After one too many conversations about the fear of being labeled a narcissist if one dares to write and publish a book, I thought I’d wheel this post back out. (It’s also especially relevant if you’re worried about pissing off those closest to you with your stories.)

Dear Mimi,

Thank you for your comment on this Youtube video.

You claim that Walt is a 100% narcissist.

The thing I’ve noticed about defensiveness, which is what your criticism stirred, is that it always kicks in when I detect an element of truth in what’s been said.

You’re right, Mimi, sometimes Walt comes across as completely narcissistic.  (In fact, sometimes I worry that my self-absorption is a form of narcissism as well.)

Here’s Wikipedia’s definition of narcissism: extreme selfishness, with a grandiose view of one’s own talents and a craving for admiration, as characterizing a personality type.

Certainly, anyone willing to put themselves out there– on a stage, or in a video, or on the page– who has the audacity to have an opinion on a matter, or some wisdom to impart, can be perceived as grandiose and an attention seeker.  Let’s not kid ourselves; you have to have an ego to place yourself before an audience.  You have to believe you have something worthwhile to say.  You’ve got to believe you’re talented enough not to be booed off the freaking stage.  And I’ve got to tell you, Mimi, when people admire you for doing so, damn, that feels really good.  You can get hooked on that shit PDQ.

Sometimes I think Walt is really selfish. And certainly we can confuse selfishness with narcissism. I know I do.

We’ll be at the table with his family for some celebration, and after an hour, he’ll chomp on the bit to go even though he knows this will disappoint. As an introvert, he gets irritable with too much stimulation, too much small talk, and to fix the problem, he’ll go off and stick his nose in a project.  The same goes with the kids; if you can call adults kids. They’ll stop by for a visit, and after the conversation has naturally wound down, off Walt trots to our studio.  I can sense his children’s let down, standing there in our kitchen.  They want something more from him, although I don’t know what, but he’s up there taking care of himself.  Instead of focusing on them.

Me?  I’ll drop everything to entertain because I’m attuned to expectations.  Even though I’ve learned with my own kids that it’s never enough; that they’ll be left somehow wanting. Even though I’d like to do what Walt’s doing; going inside.  I’d like to be attending to my needs instead of prancing around like a circus clown.

I spent a lot of years sacrificing my needs and wants for the sake of family.  I got depleted.  I grew resentful.  And it’s an old habit, this putting others first, sensing their needs and changing my plans to accommodate, forgetting to attend to myself.  I spend a lot of time running around the house, anxious and scattered, because I refuse to figure out what I need to do to get centered. I look to solve other people’s problems instead.

And there’s Walt, all Zen and annoying.  He’s gone for his run, journaled, meditated, and taken the time to plot out his day. He’s fed himself.  So when the shit hits the fan for clients, or family members, or friends, he’s there for them, fixing what needs to be fixed, staying steady through the storm. He does battle, while they lay weeping in a heap. Selfish Walt.

All that being said, let’s cut to the video in which Walter describes how seemingly easy it is for him to take his mother to task when she does something that bothers him.

I grew up in a family that taught me not only to dismiss my needs, but to keep my feelings to myself because they don’t matter. I don’t know what happened to Walt, but he doesn’t share me tendency to be dishonest or evasive. He doesn’t get that you’re only supposed to hint at your rage, act all passive aggressive, then totally deny you have a problem when someone calls you on it. He’s certainly not sarcastic. He doesn’t seem to understand the rules. Which, believe me, Mimi, can be VERY FRUSTRATING.

You’re right.  I think confronting his mother was…I don’t know… wrong.  I knew it made me feel really nervous. Like he was going to be struck down by a bolt of lightening.

But I know what happens when my mom pisses me off. I shut down and let the pressure build. Until I end up going postal.

Take last fall, for instance.  When MY mother was shit-stirring with MY kids.  We’d get on the phone and she’d imply that I was a lousy mother.  Over the course of several months—oh, who are we kidding, years—she managed to key into all of my insecurities, all of my hot buttons. But did I SAY anything?  Of course not.  I let it fester, and I ragged on her to Walt.  I let my anger grow so big that I eventually exploded and told her I never wanted to talk to her again. Which is another thing those of us raised in dysfunctional families do: We allow resentment to build until we’re forced to pull the plug.

Sometimes, MiMi, we destroy a perfectly viable relationship because we’re too afraid to tell the truth.

I suspect that, if we take care of our own needs, if we’re willing to disappoint others by not giving them what they want, or telling them what they want to hear, we’ll be calmer and more emotionally available.

Maybe you’re right, Mimi.  Maybe Walt’s selfish and narcissistic and grandiose and ungrateful.  I see all of those things in myself.