Narcissism manifests distinctly within family dynamics, making it difficult to categorize narcissists uniformly. Their interactions with family members vary widely based on numerous factors.

Parenting styles among narcissists can differ significantly. Each child may experience vastly different dynamics: scapegoats, invisible children, and golden children all navigate unique challenges.

Abuse types also vary. For instance, I knew narcissistic parents who subjected their children to starvation, while my own experiences involved physical abuse and confinement, but never deprivation of food.

As someone with borderline personality disorder, I had a histrionic grandfather married to a narcissistic grandmother, alongside a borderline grandmother married to a narcissistic grandfather.

My mother was adopted and later met her biological parents, who I briefly knew. They were two individuals with sociopathic traits, living in poverty and struggling with addiction. Despite my scant memories, they displayed indifference towards me and my cousins, allowing us to engage in risky activities without supervision.

The relationships I fostered with my Cluster B grandparents were strong; I adored them deeply. However, coming to terms with the reality of their actions towards my parents was a painful awakening, largely because of my affection for them.

Love can often blind individuals to toxicity within family systems, prolonging denial. My experience as the scapegoat child led me to direct self-hatred rather than resentment towards my family. Feeling isolated and abandoned, I relied on them for emotional survival.

Consequently, I channeled my pain inward, engaging in self-harm and struggling with suicidal tendencies. I felt inherently unworthy of love, which I attributed to the perfect individuals who had abused me.

Despite my admiration for my grandparents, I buried their negative traits to preserve my affection.

Reflecting on my grandparents now, I can clearly identify their narcissistic behaviors. They were often cantankerous, engaged in frequent arguments with their spouses, and had a history of abusive behavior towards me.

My parents seemed detached from their own parents, rarely engaging in meaningful conversations, which left me feeling a sense of eeriness during family gatherings. For instance, during Christmas, my father would sit silently, absorbed in his food while appearing miserable, evoking a deep sadness in me.

He exchanged $100 cards with his parents annually, despite their lack of warmth towards him. Though he was considered a golden child, the emotional distance was palpable.

After visits with his parents, my parents would often argue, revealing underlying tensions. My narcissistic grandparents expressed disdain for their son’s spouse, and I perceived it as jealousy, particularly after my grandmother disparaged my mother to me. I remarked on their similarities, which deeply offended her.

Nevertheless, despite their toxicity, my grandparents made efforts to be good to my sister and me. Time spent with them felt like an escape from my tumultuous home life.

They provided us with rooms, toys, and taught me to swim and appreciate nature. My grandmother often engaged us in creative projects, while my grandfather would allow me to win games, despite their competitive nature.

After my histrionic grandfather passed, my narcissistic aunt offered me mementos, including the cherished Chinese Checkers game that my grandfather had kept for decades. This gesture, though seemingly simple, was significant given the contentious relationships within our family.

My grandparents also crafted princess dresses for us, allowing us to indulge in imaginative play.

When my borderline grandmother passed away, my grandfather remarried quickly, leading to my mother's estrangement from him, which ended my relationship with him at a young age. I encountered him briefly as an adult, but he no longer recognized me due to Alzheimer's.

My father severed ties with his parents over political differences, which stemmed from his unresolved emotional pain. Their eventual return with lavish gifts could not mend the rift.

After turning 18, I sought a connection with my grandparents, sharing the trauma of my upbringing. However, when the holidays arrived, I was once again excluded, highlighting the narcissistic tendency to devalue relationships.

In a later attempt to connect, I presented them a copy of my published book, only to be met with indifference as they turned away, reinforcing feelings of inadequacy.

Upon my narcissistic grandmother's passing, my mother expressed glee, discussing her final days. When I reminisced about the family lake house, my father's shocked reaction revealed buried emotions, leading to tears—a rarity in our family.

This moment illuminated the love he held for his mother, despite her abusive past. It became evident that the house was a place of trauma for him, complicating my memories of affection.

The coexistence of love and pain within my family tree is deeply troubling. The cognitive dissonance stemming from these contradictions can lead to psychological distress, often resulting in denial as a coping mechanism.

I mourn not only my experiences but also the suffering that led my grandmother to inflict harm. My grandparents often manipulated us children in their conflicts, but sometimes it worked in my favor, as they recognized the injustices I faced.

While my grandparents ceased physical abuse towards me at an early age, my parents continued. As they aged, they displayed affection towards their great-grandchildren, though their engagement waned.

Despite the turmoil, my love for my grandparents remains steadfast. I frequently dream of them, believing they support my healing journey.

I hesitate to expose their flaws, wishing to shield them from being viewed solely as villains. Though they committed unforgivable acts and struggled with mental illness, my love for them persists.

Many struggle to comprehend the nuance in such relationships, yet I feel compelled to share their stories truthfully.

This emotional complexity, intertwined with my experience of borderline personality disorder and empathy, reflects a lifetime of grief.

Explaining this kind of fractured love is profoundly challenging and isolating.

My memoir, This is a Story About Ghosts: A Memoir of Borderline Personality Disorder, is now available on Amazon.

For personalized coaching to recover from narcissistic abuse, BPD, or sexual assault, visit https://am-champion.com.

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> A.M. Champion is the author of She Saints & Holy Profanities (Quarterly West, 2019), The Good Girl is Always a Ghost (Black Lawrence Press, 2018), Book of Levitations (Trembling Pillow Press, 2019), Reluctant Mistress (Gold Wake Press, 2013), and The Dark Length Home (Noctuary Press, 2017). Her work has appeared in multiple literary journals, and she has received several accolades for her writing. She holds degrees in Behavioral Psychology and Creative Writing.