Most of us probably view Narcissism
as an adult issue.
And, most of us have been bullied as
children.
What if the two were one and the
same?
My first encounter, beyond the
familiar childhood wounding from my family of origin, was when I was in grade
school, with my first “best friend.”
Grooming kicked in already at the
tender age of six. Yes, I was groomed to choose another six-year-old Narcissist
as my best friend. I was groomed to endure bullying as a normal part of
friendship and child’s play.
I didn’t know that’s what was
happening at the time. Being a first grader, there was no language for what I
was experiencing, other than “she’s acting mean” and “I don’t know what I did
wrong.”
Now, many years later, after
learning more about some of the inner mechanisms of abuse, I see how insidious
and pervasive Narcissistic abuse can be for the individual. It’s not something
we only encounter as we reach some settled, mature adulthood. It often does
start in childhood. And it stretches far beyond that of bullying and “kids are
cruel.”
For the purposes of anonymity, let’
call my best friend, “Sharon.” She was the first playdate I was introduced to,
shortly before I started Kindergarten. Sharon and I were raised in a small
town, rural setting. I was an only child, so I was already hungry for
companionship and connection. Sharon had siblings. Most of my peers did. I was
somehow, the odd man out, being sibling-less. Perhaps it’s paranoia, but I
often felt, even as a small child, that there was a judgment from both kids and
adults alike, scrutinizing me with a “What’s wrong with her? Why is it just
her?”
I often felt like a freak for my
sibling-less status.
And maybe this sent out some
unconscious, desperate signal, making me ripe for the picking. Again, I was
desperate for friendship. I had become well-versed in keeping myself occupied,
all by myself. But I was a social animal.
My friendship with Sharon started
out friendly enough. We played with dolls. Our parents took us to events; there
were sleepovers. I’ll never know how Sharon felt about me having no brothers or
sisters. She always complained about hers. I’d spent my childhood hearing
things like, “It must be so great to be an only child. You must get everything
you want!”
(Not quite).
Encountering the sibling situation
of Sharon and my other friends, indeed, the extra people did feel strange.
Sibling rivalry, fights, teasing and assorted roughhousing were all foreign
territory for me. Once my bullying experiences started in childhood, I often
wondered if my lack of this sibling stuff, somehow, made me softer, “too
sensitive.” Maybe if I had a brother or sister, it would “toughen me up,”
enough so, that other kids would view me as worthy, not strange.
Again, was every bit of this simply
stage-setting, grooming me for the Narcissistic abuse of childhood AND
adulthood?
I still wonder.
The Silent Treatment:
My first experiences with this
abuse from Sharon happened, like I said, in first grade. At recess. On the
playground. I don’t remember the official kickoff of the behavior. Just
suddenly, Sharon was mad at me and employed the silent treatment. It seemed to
happen daily. She’d freeze me out, and, of course, because I wanted us to be
friends, I kept chasing after her, apologizing, although, I never knew what I
was apologizing for.
Sound familiar to anyone out there?
Day after day, recess after recess,
she’d ignore me, going out of her way to make sure I was not included in any
kind of games. And, day after day, I’d come running, apologizing profusely. She
then seemed delighted by that and she decided we were friends again.
Until the next bout of silent treatment.
That was, until one recess period,
I didn’t chase her; I didn’t apologize. Instead, I found someone else to play
with. And, of course, that sent her reeling. When she “complained” to this
newer recess friend about why I wasn’t responding in my usual fashion, this girl
responded, “She got tired of saying she was sorry because you were always mean
to her.”
Out of the mouths of babes, huh?
That was a watershed moment for my
six-year-old self. I felt empowered and educated. I saw, for the first time,
how a child could, indeed, be manipulative with another child. Not exactly news
flash material, but my eyes were now opened in a way they needed to be for me
to survive childhood, and certainly, the first grade.
Punishment: Flying
Monkeys…Only Eleven Year Old’s:
Time marched on concerning my grade
school experiences. And, soon enough, despite my knowledge of Sharon’s tactics,
despite my process of befriending other peers, I still encountered her punishment.
I was punished for seeking companionship outside of her. Enter the mean
girl phenomena.
I really don’t what it is exactly.
Is it something they put in the hot lunches?
Is it hormones? Is it nature? Is it nurture?
But, sure enough, around the
fourth-to-fifth grade marker, I was besieged by mean girls, in Narcissistic
terminology, “Flying Monkeys,” à la Sharon.
Such fun.
The Smear Campaign:
Yes, for daring to
establish friendships and play with other girls, I was punished, and, in
Narcissistic terminology, once again, it manifested as the Smear Campaign, even
if it was a child’s version of it.
Cliché stuff, of course:
being shunned, crank phone calls, nasty notes, spread rumors. I was having a
difficult enough time as it was; I certainly wasn’t a popular kid. But these
tactics, further enforced by the Flying Monkey Mean Girls, the designated minions
hired to do Sharon’s bidding, made life and school miserable for me. It may
have also sent further unpopular messages to my entire class, at large. I felt
like it was open season, that there was some invisible target on my back that
conveyed to the other kids just how much of a loser I was.
Again, so much of this
is cliché, but, cliché stuff does not mean it was any less painful and personal
to experience.
No Resolution, Just
Frustration:
As each grade came and went, as
Sharon and I grew older, I witnessed the inevitable growing pain changes of
insecure pre-teens becoming insecure adolescents, all jockeying for some
position of power, status and personal sovereignty.
Not for the faint of heart, mind
you.
Sharon and I grew up in the same
school system, encountering one another, for the full twelve years. As the
years unfolded, not surprisingly, our lives took different paths.
Sharon, eventually, after years of
struggle, fighting and social climbing, did, in fact, become “popular.” And,
once she attained that standing, she appeared to be more peaceful about life.
I, however, not surprisingly, was not a popular kid. I was active, involved in
the arts, in speech, in writing, all things that paled in attention when
athletics came into the picture. If I was certain about one thing as a kid, it
was that I was NOT an athlete. (I still have terrible physical education flashbacks).
Sharon and I were cordial enough,
by adolescence. Yet, I always felt this tension from her. And sometimes, I
experienced an attitude of entitlement. Was that from being popular? Or was she
still insecure and looking for a way to feel superiority over me? I cannot say
for sure.
But I do know there was never any
resolution concerning our relationship. We never had any deep discussions about
things; there was no closure. Only this feeling of “loose ends,” of confusion,
of a knowing, on my part, that I was not safe with her. So, I reasoned, it was
best to keep things at surface level, for my own protection.
We haven’t been in touch since
those high school years. I often wonder if she turned into some full-blown
Narcissistic. Does she blow up her relationships? Is she simply “moody?” Has
she changed?
I don’t know. But I do know I
received a Narcissistic abuse template as a child. And, as I’ve matured into
adulthood, I see certain recurring themes: insecurity at being “enough,”
chronic apologizing, “settling” for mistreatment. It’s these issues (and more)
that I’m working on improving, if not healing. It is slow going.
Some people may say, “Get over it.
You were kids.” I hear that. But it simply is not that easy and clearcut. They
are called formative years for a reason.
But I am going forward with the
lessons I learned from childhood. And yes, Sharon was a powerful teacher.
Narcissistic abuse can exist out of
the mouths- and hearts- of babes. A child, yes, unfortunately, can be abusive.
Copyright ©
2020 by Sheryle Cruse
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