In pop culture, the term narcissist is thrown around on an everyday basis. From Kardashian-selfies to your coworker’s weirdly perfect hair that, let’s face it, you’re secretly obsessed with, it’s easy to label beautiful women and men as “narcissistic” these days.
But here’s the deal ladies and gents: narcissism is a real mental condition, even though psychologists still aren’t sure where it comes from. Many believe it’s a direct result of a personality disorder, while some believe it’s caused by an extreme lack in self-esteem (something the average narcissist will deny until the cows come home). The most recent study suggests that it’s actually instilled in children who have been over-praised yet neglected. Whatever the cause, narcissism isn’t a term to throw around lightly.
When doing some research about narcissism in regard to the last relationship I was in, I learned that there is a common trait found among narcissistic men: misogyny. Misogyny is defined as “hatred, distrust, or mistrust of women, or prejudice against women.” Feminism is the opposite. Feminism is a an active declaration that women are not second class citizens, or in any way less than their male counterparts in regard to gender differences.
About a year and a half ago I wandered into the arms of a charming yet oh-so-manipulative man. Within two months of dating we were already living together. The next several months of my life were spent ignoring my instincts and allowing this man and his family to whittle me down to the weak, inferior sex that they believed me to be. The months following the breakup have been filled with strength, enlightenment and embracing all that I can do as a woman. Part of this strength comes from being able to share my experience.
Here are the ways living with a narcissist turned me into a full-blown feminist.
I learned I didn’t have to suffer just because I am a woman
While we were together, we lived with his family for awhile. There were countless times where his family could hear things being thrown around the room or hear me crying for help, and chose to ignore the situation completely. After one episode in particular, I remember meeting his father for lunch the next day. I spoke to him about the altercation and wondered aloud why his son would treat me in such a way and why nobody in the house saw fit to take action in the matter.
His response baffles me to this day: “Because he’s a man, and you’re a woman.”
Yeah, cue me choking on my burrito.
At that moment I was terrified. What had I gotten myself into? This family was using ignorance to defend their son’s temper. And while I wanted to love the family and this man despite all of the problems, having to endure this kind of suffering solely because I was a woman did not sit right with me, nor should it have.
I learned to stop letting other people decide my future
I still remember the days he and I would share our dreams and goals with one another. I had wanted to get my degree and move to a big city to write or work creatively. Maybe become a flight attendant. Perhaps a model or a painter. Within six months of being together, however, I was told I couldn’t return to school and pursue my own career because I had to stay at home.
Excuses such as “Only one of us can go back to school,“ and “I’m going to need to further my career first” or “You’re too pretty to be a flight attendant, you’ll run away from me” were so obviously unhealthy, yet had me agreeing to the terms believing it was too late to get out.
I learned the importance of respect
I became increasingly aware of his devoutness in keeping promises he made to other men in his life, while breaking every promise made to me, his mother and his sisters. This was something I eventually realized was due to his lack of respect for women altogether.
And it didn’t just start and end with promises.
He would never tell his brother or father “Look at me when I’m talking to you,” but it was every fifth sentence out of his mouth for me and the other women in his life. Similarly, he would never yell at his father but would bring me to tears screaming at his mother on the phone, or telling his sister to “f*** off.”
I learned what real strength is and what it isn’t
One night I had come across some letters in his bag. Love letters, sent by not me. Before anger could even set in, I woke him up from a nap with tears and the damp letters clutched in my hand asking “What are these?”
A temper tantrum struck, and the next thing I knew I was hyperventilating on the bed with him hovering over me, his knees and arms locking me down yelling at me to “just stop” as I tried to huff out the word “inhaler.”
Not exactly the most effective way to coax a person out of a panic attack, not to mention a completely inappropriate and disgusting use of his strength as a man.
What it means for me now
Growing up I never really gave much thought to feminism, in part because I didn’t grow up feeling oppressed. I remember, however, hearing many people scoff at the idea, and it being pretty unpopular in the town I grew up in for women to feel as though they deserved the same rights as men. I think what steered people away from it was mostly the “bad connotation” feminism received at the time, which was that men were somehow inferior to women altogether. The thing is, that isn’t what feminism stands for.
Going through and coming out of this experience, I have found a new appreciation for the Feminist Movement and for the women who have paved the way for me to take my life back. Feminism is the courage that helped me walk away after being pushed into a wall one night. It’s the realization that I, as a woman, can work and go to school and be treated just as fairly as the man who sits at the desk catercorner to me at work.
