"I could never do that..."

How my father's narcissism cut down my career options and taught me to limit myself

I had the opportunity to work with Joe (my narcissist supervisor) and Kim (who was raised in an abusive home, and has many narcissist or codependent tendencies) a few days ago. They were many small insights from the day, but I likely won’t have time to journal them. There is just too much happening right now. To catch it all.

One thing I thought was very significant was when I came home, and began working. I had told my wife that I would like to work alone with headphones. We are moving right now, and the next task was to take apart the beds. When I get to work alone with headphones, that is “me,“ time. I really enjoy it! So that would be a treat for me. I said I would be willing to watch some kids while I work, but not so thrilled about it.

As I begin to work, my second oldest volunteer to help. He is of the age where he can actually be some use, so I quietly put away my headphones and said, “sure!“

I carefully set my child up for success, giving him tasks that he could do, and fiddling away at projects that would be quicker, so that it looked like we were working at the same speed. He did pretty good for his age. One time, he had my drill on backwards and was tightening screws instead of loosening them. He can be hard on my drillbits. He doesn’t push hard enough or at the right angle, and they tend to strip. But from working with me before, he knows not to just keep the drill going and going. When he couldn’t get a screw, he said, “dad, I can’t get this one.“

I said, “if you can’t get one, just leave it. Sometimes it is hard to get the angle just right. I will come help.” So he got what he could, and I finished up. It didn’t take us to much longer than working alone. And they were a few pieces I definitely needed a second set of hands for.

Wow, what a difference from what it was like working with my dad.

**

First of all, my dad was always stressed. Like there was always a cloud over him. Most people have a slight underbite: their top teeth go over there bottom teeth. My dad’s teeth land straight against one another, and he has a nervous habit of sliding his lower jaw back and forth, grinding his teeth. He has done this so much and for so many years that his teeth are significantly shorter than they should be. That is one symptom of the continual stress that he is under. Another thing he does is whistle. He doesn’t whistle full songs. He doesn’t close his eyes and swelled up his chest and just let the song flow. (Probably, he would be afraid of making a mistake, and being embarrassed if he really just sang) Rather, he whistles meaningless snatchers of music over and over. I think he is trying to distract himself from the stress inside. Certainly, he’s whistling seems to convey stress.

When we would work with him, he always seem to be dealing with, “so much!” Which is why it seemed OK (at the time) that he would always get mad at us. He would get mad at us for being passive, “lazy,” and doing nothing while he was working so hard. (See previous post about that) So he would demand that we can follow him to the garage and help him.

Then, we would pick up adult size tools, and try to do adult jobs. He would give us instructions and try to do his side of the work. Inevitably, we would take three times as long, and cause a lot of accidents, sometimes breaking or damaging tools.

“Why would you do it that way? Not like that, here, didn’t I show you? Like this! Just hold it like this! Another bit? Really? These things cost money you know. No, stop it, stop it, stop it! You’re ruining it! Stop doing it that way. Look, I told you, do it this way…“

The worst was when we lost something. This is something that I seem to do a lot. As I mentioned in a previous post, I would get very flustered. At the time, my dad said I was very forgetful. He said this so often it became like a second name for me, and I came to believe this was one of my core attributes. Hello, I am Ishmael, I am forgetful and absent minded. I think I actually introduce myself like that sometimes.

I realize now I was not forgetful, but I was working very hard to avoid the wrath of a man who was stressed out of his mind. I had developed empathic abilities to read people’s body language. But in the situations, my dad’s body language spelled anger, but there was no way to win. If I stopped helping, I would be disciplined. If I helped, I would inevitably fail and be disciplined. There was so much anger, (Although he would say he was trying his best to control it, and he probably was) and he did not have to yell (although he sometimes did) for me to feel like a caged animal who was being poked and yelled that. I just wanted to shrink back and cower.

“Dad, I don’t think I could ever be a doctor.“ We were on a work trip. It was a special time in a way. Dad had a contract to fix some motors for a week about a days drive from our home. He selected me to go with him. There were some good times. I had been working with him enough that I could do some basic tasks without messing them up. That being said, even at this age I had absolutely no interest in ever being a mechanic.

“Why wouldn’t you want to be a doctor?“ He seemed concerned.

“Well, I seem to make a lot of little mistakes. And I forget where things are all the time. So if I was operating on someone, I could make a mistake and kill them!“

“Well, it is no different for a mechanic. What if I make a mistake on this engine here? And someone goes out in the boat, and the engine fails. Someone could be out there pulling and pulling at it to try to start it, and have a heart attack. See, it is the same thing!”

Well then, I guess I can’t be a mechanic either! I guess I need to find a career where you are allowed to make stupid mistakes.

This is actually the truth I have carried with me most of my life. I believed that I was forgetful, stupid even,  and that I lose things. And so I could not do most careers other people could. Because I was mentally deficient.

I remember one especially absent-minded professor who came to class in seminary completely lost in his own world, and he was very bad at doing routine things like grading our papers, and remembering what day of the week it was. However, he knew his material extremely well, and was a great teacher. So we put up with his other quirks for that reason.

I had already decided to be a college professor by this time. But I felt so validated by that man! I said to my wife, “that is what I can be! I could be an absent minded Professor!“

There is some truth here. As I mentioned in a previous post, my wife is a specially gifted in remembering fine details. She would make a great secretary. I forget small details and see the bigger picture. This is one of the reasons that we fit so well together. But seeing the bigger picture is far different from how I saw myself before. I have actually become very good at seeing the details, and doing administrative work. I have just learned that I need to take time aside, and focus on only doing that for a while, which is reasonable. I think most people are like that. 

I think, with some sadness, that I certainly could have become a doctor. I have an extremely good memory, and (with the exception of my dad, and others who walk under a cloud of darkness and agitation) I have always been fairly levelheaded in chaotic and high-pressure situations.

Not that I had any specific desire to be a doctor. But I could have entered similar fields: I used seven years of my life, and around $50,000 of my very precious money early in my life to pursue the dream of being a Bible school teacher, and then a missionary. Part of this was a childhood dream. Part of it was a calling (maybe....kind of...?). I don’t regret it exactly, because I would not be reading this blog in the way that I am without my training.

But...I do regret it. Who am I...really? I don't know. I am beginning to discover, but I do not yet know. I feel like years were wasted on an identity that was a lie. But where they wasted? Those years gave birth to me. 

Maybe my career choice is too big of a topic to bring up at the end of a blog post. But what I am trying to say is that I did not need to limit the field of possibilities for my career. Now that I am applying for jobs, in my mid-30s, I realize that I am a very competent individual. Perhaps a bit better than average in many respects. I am smart, fit, and well organized and self disciplined. I put out 30 resumes, and got 10 solid job offers, in a town which is going through a small recession, in which people say it is hard to find work.

And so no, I am not forgetful or absent minded. And it is too bad that my fathers issues have affected my life path in this way. Perhaps if he had been able to do better at controlling his personal issues, he would have been able to train me better. Maybe I would have become a mechanic – and that might not have been a bad thing. Or maybe, I would have been freed up to follow my potential, and perhaps use some of my years of education to chase an actual, paying career instead entering the cluttered field of Bible-school professorships. Then, maybe I could have added some theology on the side. Things may have been much different in that case.

What would I have chosen, had dad not clipped my wings with his incessant criticisms?

Now that I am growing beyond him...what would I like to be when I grow up...?