Content warning: This story details emotional and psychological abuse, Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), infidelity, and parental estrangement.
A little over four years ago, I shut the door (physically and metaphorically) on my father. To share all the details would take quite some time, so here’s the TLDR for that day: My father and stepmother showed up at my house unannounced to (loudly) verbally abuse my husband and me. As for the TLDR on our relationship at large: My father is a covert narcissist who was emotionally abusive throughout my childhood and into my early adult years.
Allow me to step back and paint a broader picture.
Growing up in an emotionally unstable environment
I grew up in a low-income family. My father’s presence was a revolving door. I remember coming home from sleepovers at friends’ homes and praying he hadn’t left yet again for a new girlfriend. I remember being seventeen, hacking into his Facebook account, and discovering his latest tryst. Or being in the car with him while he drove one-handed, the other preoccupied with texting his latest mistress.
When he wasn’t living at home, he was dwelling in questionable housing with women whose unstable mental health was apparent even to my brother and me as young children. Visits with my father often felt unsafe. It also wasn’t uncommon for him to be totally absent during these periods. No visits, no phone calls. What felt like no care.
“He was the kind of person who could make you feel great if you were doing something to boost his own ego… but whose attention was quickly diverted if someone could offer him something better.”
When he was home, it wasn’t necessarily much better. My father is a by-the-books covert narcissist. This means he very deliberately seeks “supply” by any means possible. While he’s never been formally diagnosed, his actions, motivations, and patterns of behavior are textbook. If you’re unfamiliar with narcissistic personality disorder (NPD), those with the condition are known for exploiting others to serve their own desires. According to the Mayo Clinic, they “have an inability or unwillingness to recognize the needs and feelings of others.” Take it from me: Living with a narcissist is not a fun experience.
He was the kind of person who could make you feel great if you were doing something to boost his own ego (see: my brief career as a teenage singer-songwriter or my brother’s time spent as varsity quarterback), but whose attention was quickly diverted if someone could offer him something better. Or whose notice turned negative if he believed you were reflecting poorly on him. I distinctly remember him telling my self-conscious, nine-year-old self, “If you don’t want to be fat, stop eating so much.”
Yes, my own father told me that.
The worst was when he felt like he was “missing out”—like someone else was getting something that he believed belonged to him. He would then put all of his time and energy into taking away that which he saw was his. Which is exactly what happened when he found out my husband and I were expecting our first child.
Why I decided to go no-contact
Believe it or not, despite all of the things I just told you, my father and I maintained a relationship into my late twenties. In fact, there were several years during my mid-twenties in which I thought he had truly changed for the better.
He had begun dating a woman he would later marry and she, initially, seemed to ground him. His behavior was more stable, he was kinder, and he was starting to take a real interest in my life. He was supportive during a time when other family members were not. In fact, he was one of the few people who supported me in dating my now-husband, a man ten years my senior. But the facade could only last so long.
Years later, when my father and now-stepmother (his narcissistic partner in crime) found out I was pregnant, their true colors came to light. All of my interactions with them turned negative as they sought to gaslight me into believing that one, I was a terrible person, two, my husband was even more terrible, and three, we owed them absolutely everything.
Their actions escalated to the incident I began this story with (recall: screaming at me outside my front door), and I began tunneling through the internet, looking for an explanation for their unique (unhinged) behavior. That’s when I discovered narcissistic personality disorder.
“To this day, I do not have a single memory of my father saying, “I’m sorry.” He never apologized for being unfaithful to my mother or for not speaking to my brother and me for years on end during our childhood.”
As far as I could tell, my father was a textbook example. He was known for his heightened sense of superiority, but those closest to him knew it was driven by insecurity (He was the victim of emotional and physical abuse as a child).
More damaging to others was his tendency to manipulate and play the victim in any and every situation, even when he was the one who was objectively at fault. To this day, I do not have a single memory of my father saying, “I’m sorry.” He never apologized for being unfaithful to my mother or for not speaking to my brother and me for years on end during our childhood. He claimed these actions were ultimately my mother’s fault.
He also lacked empathy and, I believe, the ability the empathize. When I brought this theory to a therapist, she confirmed it was highly plausible that my father lacked mirror neurons—units of the nervous system that help people understand emotions and make empathy possible.
Once I saw behind the curtain, I couldn’t un-see it. I realized I had a stark choice ahead of me.
I realized he was out of chances
Making the decision to go no contact isn’t easy. Especially when the person in question is a parent. For anyone who has been in this situation, you’d probably agree that there are a lot of complicated emotions at play. At least there were for me.
Despite all of the traumatic experiences, not everything about my father and our relationship was bad. I have many good memories of my family from my childhood. But our relationship had reached a point that required a very deliberate decision.
“I was so accustomed to the frequent gaslighting, never-ending guilt trips, and recurrent insults to my character that I never took a step back and asked myself, ‘Is this normal? Is this healthy?'”
At first, I hesitated to go no contact. I worried about how he might try and retaliate, and I had concerns over the inevitable rifts and discomforts it would cause in my larger family. But every time I thought about giving him another chance, the fight-or-flight response within me immediately activated. When I thought about my father—this person who had treated me so cruelly and who continuously sought to control me—holding my infant son, I wanted to be physically sick. I can almost feel my metaphorical hackles rising as I type this.
I worked through my feelings internally and by talking at length with my husband. Ultimately, going no-contact seemed the only way forward.
He wasn’t just unstable—he was abusive
As I said before, the more I educated myself on NPD, the more it became clear my father was a textbook example. I had never thought of myself as a victim of abuse because I was never physically harmed. Educating myself helped me understand the all-encompassing trauma I was constantly exposed to. I was so accustomed to the frequent gaslighting, never-ending guilt trips, and recurrent insults to my character that I never took a step back and asked myself, “Is this normal? Is this healthy?”
I came to understand that narcissistic abuse is a very specific animal. For example, I learned that unless you’ve experienced it, particularly from a parent, it can be difficult to comprehend or even believe (I.E.: There is no way your father would run a psychological operation to try and break you and your husband up while you’re pregnant! But unfortunately, there is.). Recognizing my treatment as abuse and applying that label made going no contact a much more straightforward decision.
My plate was full
It was as simple as that—despite the much more serious reasons, I was a mom now. I frankly didn’t have time to entertain my father’s drama. And knowing him as a person, I knew there would always be drama. There would never be a resolution in any aspect of our relationship because he truly lives for conflict and the thrill it brings him. I deliberately chose to no longer be a part of it.
I wanted to protect my family
As far-fetched as it sounds, as soon as they learned of my pregnancy, my father and his wife began running a very strategic psy-op to break up my marriage. They started slandering my husband by claiming he was abusive. They whispered to me in private conversations and over text how he was controlling me (this claim was based on our decision to send our child to daycare with his mother, a licensed provider). They started giving me large sums of money to pay for baby care and nursery expenses. When I tried to give it back, they wouldn’t accept it. They were trying to instill doubt while increasing their own control.
In my father’s ideal world, I would divorce my husband and live with them instead. This would effectively sever me from my husband and his extended family, and give my father and stepmother full access to my child. I realize this sounds improbable, like a modern Rumplestiltskin spin-off story, but unfortunately, it’s true.
“I didn’t want this person in my children’s lives. I knew it would only be a matter of time before he traumatized them or tried to turn them against me.”
I was seeing a therapist for the first time in my life, and during the few sessions we had together, she not-so-subtly hinted that going no contact was not a recommended option. She wanted me to make amends with my father and set appropriate boundaries. The problem is, she wasn’t trained in narcissistic abuse.
While she did at one point acknowledge that my father would likely be diagnosed as a sociopath by a professional (should he ever seek help for his own health), she didn’t understand that there are no such things as boundaries when it comes to narcissists. It is my research-informed understanding and lived experience that they will grasp any single breadth of space you give them and give themselves a mile.
Beyond the narcissistic abuse that came to light during my adulthood, I thought back to my childhood. My father was unfaithful, lacked interest in my brother and me as people, and often spoke poorly to me about other family members whom I loved. I didn’t want this person in my children’s lives. I knew it would only be a matter of time before he traumatized them or tried to turn them against me.
How I’ve maintained separation
Despite my father’s misdeeds and the trauma he’s put me through, remaining no contact has very rarely been easy. It’s caused uncomfortable conversations and situations with other family members and left me wondering from time to time if I’m wrong for completely severing him from my life. Ultimately, over four years later, I still believe I’ve made the right decision. Here’s how I’ve remained resolute during times of insecurity.
I grieved the father I never had
At the end of the day, I had to accept that my father would never be the man I wanted him to be. While many of us want loving, supportive, good-natured parents, the reality is that not all of us are granted this blessing.
While my father has never been clinically diagnosed with a personality disorder, all signs point to that conclusion. Amateur diagnosis aside, I had over 25 years of past behavior to draw from. I’d seen his harmful actions and decisions repeated time after time. I do not believe him capable of change.
During the early stages of no contact, I had to accept him as the person he is and recognize that my feelings of loss were for a person who ultimately never existed.
I took a step back
When I first went no contact, I experienced moments of guilt. I’d share my feelings with my husband, who would then ask me, “If someone you loved were experiencing this same situation, what would you advise them?” Every time I take a step back from the situation and analyze it objectively, I come to the same conclusion: No one (myself included) deserves to be abused. And going no contact was the only true way to protect myself from psychological and emotional mistreatment.
“During the early stages of no contact, I had to accept him as the person he is and recognize that my feelings of loss were for a person who ultimately never existed.”
I’ve been clear about my boundaries
Logistically, the first thing I did when I went no contact with my father was request that he please stop trying to contact me. Because he has no respect for boundaries, he didn’t listen. This led to me blocking his phone number and shutting down his ability to view my content or connect with me on social media. The family members we share relationships with (my brother, mother, etc.) are very aware of my feelings, and I’ve asked them not to speak about me to him.
As mentioned, I don’t give him an inch. And I don’t entertain other family members’ occasional guilt trips. When any of them bring up the idea of reconnection, I firmly shut down the conversation by reinstating my boundaries.
I seek solace in resources
When I began to suspect my father was a narcissist, I read every book on the subject I could get my hands on. While it’s been a minute since I’ve picked up a book on the topic, I do occasionally revisit Dr. Jordan Peterson’s motivational speech on the subject of dealing with a narcissist. To this day, it remains one of the most affirming pieces of content I’ve ever engaged with.
Whether you’re dealing with a narcissist or a different challenging personality or situation, there’s a lot to be said in seeking affirmation and community in books, videos, and other available resources. Diving into researched materials helped me feel seen and gave me a path forward. And when I waver, they keep me on that path.
I keep my children top of mind
There is nothing on this earth more precious to me than my children’s health and happiness. Every time I find myself wavering, thinking “maybe I’ll give him another chance,” I think of their pure, innocent toddler hearts. I will never let my father do to them what he did to me. In so many ways, he stole my childhood. And, as a mom, I can’t think of many things more despicable than that.
My biggest responsibility is protecting my children. And every time I remind myself of this, I no longer feel guilty or forgiving. I’m not a selfish daughter who chooses not to have a relationship with her father—I’m a mother protecting her children from inevitable disappointment, as well as emotional and psychological abuse.
“I’m not a selfish daughter who chooses not to have a relationship with her father—I’m a mother protecting her children from inevitable disappointment…”
I remind myself I’m choosing freedom
Going no contact with my father has not been a popular decision. I’ve had family members and friends who, both purposefully and unintentionally, have made me feel guilty or strange about my decision. But I remind myself that only I know what’s truly best for me. The way I see it: We only get one lifetime. And I don’t want to spend mine placating someone who doesn’t want the best for me.
I tell myself that I didn’t choose to end my relationship with my dad. I chose to protect my children and marriage and reclaim my health and happiness. I chose to be free.
While I’ve experienced brief moments of doubt over the past four years, I have never once regretted going no contact with my father. By ending my cycle of abuse, I have gained confidence, comfort, and the stabilized nervous system I didn’t previously realize I was lacking.
When I initially worked through my decision, I found a lot of validation, inspiration, and hope in stories shared by others in similar situations. It’s my hope now that this story can pay it forward and do the same for someone else.
Feature graphic images credited to: Darina Belonogova | Pexels, Refni | Adobe Stock, Annie Spratt | Unsplash, and Mediamodifier | Unsplash
