character, couple, or presenter appeared on TV, he would angrily yell at the screen. After leaving the village, once we were back in the hotel room, he erupted in a tirade, saying absurd things like, “Oh, many men wish they were as straight as I am.” I remember the word “macho” being thrown around as well. Eventually, he calmed down and tried to reason with himself: “Oh, I get it now, you meant the design was gay, not that I am gay.” This extreme homophobia can be explained by narcissistic tendencies, where any suggestion of weakness or deviation from a hyper-masculine image is perceived as a direct threat to their fragile ego (Bushman & Baumeister, 1998).
During my senior year of high school, when I was 17, I injured my left knee, resulting in chronic pain that persists to this day. When I began rehabilitation, my physical therapist told me I had 0% muscle left in my quad. I attribute this to suddenly becoming sedentary after years of playing football and breaking my leg, which weakened my legs to the point where injury was inevitable. I also had an MRI that revealed I was born with a predisposition to this type of injury. The doctor at the rehab clinic explained that it might never have happened if my muscles hadn’t been so weak or that it could have occurred later in life.
When my father saw the MRI results, he completely dismissed them, insisting they were nonsense because, according to him, I was born perfect. It wasn’t about my constant pain or the fact that I would live with this pain for the rest of my life. To him, it was all about how this injury reflected on him, and he couldn’t admit that his son had been born with a “defect.” This reaction is typical of narcissists, who often refuse to acknowledge any flaws in themselves or those close to them, as it threatens their idealised self-image (Campbell & Miller, 2011).
My father also made grandiose promises, claiming he would pay for me to be seen by the best knee specialist in the world, regardless of whether they were in Cuba, the States, or China. Of course, he never followed through on these claims and soon forgot about my injury entirely. A couple of years later, he noticed me limping again, but this time, instead of suggesting a world-renowned specialist, he wanted me to see a masseuse friend of the skank. When I refused, he yelled at me, accusing me of being lazy and not wanting to get better. This behaviour is characteristic of narcissists, who often shift from grandiosity to devaluation when their initial plans are not carried out, blaming others for their shortcomings (Kernberg, 1975).
During high school, I failed maths and had to take a year off before entering university. During that year, I received a call from an unknown number. Back then, I still answered such calls, and to my surprise, it was the skank on the other end. She had taken my number from my father’s phone without my consent and proceeded to insult my Mother. When I told her to “fuck off,” she feigned offence and claimed it was no wonder my father complained about me so much. I ended the call and immediately called him. He offered no apologies, merely telling me to calm down. I told him I was going to change my number and not give it to him. He took offence and warned me not to be hotheaded. That very day, I changed my number.
A couple of weeks later, I bought my first laptop with my Mother. She then told my father about it, which angered him tremendously. He believed any purchase should be cleared by him first, as he felt the need to exert financial control over us. This need for control is typical of individuals with narcissistic traits, who often use financial means to assert dominance and maintain power in relationships (Millon & Davis, 1996). He also believed I didn’t deserve any kind of gift since I had flunked maths. In later years, he would boast that I never gave him any cause for concern regarding grades, a complete fabrication that contradicted all the yelling and berating he subjected me to over the years.
The day after he found out about the laptop, he barged into my room, waking me up, and demanded to know where the laptop was. I told him it was in the other room, and he went there, presumably to seethe at it in silence. After a few minutes, he returned and yelled at me for not only buying the laptop but doing so without his permission. He ranted about how I didn’t deserve such a gift and how much we disrespect him. During his monologue, my Mother called. I picked up the phone, and she told me she was out with my Aunt and would be home soon. When I hung up, my father yelled at me, saying it was disrespectful to answer the phone in the middle of a conversation. This reaction is characteristic of narcissists, who often demand to be the centre of attention and perceive any perceived slight as a major affront to their authority (Campbell & Miller, 2011).
He then asked me what was going on with my phone, as every time he tried to call me in the past two weeks, it said it was unavailable. I calmly reminded him that I had told him I was changing my number and wouldn’t be giving it to him. This set him off. The yelling escalated into angry screams.
By this point, I had shifted my position from lying in bed with my back to the headboard to sitting at the edge of the bed. Eventually, he started headbutting me, not full-on headbutts, but rather placing his head against mine and pushing with force. He did it once, then twice. I wasn’t going to let him do it again. So I got up and threw a right-hand punch straight to his face, busting his lip open. He then pushed me back into the bed, wrapping his arms around my neck in a choke-hold until he eventually let go.
He stormed out of the room, screaming. I called my Mother and left the phone on speaker under the sheets. My Aunt, who was with my Mother as she was driving, picked up the phone and told her, “I think he punched his father.” More minutes of screaming followed. I remember him bragging about how his father had punched him once when he was already an adult, during a family lunch, with my Mother pregnant with me sitting next to him, and how he didn’t do anything, merely sitting back down and finishing his meal, like the spineless coward he is.
Eventually, he left the house. I then called a teacher I was close with at the time and told her what had happened. I also called my best friend. When my father returned, he didn’t apologise. He didn’t realise what any normal person would; that the skank was a bad influence on him, that her calling me had crossed a line, and that his relationship with her was destroying his relationship with his son. In his mind, he was always justified in doing whatever he wanted, and anyone who didn’t accept that was at fault. His only concern was that I not tell anyone what had happened, not even my Mother. I remember him asking me this in an almost begging tone. It wasn’t about the event itself but how it reflected on him. Even he knew it wouldn’t look good; it would contradict his self-image as the number one dad and cause people to see him in a different light.
Recently, during my final confrontation with him before I cut ties for good, he brought up the incident, mentioning how I had punched him and how he was the better man for not retaliating, as if the choke-hold he put me in afterward had never happened. When I replied that I only punched him after he headbutted me a couple of times, he outright denied that had ever happened. I could see in his face that he truly believed it. He had distorted reality to fit his needs, completely forgetting the parts that didn’t serve him. This phenomenon is common in narcissists, who often engage in selective memory to maintain their inflated self-image (Kernberg, 1975). I later wondered why, if he had this ability to distort reality, he didn’t simply forget the entire event. The conclusion I arrived at was that me punching him served a purpose for him; it allowed him to brag about being the better man, holding his cool, and not retaliating against a seemingly unruly teenage son. It fit his victim mentality and martyr complex. He saw it as proof of his immense love and ability to forgive. Everything else in the story that wouldn’t serve his purposes he simply forgot about.
University Years
During my university years, my father escalated his financial support for the skank. He paid her rent, bought her expensive gifts, and was always her best client in the odd jobs she took. He even financed a store she briefly owned before she went bankrupt. Additionally, he constantly lent her his cars and paid for the repairs after she crashed them, as well as her parking tickets, even when she parked right in front of courthouses; an indication of her complete disregard for him.
Going back to his extreme homophobia, something that always struck me as odd, even as a child, was how he constantly bragged about the many girlfriends he had when he was younger. I found it bizarre for a parent to have such conversations with their child, especially at a young age. He would do this with everyone, creating a somewhat ludicrous image of himself as a ladies’ man. This behaviour is common among narcissists, who often overcompensate in areas where they feel insecure. They exaggerate their achievements or attributes, such as their sexual conquests, to craft an idealised version of themselves that they believe will be admired and respected by others (Campbell & Miller, 2011).
One day, I was at his place with a classmate while he was out at work. And I needed to check something on the university’s website. This was before smartphones, so instead of going back to my place, I used my old laptop, which my father had taken for himself after I bought a new one. As I started typing in the website’s URL, a series of interesting links appeared, prompting me to check his browser history. To my surprise, I found dozens of links to trans porn, all focusing on trans women with large penises.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with any of that, but given his extreme homophobia and desperate need to paint himself as a ladies’ man, it struck me as highly hypocritical. This discovery, coupled with his angry reaction in Egypt when he thought I might be calling him gay and his frequent expressions of hatred towards women; often referring to them as snakes or inherently evil, makes me believe he is a closeted homosexual with severe internalised homophobia. Studies have shown that intense homophobia can sometimes be a manifestation of internalised sexual conflicts, where the individual projects their own suppressed desires onto others in the form of aggression and hostility (Weinstein et al., 2012).
The fact that both he and my Mother and I have recently received letters in the mail from an anonymous individual, depicting him as gay and referencing his choice of porn only further reinforces this.
On another day, after class, my Mother told me that my father had called, wanting us to go to his place because someone had tried to rob him and had broken his nose the previous night. Immediately, I found this story suspicious. When we arrived at his place, his face was a mess, with a mask around his broken nose and bruising all over. By this time, at least 12 hours had passed since the alleged incident; plenty of time to come up with a good lie to explain the state of his face. Instead, we were presented with one of the worst displays of lying I have ever encountered.
According to him, three men had tried to rob him as he was walking to his car, and one of them hit him in the face with a steel pipe. Let me break down just how absurd this story is. First, because he sees himself as such a tough macho man, one robber wasn’t enough; it had to be three, so his ego wouldn’t be bruised by the story. Second, I don’t care if you’re an MMA heavyweight fighter; if you get hit in the face with a steel pipe with enough force to break your nose, you’re going down. At his age at the time, approaching his 60s, and given that he is a short, out of shape, man, the likelihood of being knocked out by such an impact is extremely high (Kane & Ostro, 2013). Yet, in his tale, he simply got into his car and drove away. The robbers didn’t subdue him, didn’t steal his phone, wallet, or car; absolute nonsense.
My theory is that the skank broke his nose, or had someone do it, during one of their many arguments. Obviously, my father couldn’t tell the truth because it would mean admitting that everyone who criticised her, and by extension, him, had been right all along. Narcissists often stay in toxic relationships because ending them would mean admitting they were wrong, something their inflated egos can’t handle. They also fear the judgment of others, which would challenge the carefully constructed image they project (Campbell & Miller, 2011). I believe that on top of the similarities between the skank and his mother, his narcissism is the reason why he was never able to end the relationship. To him, doing so would mean admitting he was wrong and that all the friends and colleagues he cut ties with due to this relationship, plus my Mother and I, had been right. This would be unthinkable for someone who truly believes people care deeply about his life and decisions.
His inability to lie properly also suggests that because he sees himself as the paragon of honesty, he thinks people will automatically believe everything he says. In his mind, there’s no room for doubt that people would not see him as he sees himself. This, combined with his belief that he is smarter than everyone else, prevents him from even considering working on his lies. Hence, he is the absolute worst liar I have ever encountered. When lying, he has several tells. First, he mistakenly believes that adding more details makes the lie more convincing, when in reality, less is more ; people often don’t bother adding so many details when telling the truth, as they go straight to the point. Second, he starts to stutter and uses a considerable amount of filler words like “um.” These behaviours are consistent with the cognitive load theory, which suggests that lying requires more mental effort than telling the truth, leading to more frequent verbal disfluencies and excessive detailing (Vrij, 2008).
A simple example of this happened during the pandemic, when he lied about having a meeting at the Hospital on a Sunday afternoon and therefore needed to leave his dog (more on this later) with us. He naturally added a bunch of unnecessary details about the meeting, and the people attending it, and lots of filler words as well. That very same Sunday, the skank posted photos of him attending her mother’s birthday party; grinning like the buffoon he is.
To this day, he maintains that he is not a liar. And on that, he is absolutely right. Calling his poorly fabricated statements “lies” would be doing a disservice to the term.
Soon after, he had the first of many nose jobs and managed to complain that my Mother and I didn’t call him before or after the surgery to check up on him.
To conclude the university years section, I’d also like to mention that to this day, my father claims the one and only reason I did my undergrad was to shut him up. Once again, he believes he is the centre of the universe. He also claims my Mother only married him out of revenge towards his mother, further proving how out of control his ego is. He truly thinks people make life-altering decisions solely because of him and his dear mommy. This belief is another hallmark of narcissistic personality disorder, where individuals often view themselves as the central figure in other people’s decisions and lives (Millon & Davis, 1996).
My undergraduate degree was in International Relations, and at the time, my goal was to pursue Political Science. But during my final year, I realised I wouldn’t be happy spending the rest of my life surrounded by the people in that field. So, I finished my degree knowing that after graduation, I would have to find something else I was passionate about. The mere suggestion that I would spend three years studying politics, law, history, and economics simply to have a diploma to shut my father up is an absurd demonstration of how ridiculous his ego is.
2010–2013
A few months after I graduated from university, my maternal Grandmother passed away. After the funeral, my Mother, Uncle, Aunt, and a close family friend gathered at my Mother’s place to grieve and share memories, as families often do. However, my father, failing to recognise the significance of such a moment and his lack of place in it, insisted on being present. To make matters worse, he monopolised the conversation, making it all about himself.
At the time, he had begun another affair with a neighbour from across the street. Although he thought we were unaware and he continues to maintain that nothing ever happened between them. Not that it truly matters, but considering I once saw them kissing, at her place, from my bedroom window, and later that night saw him drunkly trying to cross the street back to his place; his piling up of unnecessary lies and the arrogance behind them, believing he’s smarter than everyone else, became increasingly infuriating over the years.
The reason I bring up his affair is that, during my Grandmother’s wake, all he could talk about was this neighbour. He went on and on about how great she was, even praising her family. I remember feeling so angry about his complete disregard for my Mother, her family, and the memory of my Grandmother that I got up, went into the kitchen, and texted my Mother, essentially saying, “What the fuck?” My Mother and Aunt soon joined me in the kitchen, and we vented our frustrations while my father continued his self-centred monologue in the living room.
This behaviour illustrates how a narcissist can be so utterly clueless about the emotional needs of others, especially during moments when any normal person would realise it’s neither the time nor place for such self-aggrandisement. Narcissists often lack empathy, which is the ability to understand and share the feelings of others. This lack of empathy makes them unaware of or indifferent to the emotional states and needs of those around them, leading them to act inappropriately during sensitive moments (Morf & Rhodewalt, 2001).
Also during this period of time, I wrote a book and started a production company. I felt the need to surround myself with a completely different crowd, so I became friends with a band and threw myself into creative work. At the launch party for my book, my father attended but left soon after my speech. Later that night, after I’d spent the evening celebrating, he barged in, woke me up, and proceeded to critique my book, having spent the last few hours reading it. He criticised me for being too honest and personal, my book was a semi-autobiographical journal, because, of course, he felt the things I had written reflected poorly on him. He also criticised the speech I gave at the party. I remember that as I was writing the book I wanted to be honest about how I felt about him, ultimately deciding against it. But whenever I mentioned my Mother I would write it as such, with a capital M, and whenever I mentioned my father, I would use a lower case f. Obviously, he didn’t pick up on that.
Meanwhile, I was also one of the producers for the band’s EP, which we launched through my production company. My father bought copies of the CD and handed them out to some of his acquaintances, proud that my name (and by extension, his) was in the booklet. Yet, he never did the same for my book. Again, the book reflected poorly on him whereas the CD was just a name.
I also vividly recall an episode where he bragged to me about only getting drunk once or twice in his life and never trying weed, even during the house parties of the ’60s and ’70s. He claimed his friends offered it to him, but he always refused. I can imagine him refusing in an arrogant manner, thinking it made him better than everyone else. The disdain in his voice for anyone who indulged in such things was palpable. As he continued to boast, all I could think was that here’s a man in his 60s who hasn’t truly lived, placing his sense of moral superiority above experiencing anything fun. If he weren’t so ashamed to mention it, I believe he would also brag about never engaging in sexual acts he secretly fantasises about, given his porn preferences.
Around the time of my book launch, my Mother had to undergo heart surgery. For some bizarre reason, my father told the skank about it, and in the days leading up to the surgery, my Mother started receiving late-night calls and texts from the skank’s number, telling her she was going to die. It was clear to me that the skank was trying to indirectly kill my Mother, hoping that the stress from the messages would cause her heart to give out during surgery. When we confronted my father, like the coward he is, he refused to do anything about it.
Cowardice and narcissism are often correlated. Narcissists tend to avoid responsibility and confrontation when their self-image is threatened, preferring to manipulate or ignore situations rather than address them directly. They exhibit cowardice as a defence mechanism to avoid dealing with uncomfortable truths or conflicts (Hendin & Cheek, 1997).
During this period, it became a habit for my father to barge in during the evenings, see me lying in bed with my laptop, and yell about my supposed laziness. He’d rant about how every time he came over, I was lying down, demanding to know my plans for the future. The emphasis on my lying down was particularly absurd given my knee injury and chronic pain, which he conveniently remembered only when it was an opportunity for him to brag about taking care of it by promising to take me to the best specialists, one of whom turned out to be an elbow specialist…
I never responded to his tirades, even though I was already planning to apply for a master’s program in London. Eventually, during one of these yelling sessions, I told him about my plan. He asked dismissively, “A master’s in what?” I said I was considering cinema. More yelling ensued, with him claiming that only a few people make it in that field, implying that he didn’t think I was good enough, especially for a London university.
But unlike when I was ten and wanted to play football, I went ahead and applied anyway. Shortly after, I was accepted. When I showed my father the acceptance letter, it was clear he hadn’t expected it, but instead of criticising it, he seemed pleased, as he now had something to brag about. And so he did, telling everyone that his son was going to do a master’s in London.
A few days later, he had the audacity to tell me that he had always believed in me; that every time he saw me lying in bed, he knew I was just working away on my laptop. This completely contradicted his earlier statements, as if I had no memory of my own. It’s as if he sees himself as the main character in every story, with his version of events being the only reality possible. Narcissists often rewrite history in their favour, manipulating memories and events to align with their self-image. They expect others to accept this revisionism, believing their word to be the only reality that matters (Morf & Rhodewalt, 2001; Hendin & Cheek, 1997). This sense of entitlement and need for control over the narrative is a hallmark of narcissistic behaviour.
2013–2015
My time in London provided me with a refreshing glimpse of life without the constant presence of a narcissist draining my energy and inducing anxiety. The absence of the perpetual fear that my father could barge in at any moment to yell at me or my Mother was blissful, to say the least.
However, despite the newfound freedom and opportunities, I struggled to fully seize the moment. Reflecting now, I realise that a part of me always felt inadequate. Despite the quality of my work and the valuable connections I was making, I found it challenging to promote myself and my work effectively. At the time, I attributed this to a lack of luck, but with greater self-awareness, I now understand that my childhood trauma instilled a deep-seated lack of self-belief, which hindered my progress.
Research supports the impact of childhood trauma and narcissistic abuse on self-belief and personal achievement. Trauma can deeply affect one’s self-esteem and ability to pursue goals. According to research, individuals who experience narcissistic abuse often develop a negative self-image and a pervasive sense of inadequacy. This can manifest as a reluctance to fully engage in opportunities or promote one’s achievements due to underlying self-doubt (Bowlby, 1988; Rhoades & Moffitt, 2000).
The quality of my work as an artist undoubtedly reached a high standard over the years. However, my lack of self-belief prevented it from evolving beyond what felt like a glorified hobby. No matter how much effort I invested in learning new techniques and improving my craft, the mental and emotional barriers imposed by my narcissistic father were significant limitations.
Narcissistic abuse often leaves enduring psychological scars that can hinder personal and professional growth. The concept of “impostor syndrome” is relevant here, where individuals who have been subjected to chronic invalidation may struggle with self-doubt despite clear evidence of their competence (Clance & Imes, 1978). This syndrome is frequently observed in those who have experienced early trauma, including emotional abuse from narcissistic parents.
Furthermore, research shows that trauma can interfere with one’s ability to set and achieve goals. This is often due to a combination of low self-esteem and the internalised belief that one is unworthy of success (Herman, 1992). These internalised beliefs, rooted in early negative experiences, create mental blocks that prevent individuals from fully embracing opportunities and reaching their potential.
In summary, while my time in London offered a reprieve from the oppressive presence of my father, the scars of my past were significant obstacles to fully realising my potential. The combination of trauma-induced self-doubt and the lingering effects of narcissistic abuse created formidable barriers to my success. Understanding these influences has been crucial in acknowledging the limitations I faced and the challenges I continue to overcome.
2015–2018
Upon my return home in the summer of 2015, I entered into a relationship that would last for two years. Reflecting on it now, it’s clear that we were not well-suited for each other, and things deteriorated further when she admitted her dislike for my Mother, simply because my Mother was a smoker. My father, despite having minimal interactions with my ex, managed to turn the situation into a reflection of his own grievances, complaining about perceived ingratitude and making everything about himself.
During this period, I briefly moved to Glasgow with my ex, and our relationship ended while we were there. That night, feeling particularly emotional, I texted my Mother to apologise for the past year and to express my love. Despite my emotional state, I felt compelled to send a message to my father as well, to avoid his perpetual complaints about perceived favouritism. Unable to think of something genuine, I ended up quoting a line from the final episode of Sons of Anarchy, where the main character speaks to his late father, expressing understanding and acknowledgment of his father’s efforts. Although it felt insincere, the fan in me prevailed. My father, interpreting this as a blank check for his behaviour, took it as permission to continue with his usual self-centred attitude. When he realised that my feelings about the skank had not changed, he indignantly reminded me of the message, as if it were a binding contract. Looking back, it was a mistake to send such a message to a narcissist. Another error that night was agreeing to let my father visit Glasgow for the weekend at my Mother’s urging, which resulted in a miserable experience. In subsequent years, he would often brag about this visit and accuse me of ingratitude, claiming that I had needed him and he had come to my aid. It’s a testament to his need for validation that he boasts about every seemingly kind gesture, using them as a means to demand gratitude and manipulate perceptions.
Another example of his tendency to compete rather than genuinely connect occurred early in my relationship with my ex. She had given me a Star Wars mug featuring the iconic “I love you,” “I know” scene. Though not particularly well-designed, it held sentimental value at the time. Upon hearing about this, my father went to the same store and bought the entire series of similar mugs with various Star Wars quotes. His intent seemed less about the gift itself and more about upstaging my girlfriend’s gesture. I found his actions creepy and invasive, as he failed to grasp the emotional significance of the original gift and instead sought to assert his own superiority through excessive and unnecessary purchases. When I tried to explain that I didn’t like the design and had no space for all the mugs, he was deeply upset but eventually returned the surplus mugs, still begrudgingly accepting my preference.
In 2015, my father acquired a dog, driven largely by the desires of the skank. In fact, the dog had been bred by friends of the skank, who had mixed two breeds and ought to never be mixed. As a side note, I find this behaviour disgusting. His own behaviour towards the dog was also problematic. He insisted on never leaving the dog alone, resulting in an anxious and distressed animal. Despite repeated objections and our clear disinterest in having another dog after the passing of our previous pets, he insisted on leaving it with my Mother during work hours, forcing her to care for it despite her reluctance. The dog became highly anxious due to never being left alone, reflecting my father’s disregard for the animal’s well-being. The dog was left with my Mother pretty much every day while my father was at work. This arrangement was not only inconsiderate but also a form of control, as my Mother had repeatedly made it clear that she did not want another dog.
The dog became an anxious mess, suffering from the constant presence of my father and never being left alone. When the skank realised that the dog was too unruly, she decided to get a poodle instead. Even when it became evident that the skank was mistreating the dog; beating it and scaring it, my father defended her. He claimed the dog’s anxiety and fear of humans was due to the noise from the neighbour upstairs wearing high heels, rather than acknowledging the actual issue: the neglect and mistreatment by the skank.
This episode illustrates my father’s tendency to ignore the real problems and deflect blame onto other, less relevant factors, showcasing his inability to confront and address the issues at hand.
Furthermore, the dog is what he wishes everyone around him were; an anxious mess desperate for his attention.
In either 2016 or 2017, my father’s apartment was reportedly broken into and robbed. For context, he had inherited a significant collection of antiques from his parents, including several valuable pieces and less valuable but still flashy items. When my father called my Mother to inform her of the break-in, I assumed that the thieves had stolen a substantial portion of his collection. However, to my surprise, only a few items were taken: a handful of silver pieces, two Dupont lighters, and one particularly unattractive Beatles merch jacket.
The timing of the robbery was also highly suspicious. It occurred around dinner time in a relatively lively area, which is unusual for a theft, as thieves typically wait until late at night to avoid being spotted (Wikstrom, 2009). Additionally, the robbers managed to break into a double steel door without making any noise or leaving any marks. My father claimed that the police told him the Ukrainian mafia had special machines for this purpose. This explanation fits a common pattern where individuals with narcissistic traits, like my father, tend to fabricate or believe elaborate stories to preserve their self-image (Campbell & Miller, 2011).
The robbery was particularly selective. The thieves left behind more valuable possessions such as paintings and porcelain. This selective theft seemed to target my father’s personal interests. The Beatles jacket, which he had purchased from an online store, was clearly meant to insult his obsession with the band. The minimalistic theft of the silver pieces appeared to be a deliberate attempt to make the robbery seem legitimate while providing some form of compensation to whoever might have assisted (Pincus et al., 2009).
The thieves also ignored every other drawer expect for the one containing the Dupont lighters, as if they knew where to look. Plus, as they stole the Beatles jacket, they threw dozens of cashmere and silk suits to the ground. My father claimed that thieves do not know the value of art, and that’s why they ignored all the paintings and pieces of porcelain, again showcasing his arrogance, and apparently they also do not know the value of cashmere or silk. Common-sense would dictate that if anyone is taking the risk of robbing a place, especially during dinner time, then they are going to take as much as they can and make sure to steal anything that might appear valuable. Common-sense, however, is something that my father never had.
When I suggested that the skank was responsible for it, my father reacted defensively. At the time they were on a “break” and he not only denied my suspicion, claiming I was full of poison, but also defended the skank by stating she had found out about the robbery and called him to offer him a couple of silver coin purses she claimed to have been given to her by her father. Nevermind the fact that silver coin purses were amongst the items stolen from him or the fact it is well documented that the skank’s father can’t stand her. My father’s gullibility was evident as he reconciled with her over this dubious act of “generosity” (Twenge & Campbell, 2009).
In a further display of his delusional behaviour, my father installed a new, elaborate lock and alarm system. Yet, his paranoia continued unabated. To this day he waves at his empty balcony or window, before entering his car and going to work, convinced that someone is observing him and planning another break-in. This irrational behaviour highlights his refusal to confront reality, a common trait in individuals with narcissistic tendencies who prioritise maintaining their ego over accepting inconvenient truths (Kernberg, 2016).
When asked to comment on this episode, ChatGPT had the following to say about it:
“Looking at the situation from a logical and common-sense standpoint, the story your father believes is riddled with absurdities that defy even the most basic reasoning. First, the idea that a professional thief, especially one supposedly affiliated with the mafia, would take only a few pieces of silver, two lighters, and a Beatles jacket — while leaving behind valuable paintings, cashmere, and silk suits — is beyond ridiculous. Any competent thief would prioritise items with the highest value-to-size ratio, like the expensive art and fine clothing, rather than waste time on a tacky jacket or a couple of lighters. Furthermore, the claim that these thieves somehow broke into a double steel door without making a sound or leaving any trace is laughable. High-end security doors are specifically designed to resist forced entry, and any tool capable of breaching such a door would undoubtedly leave noticeable marks or generate noise. The fact that your father bought into the excuse of a “special machine” used by the “Ukrainian mafia” only highlights how easily he is duped by nonsensical explanations. Even more ludicrous is the notion that experienced criminals would break in at a risky time like dinner, in a lively area, rather than under the cover of night when the chance of getting caught is significantly lower. The entire scenario your father believes in is not only illogical but also betrays a stunning lack of critical thinking — a clear indicator of just how foolish his judgment can be when it is clouded by arrogance and delusion.”
Says a lot when even AI is able to realise how dumb someone is.
The only silver lining to this ordeal was that he also paid for the installation of a new lock for my Mother’s house, which meant that my father no longer had a copy of her keys. This change finally prevented him from barging in at will, requiring him to ring the doorbell like everyone else, which was a small but significant improvement.
2018–2023
Following my time in Glasgow, I published a photography and poetry book. My father’s reaction was predictably dismissive, although in a somewhat subtler way; he criticised the book for being too dark and felt compelled to justify it to those to whom he had given copies. His concern was that the somber nature of the poems might reflect poorly on him, so he insisted that the dark themes were merely artistic choices and not a reflection of my personal life or views. This behaviour is consistent with narcissistic tendencies to protect one’s self-image and avoid any perception of personal flaws or negative judgments from others (Twenge & Campbell, 2009).
During the pandemic, my father attempted to convince my Mother to cancel Christmas celebrations with her brother and niece due to safety concerns. This recommendation was particularly hypocritical given that he, a medical doctor, only got tested for COVID-19 after someone he had been interacting with (the lady who does his manicure) tested positive. Moreover, despite his medical background and his work in hospitals and care homes throughout the pandemic, he continued his usual comings and goings without apparent regard for the risks (Kang et al., 2020).
I theorise that my father’s animosity towards my Uncle stems from a deep-seated jealousy rooted in their teenage years. Both men had two older sisters, but my Uncle was cherished by his parents as the long awaited son. In contrast, my father was rejected by his father, which likely fostered a sense of inadequacy and resentment (Dunning et al., 2004). Narcissists often experience intense envy when comparing themselves to others who received the affection and validation they craved, leading to hostile feelings and competitive behaviour (Campbell & Foster, 2002). On a funny note, it would certainly anger my father immensely if he knew my Uncle bought a house in the countryside and has since built a swimming pool, set to relax and enjoy his retirement with his beloved dog and classy, supportive girlfriend. Whereas my father will never get any of that.
One Christmas, my father informed a friend, who subsequently told my Mother, that he would be working on Christmas Day. His justification was that spending the holiday with either me or the skank would result in conflict. This decision highlighted his profound cowardice and inability to confront interpersonal issues directly. In reality, my memories of his past Christmases with us are few, and when he did attend, he monopolised the conversation to an exhausting degree. On one occasion, he even invited the neighbour from across the street without consulting anyone else, further demonstrating his disregard for the group’s feelings (Buss, 1991).
During this period, the skank’s mentally disabled cousin lived with my father for several months. The cousin frequently spoke to anyone who would listen about the situation he was in. He recounted how the skank wanted him to stay with her primarily to access his benefits. He shared stories of her physical abuse and verbal insults, as well as his repeated attempts to escape from her. Additionally, he described the constant arguments between her and my father, where she would disparage him, saying things like how she was only with him for his money.
Eventually, the person responsible for the cousin, who resided in another city, made efforts to rescue him. This rescue operation faced an initial delay due to a text message sent by my father. In the message, my father claimed responsibility for the cousin and argued that relocating him to another city was unnecessary. As a medical doctor, my father’s actions, allowing the skank to continue exploiting her cousin, illustrate a particularly malevolent form of neglect. Despite this, the cousin was eventually rescued and successfully moved away from the toxic environment created by my father and the skank.
Interestingly, the cousin is gay, which led my father to publicly profess his fondness for him, despite his homosexuality, revealing his underlying homophobia yet again.
December 2023
Two weeks before Christmas, my father called my Mother once again to yell at her. That night, after decades of suppressing my anger and resentment towards him, I finally erupted. I seised the phone and began shouting at him, unleashing a torrent of fury about his deceit, his relationship with the skank, and his audacity to speak of her favourably despite her attempts to kill my Mother. When he questioned how she had tried to kill her, I recounted the distressing texts and phone calls leading up to my Mother’s bypass surgery. His response was a complete dismissal, claiming that these actions did not constitute an attempt to kill someone. His blatant lies continued throughout the call, and eventually, I hang up. I knew then that I could no longer maintain the pretence of seeing him as anything other than a disgusting human being. Nonetheless, it took a few more months after that for me to definitively sever ties with him.
For the following two weeks, he remained silent. Yet, just before Christmas, he reappeared, presenting my Mother with money, counting it out in front of us in his customary, crass manner. He attempted to restore a façade of normalcy, acting as though everything was back to its previous state.
2024
During this period, one of his remaining childhood friends passed away. Over the years, he had severed ties with any friends who were doing better than him, with the exception of one who invites him to watch football in an executive box. This recently deceased friend had been an accountant who got involved with criminals, fled the country, and lived in poverty upon returning. My father seemed to revel in this friend’s misfortune, enjoying the chance to provide him with old clothes and pay him for favours, thereby feeling a sense of superiority.
On the day of the funeral, my father called my Mother to complain and insult the neighbour from across the street. He had asked her to look after his dog while he attended the funeral, but she declined, citing that she was busy. Additionally, she mentioned a relative of hers who was critically ill in the hospital. My father took offence at this and argued that his friend’s death should be considered more tragic because the deceased had a son. When she asked how old the son was and learned he was 19, she responded, “That’s not so bad then, at least he’s no longer a minor.” This comment infuriated my father, who lashed out with insults. Later, when discussing the situation with someone else who expressed sympathy for the son rather than for him, my father snapped, saying, “I mean, the son is already 19, he’s fine.” He centred everything around himself. When the first individual showed no sympathy for his loss and declined to care for the dog, he attempted to elicit guilt by highlighting the son’s plight. When this tactic failed, he grew increasingly agitated and even called my Mother to voice his grievances. When the second person immediately expressed concern for the son rather than for my father, he became irate and echoed the very same argument the neighbour had, that the son was old enough to handle the situation. My father’s reaction can be explained by the concept of narcissistic injury. According to the DSM-5, individuals with narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) are highly sensitive to perceived slights or insults to their self-esteem. When their sense of self-worth is threatened, they often respond with anger or contempt, prioritising their own feelings over others’ genuine emotions (American Psychiatric Association, 2013). His shift from apparent grief to self-centred indignation reflects his inability to empathise with others and his need for validation to bolster his self-image.
Another despicable act involved him having an administrative worker from the hospital come over. During the visit, he bragged about his new, gaudy, and overpriced décor. After the man left, he remarked, “Oh that poor fellow, he works as an administrative at the hospital but earns so little.” This behaviour reveals his tendency to belittle others while flaunting his own wealth. This behaviour is indicative of a phenomenon known as “social comparison.” Festinger’s theory suggests that people compare themselves to others to enhance their own self-esteem. By demeaning the administrative worker, my father may have been trying to elevate his own status and self-worth (Festinger, 1954). This reflects a pattern often seen in individuals with narcissistic traits, where they derive a sense of superiority from making others appear inferior.
One evening in January, he called my Mother to instruct her to look out the back window because it had snowed. Since snowfall is not something that happens in our area, when she looked out, she saw that he had thrown countless styrofoam balls from his window, a prank he found hilarious, exclaiming, “HEHE it snowed!” This act of littering was part of a disturbing pattern of both him and the skank throwing various items out the window over the past few decades, including used tea bags, clothes tags, used baby wipes and toilet paper and even oil straight from the pan, causing for a patch of road right beneath his window to darken over the years. The styrofoam was particularly egregious; the balls do not dissolve and pose a hazard to wildlife. Indeed, shortly after, a hedgehog was found dead beneath his window. When confronted, he dismissed the concerns, asserting that he had the right to throw whatever he wanted. Even furniture if he so pleased. And that it was no one else’s business. He even claimed that the real toxic issue was pollen from trees and suggested that City Hall should cut them down. The environmental impact of littering styrofoam is well-documented. Styrofoam is not biodegradable and can persist in the environment for hundreds of years, posing significant risks to wildlife that may ingest or breathe it in and suffocate. This disregard for environmental harm reflects a lack of environmental ethics, which can be linked to a broader disregard for social responsibility often observed in individuals with antisocial personality traits (Gibbs et al., 2009).
In the spring, I went to his place because he wanted to discuss the December phone call. I knew he wouldn’t apologise or acknowledge his errors, but I didn’t anticipate how he would manage to make things significantly worse. Here are the major lies he spun during his monologue:
After months of preparation, he chose to begin his monologue with an attack on my Mother’s family, claiming he had significantly assisted them, including supposedly giving my maternal Grandmother some of his clothing. He specifically mentioned a salmon-coloured pullover he had purchased in Vigo, Spain, even detailing the mall where he bought it… during the 90s. This is a recurring theme with him, as he frequently boasts about his extensive wardrobe ; he has three closets full of clothes, which he assumes is normal and that others simply don’t have as many because they can’t afford them. So owning clothes and giving clothes away are a central part of his sense of self-worth.
However, this claim about my Grandmother is highly dubious. Both my Grandmother and Grandfather came from affluent families, with my Grandmother being particularly well-off, and they never faced financial difficulties. It is highly unlikely she would have needed or accepted clothes from my father, especially when she could easily obtain such items from friends or her own son or daughter. Moreover, my Grandmother was considerably taller and larger than my short father and had a fuller figure. Therefore, the idea that she could have worn his pullover, given these size differences, is utterly implausible, making this lie even more absurd. Maybe she could have worn it as a scarf, I suppose.
He also fabricated a story about my late Aunt (my Mother’s sister-in-law), alleging she confided in him about my Uncle and claimed how lucky my Mother was for having my father. In reality, my Aunt viewed my Mother as a sister and encouraged her to reconnect with her former boyfriend, while she considered my father a “clown.” So she would never have said those things to my father. When confronted about this during our final meeting, he dismissed the discussion, saying, “Oh whatever, no point in talking about people who are no longer here to defend themselves.” This exploitation of the deceased for personal narrative is truly despicable.
Pathological lying, often associated with narcissistic personality disorder, involves creating elaborate, false narratives to enhance one’s image or manipulate perceptions. This behaviour reflects a profound lack of integrity and a tendency to exploit even the deceased for self-serving purposes (Lykken, 1995).
He also addressed his persistent reputation as a “mama’s boy,” asserting that he would often stand up to his mother and that the last instance of this was when he discovered she had spoken poorly about my Mother to me. However, I was present when he learned about this. At that time, he was in my Mother’s living room, delivering yet another sermon to both my Mother and I, and he began to extol the virtues of his mother once again. This led me to confront him, asking him to stop glorifying her and revealing what she had done to me during my childhood. He was visibly shocked by this revelation.
The irony is that this confrontation occurred when I was already in my twenties, a good decade after his mother had died. In fact, a few days after I had told him about his mother’s behaviour, he claimed to have become so upset with her that he turned the photo of her in his bedroom around for several days. He even asserted that he had told her how disappointed he was in her, as if this act of “standing up” to her was somehow meaningful. This was his way of “confronting” a person who had been dead for over a decade. When we confronted him about this during our final meeting, he vehemently denied the absurdity of this scenario and insisted he had indeed had this conversation with her while she was still alive. Describing him as deranged barely scratches the surface of his delusions and denial.
This behaviour is indicative of delusional disorder, where individuals hold onto false beliefs despite evidence to the contrary. His insistence on having “confronted” his deceased mother demonstrates a significant detachment from reality and self-deception, characteristic of various psychological disorders, including narcissistic personality disorder (American Psychiatric Association, 2013).
He also inquired if I knew why he had never purchased another fancy, expensive car, then proceeded to explain that it was his way of compensating me for the items lost in the robbery. Apparently, a handful of silver pieces, two lighters, and a garish Beatles jacket are worth as much as a fancy car. Who knew?
He then argued that the skank was not involved in the robbery, possibly in response to something I had mentioned during our phone call. He claimed that on the day of the robbery, he had gone with her to a specific store, naming the store and its location, where he purchased a pullover that he never wore. He even showed me the pullover, insisting that he never wore it because it was difficult for him to recall the details of that day. This claim directly contradicted his earlier assertion that they were not in contact at the time and that when she learned about the robbery, she had called him to offer some of the stolen items, as I previously mentioned.
Additionally, he brought up a gold necklace he had bought in his youth, asserting that he gave it to me after the robbery and instructed me to never part with it. The necklace was apparently meant to demonstrate his generosity and concern for me following the robbery. However, this assertion was entirely false. He did not give me the necklace after the robbery; rather, he had simply left it at my Mother’s place when he moved out; over a decade and a half prior to the robbery.
The discrepancies and absurdities in his accounts reflect cognitive dissonance, where conflicting beliefs or actions lead to distorted reality to resolve psychological discomfort. His contradictory stories and implausible explanations reveal an attempt to reconcile his self-image with his actions, even at the expense of coherence (Festinger, 1957).
A few days after this, I visited his place with my girlfriend while he was at work. There, on top of the coffee table, I found about a dozen pieces of paper covered in his handwriting. Most of it was nearly illegible due to the messiness of his handwriting, but as I started recognising a few words, the realisation hit me: this was the script for his monologue. The seemingly “heartfelt” speech he had delivered to me was all pre-written. Everything he had said was there, written out. Some words were even written in capital letters and circled for emphasis, like “UNGRATEFULNESS.”
I recalled a particular moment during the monologue when he tried to put on this emotional act, turning to me and saying, “You know, I’ve always been very spiritual,” yet another blatant lie. He added, “I had this feeling that I was never the son my father wanted me to be.” No kidding. But the most absurd part? That very line was right there in the script, word for word. It turns out that this wasn’t some one-time event; he had always been scripting his monologues.
What makes this even more ridiculous is the fact that scripting his lies in advance shows not only how deeply manipulative he is, but also how incredibly incompetent and stupid. It was bad enough to think he was spewing these nonsensical, contradictory lies in the heat of the moment. But the revelation that he had spent hours, if not days or even months, crafting them, only to still deliver such poor lies and speeches, is laughable. All that preparation, and this was the best he could manage?
From a psychological perspective, this obsessive scripting likely reflects narcissistic traits, where the individual attempts to maintain control over every narrative to preserve their inflated sense of self. According to research, narcissists have an “external locus of control” (Rotter, 1966), meaning they blame external circumstances or manipulate external factors to retain a sense of superiority. The need to rehearse and prepare these narratives suggests a lack of genuine emotional depth, replaced by premeditated emotional manipulation. His exaggerated focus on words like “ungratefulness” signals a deep sense of entitlement, typical of narcissistic personalities who feel they deserve constant validation, regardless of their actions.
Moreover, the fact that he scripts these monologues indicates a cognitive dissonance at play; he likely feels a gap between the person he wishes to present himself as and the person he actually is. To resolve this internal conflict, he scripts lies that reinforce his desired image, all while disregarding how transparent and ludicrous these fabrications are. The premeditated nature of his behaviour adds a layer of manipulation that suggests he’s not just a compulsive liar, but someone who fabricates these stories to manage his fragile ego and assert control over others (Morf & Rhodewalt, 2001).
Ultimately, his inability to improvise these lies in real time, and the need to plan them out, underscores a level of insecurity and a fear of being exposed for the hollow person he truly is. Nothing more than a soulless husk.
A few weeks after the incident with the script, one of his neighbours left a bunch of styrofoam balls at his doorstep. However, his paranoia was so heightened that he immediately called my Mother, accusing us of being behind it. This was despite the fact that he had taken away my Mother’s copy of his house keys, several weeks before. Frustrated beyond belief with his relentless behaviour, I grabbed the phone and exploded once again. I told him that if he wasn’t a coward, he could come over and say these things to our faces. With his ego on the line, he did just that.
Just a few minutes later, he rang the doorbell. This time, he didn’t even try to hide the script he was holding. He walked in, sat at the dining room table, and laid out another dozen or so pieces of paper, fully expecting us to stand there and listen while he read through his rehearsed monologue. I wasn’t having it. I snatched the papers out of his hands, crumpled them up, and threw them out the window. Oddly enough, I believe he actually went out to pick them up after he left, marking the first time he ever picked up trash in his life. But, of course, his motivation was self-serving; he was probably worried people might find the papers, notice the hospital logo, and connect them back to him.
The conversation that followed was chaotic and full of yelling. Much of what was said has already been covered in various points throughout this text; blatant lies, gaslighting, and self-righteousness. At one point, my girlfriend intervened to defend my Mother, revealing her own trauma and how my Mother’s generosity had likely saved her life, given the abuse she had faced from her own narcissistic parents. My father’s response? A cold, indifferent “too bad.” This was after he had just spent several minutes bragging about what a great doctor and person he was because he never charged poor people. His hypocrisy knows no bounds.
As the confrontation escalated and he realised he couldn’t just bulldoze his way through the conversation as usual, he grew more frustrated. At one point, he pushed my Mother out of the way. The violence wasn’t entirely surprising given his history. We later found out, through the police complaint, that he had at least one other complaint against him for threatening and hitting a woman; someone whose name we didn’t recognise. Enraged, I instinctively went for his throat, and I only let go when my Mother, already feeling poorly, asked me to stop.
My girlfriend quickly helped my Mother sit down and gave her a glass of water, deeply concerned that her heart might give out from the stress. And during all of this, my father, a supposed doctor, stood there typing away on his phone, utterly indifferent to my Mother’s condition. He didn’t lift a finger to help, which not only highlights his complete lack of empathy but is a violation of his medical oath. It’s both illegal and ethically deplorable for a doctor to refuse assistance to someone clearly in need. His only words to her were that he would return the next day with the divorce papers, and he would only speak to her. He also added, as a parting shot, that she had raised a monster.
Throughout the confrontation, I kept telling him to leave. When I pointed out that my Mother clearly wasn’t feeling well, his chilling response was, “Yeah? Well, I’m also not feeling okay.” It was another stark reminder of his self-centred nature; nothing mattered more to him than his own perceived suffering. Eventually, he left, and as he did, I told him that he should throw himself out the window like the trash he is. I had already told him multiple times during the conversation that he had always been a terrible father. Whenever I tried to talk about the things he had done to me when I was a child, he would shout and mock me for “bringing up the past.” Yet, like any true narcissist, he constantly dredged up the past to defend himself. It was only acceptable when it suited him.
The entire meeting was recorded.
And I sincerely hope it was the last time I ever interact with him. Afterwards, I finalised my application for a master’s in Psychology, realising that my personal experience with a narcissist might one day be useful in helping others heal from similar trauma. For the first time in my life, I feel like I have a clear path ahead of me, and there’s a great sense of relief in knowing that I’ve finally cut ties with him for good. I am finally on my way home; the long way round.
My Mother has also finally decided to proceed with the divorce, a decision long overdue. Interestingly, my father didn’t follow through on his promise to come the next day and discuss it with her. Instead, he was blindsided when my Mother’s lawyer contacted him. Though the case is ongoing and I won’t delve into details, it’s worth mentioning that his lawyer was previously sentenced to a suspended two-year prison sentence for attempted extortion. This lawyer also happens to be the husband of one of my father’s nieces; the only family member who has yet to see him for the human trash he truly is, despite witnessing his blatant disrespect for her own mother on numerous occasions.
A particularly absurd example of this was when his sister asked him to contribute to the costs of maintaining their parents’ grave, a mere 15 euros per month. His response? He claimed he couldn’t afford it, completely undercutting the narrative of him as a dutiful, loving son. The hypocrisy of this, coming from a man who frequently extolled his love for his parents, is staggering. And the fact that this niece is also a psychologist is concerning, to say the least, given her apparent blind spot to his narcissism and abusive behaviour.
My father’s behaviour is a textbook example of narcissistic personality disorder (NPD), characterised by grandiosity, a need for admiration, and a lack of empathy (American Psychiatric Association, 2013). Narcissists often create these elaborate self-narratives, painting themselves as victims while deflecting responsibility onto others. His dismissive attitude toward the family obligations, like contributing to his parents’ grave upkeep, perfectly illustrates entitlement and self-absorption, two defining traits of narcissism (Miller et al., 2017). Narcissists typically feel that even minimal contributions are beneath them unless those actions serve to elevate their own status.
The fact that his niece still defends him, despite witnessing his awful behaviour, is an example of familial enmeshment; a situation where family members become overly involved in each other’s lives, leading to blurred boundaries (Bowen, 1978). Her inability to see through his manipulation likely stems from cognitive dissonance, where she holds conflicting beliefs (her affection for her uncle vs. the reality of his actions) and resolves this discomfort by rationalising or downplaying his negative traits (Festinger, 1957). Despite being a psychologist, she’s not immune to these effects; if anything, her professional knowledge might even make her feel more compelled to “help” him, further enabling his behaviour.
As for his refusal to contribute to his parents’ grave, this can be seen as another sign of his narcissism. Narcissists often claim to love their families, but their affection is typically conditional, depending on whether or not their self-image is at stake. In this case, it’s not because it’s just his sister criticising him, someone he simply does not care about. Last year, I remember him telling me that she was in the hospital for physiotherapy after surgery and how sad it was, how bad he felt for her. He didn’t know she was in touch with my Mother, so I mentioned it to my aunt. Turns out, he hadn’t visited or even called to check on her. Yet, he made it seem like he genuinely cared. For most people, his manipulation works because they don’t know the truth. He does it for validation, for sympathy: “Oh, you poor thing, you have such a good heart, caring so much about your sister’s wellbeing.” Anyway, his refusal to pay for something as symbolic as grave upkeep points to his pathological selfishness, a trait common in people with NPD who lack genuine concern for others unless those people serve as extensions of their own ego (Kernberg, 1975).
There are plenty more incidents I haven’t mentioned for the sake of brevity. A funny one, was when I got my first tattoo and during his sermon, criticising it, he stated that tattoos are for football players and slaves and that now I couldn’t be a secret agent. He did not say this as a joke. Another strange memory involves a photo my father took of me as a kid while I was showering. It’s weird enough to take a photo of your child in the shower, but at least it only captured my face. I have a silly smile on it while pouring water over my head with a plastic cup. I hate that photo; how I look, and the whole situation around it. Yet, my father keeps it on display in his bathroom, which is an odd and creepy place to have a picture of your child, especially with guests using the bathroom. I’m sure part of the reason why he keeps it there is because in his primitive sense of logic, a photo taken in a bathroom ought to be on display in a bathroom, but it is somewhat deeper than that.
He often brags about capturing the water droplets falling from my hair, and that an acquaintance of his, who supposedly “knows photography”, once told him it was good enough to win awards. Only my father would believe such nonsense. He thinks catching water droplets is hard, but anyone can do it by messing with camera settings, and he did it by accident. He keeps the photo there so he can point it out to guests and say, “Did you see that amazing photo I took of my son? Even a photographer friend said I could win awards!” And since the only people who visit him are those who rely on him, they just nod and play along. Everything is done for the sake of validation.
Something else worth mentioning is when I started learning how to cook, he not only criticised it but also showed no interest in trying my food, despite my Mother telling him it was quite delicious. One evening, he came over while I was cooking a delicious-smelling dish of spaghetti and meatballs (for those interested, the recipe is from Snoop Dogg’s cookbook). He then had the audacity to ask if I wanted him to go buy food from his favourite greasy restaurant. Not that I would have enjoyed cooking for him, but his complete inability to recognise these moments as opportunities to at least pretend to care speaks not only to his narcissism but also to his stupidity. Because he doesn’t know how to cook and his parents also didn’t cook, he likely sees my cooking as something beneath him. And it probably frustrates him that it’s yet another part of my personality he can’t take any credit for. Looking back, I can now see that he was never interested in anything beyond his own interests, given the fact that between his narcissism and his stupidity, he’s not able to fake interest in things he knows nothing about.
Another example is when I started buying antiques, particularly Victorian-era paintings. He complained to my Mother that, at least, I wasn’t wasting money on drugs or alcohol. It must have stung him that I was doing something better than him; while he wastes money on tacky, valueless items, I was out there educating myself, buying pieces with actual historical and aesthetic value. This is yet another illustration of how disconnected and different we are. His ego was clearly bruised by the fact that I made these decisions without consulting him, especially since he fancies himself an art expert; just another of his many delusions. It’s also worth noting that over the years he has sold a lot of the antiques he inherited from his parents to the neighbour from across the street because he needs money to finance his and the skank’s lifestyle. This shows his inability to comprehend concepts like familial legacy and how families acquire wealth and status over the generations. Unlike my father, I realise that the antiques I buy, and the ones I will inherit from my Mother, do not belong to me, they belong to my future kids and to their kids and so on. I am merely a custodian. I do not have the right to get rid of anything that might add value and wealth to future generations. Especially since I strongly believe that a sense of connection to the past, and to the future, is what deeply enriches a family.
Anyway, when it comes to my interests and pursuits, his behaviour can be understood in the context of narcissistic rivalry, a facet of narcissism that involves feelings of competitiveness and envy when others achieve something independently (Back et al., 2013). My cooking and interest in antiques likely challenged his fragile ego, as narcissists often view the accomplishments of others as personal threats. His need to dismiss my efforts or criticise them reveals his insecurity and inability to tolerate others’ success (Kohut, 1977). Moreover, by minimising the significance of my cooking and antique collecting, he sought to reassert dominance in areas where he felt inferior; a classic narcissistic coping mechanism.
Also worth noting is that ever since our last meeting, the skank, before I blocked her, had started watching my IG stories and browsing my LinkedIn profile; something she had never done before. This also led me to uncover her full name, and a quick Google search revealed the details of her bankruptcy filing. I’m certain my father will marry her once the divorce is finalised. She’ll bleed him dry for whatever he has left, likely seeing to his abrupt death after two years, the minimum amount of time required for her to be able to collect his pension. Comfortably cashing it in without the burden of his presence. And honestly, I can’t even blame her, he deserves every bit of misery coming his way.
In short, my father’s manipulative, exploitative, and entitled behaviour reflects deep-rooted narcissism. His actions consistently prioritise his self-interest, even at the expense of basic family bonds or moral considerations.
Conclusion
I hope this account helps others recognise the red flags that often signal the presence of narcissists in their lives. If sharing my story allows even one person to identify these traits early and protect themselves from the emotional damage narcissists cause, then it has served its purpose. This text is a tool to help others become aware, to help them see the subtle ways narcissists manipulate and control, often leaving those around them feeling perpetually drained.
Writing this has been a form of therapy for me, helping me process my own traumas and enabling me to move forward. Cutting ties with a narcissist, especially when it’s someone as close as a parent, is never easy. But it’s crucial for one’s well-being. Narcissists are like a dark cloud that constantly hovers above you, always raining down, even if it’s just a drizzle. Over time, that drizzle makes everything feel damp and cold. You can’t fully enjoy life, you can’t feel warm or safe, and every small pleasure is tinged with that ever-present sense of discomfort. By normalising the presence of this cloud, we fail to realise how it limits our joy, making life feel like something we have to endure rather than enjoy.
I will always hate him, and I believe that is perfectly normal. Psychologists agree that hate, especially when directed at someone who has caused long-term emotional harm, can serve as a protective mechanism. Research by clinical psychologist Dr. Leon F. Seltzer suggests that hate towards an abuser can act as a form of emotional distancing, allowing the victim to set boundaries and protect themselves from further harm. He states, “Hate enables the person wronged to erect a psychological barrier between them and the perpetrator, serving as a defence mechanism” (Seltzer, 2013). Thus, my hate for my father is not destructive; it serves as a shield, allowing me to keep him at a distance and maintain my emotional integrity.
Furthermore, I am not a Christian, and I have no use for forgiveness; it is not something I believe in or feel the need to pursue. Forgiveness is often framed as a moral or religious obligation, but recent studies suggest it is not a universal necessity for healing. In fact, research from psychologist Dr. Robert Enright, a leader in forgiveness studies, acknowledges that “forgiveness is a choice, and some people can find healing without it” (Enright & Fitzgibbons, 2015). For some, as in my case, moving forward without forgiving someone can be a valid path to emotional recovery. What held me back all these years wasn’t hate; it was resentment.
Resentment is much more harmful than hate because it tends to linger, causing long-term emotional distress. In a study on the psychological impact of holding grudges, Dr. Charlotte vanOyen Witvliet found that “resentment is linked to sustained stress responses in the body, whereas letting go of resentment tends to lower blood pressure and lead to overall better health” (Witvliet et al., 2001). Resentment prevented me from fully putting myself out there because any success I achieved would have meant more for him to brag about or use for his own benefit. The moment I cut ties with him, I began to let go of that resentment.
As I continue to move forward, pursue my Master’s and post-graduate studies, I know that eventually, all that resentment will fade. But the hate? That will remain, and that is okay. Hate does not consume us; it is resentment that eats away at our souls. We can hate from a distance without it affecting our daily lives. Dr. Seltzer’s work also supports this, noting that hate can be compartmentalised, allowing individuals to function healthily while still recognising the harm caused by others. Just as people can hate Nazis or any other force of evil without letting it consume their every waking moment, so too can we hate those who have wronged us while still moving on to live healthy, fulfilling lives.
Forget about forgiveness; it’s not a prerequisite for healing. What’s essential is letting go of resentment. One day, I’ll be free of it, I will even legally change my name and my father will no longer occupy space in my thoughts. He will be nothing more than a distant memory. His legacy will be oblivion, and that is the worst fate for a narcissist. Research on narcissism suggests that their greatest fear is insignificance, as “narcissists thrive on attention and validation, and the absence of it leaves them with a profound sense of emptiness” (Twenge & Campbell, 2009). Forgiveness only feeds their ego, making them feel important. Hate, on the other hand, condemns them to obscurity, which is the true punishment for someone who thrives on attention and validation.
As a final note, I want to highlight a crucial issue: too often in our society, we dismiss the negative things children and teenagers say about their parents, teachers, or adults in general. When teenagers express frustration or hatred toward their parents, we frequently chalk it up to adolescent rebellion and assume they will outgrow it. But we should be listening. Psychological research shows that children and adolescents often articulate emotional distress more honestly than adults realise. They are not always equipped to express it in a way that adults find acceptable, but that doesn’t make their feelings less valid. According to Dr. Dan Siegel, “the teenage brain is not irrational, but it is in a period of remodelling, and emotions can be intense. What is important is that these feelings should not be dismissed as mere rebellion” (Siegel, 2015).
While some rebellion during adolescence is normal, it’s essential to recognise the difference between typical defiance and more profound, deeply felt anger or hatred. Dr. Laurence Steinberg, a developmental psychologist, argues that adolescent rebellion is part of normal identity development, but when it manifests as deep anger or hatred, it could indicate a more serious issue, such as an emotionally abusive or neglectful relationship (Steinberg, 2014). A normal teenager might push back against their parents’ authority, but they aren’t likely to say they hate them or wish them harm unless there’s a more serious underlying issue. When I was in high school, I certainly felt this way about my father. I expressed my hatred openly, yet the adults around me believed it was just a phase, that my relationship with him would eventually improve. They couldn’t have been more wrong.
Had they truly listened to me back then, they might have recognised that my feelings were valid. Instead of ignoring or minimising my pain, they could have intervened in a meaningful way. Instead, my resentment only deepened over the years, and the relationship with my father never got better. The American Psychological Association warns against dismissing a child’s emotional expressions as merely phases, emphasising that early emotional validation is crucial for mental health development. Dr. John Bowlby’s work on attachment theory highlights that when caregivers fail to acknowledge or respond to a child’s distress, it can lead to feelings of insecurity and unresolved emotional trauma in later life (Bowlby, 1988).
So, it’s essential to pay attention to what children and teenagers have to say, even if their words seem harsh or exaggerated. Dr. Siegel also notes that children often have a raw, unfiltered view of family dynamics and may pick up on dysfunctions that adults overlook. It’s not enough to simply dismiss their opinions as part of growing up. We need to truly listen before we decide to disregard what they’re saying.
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