From Survival to Self-Discovery: Navigating the Aftermath of Narcissistic Parenting

I will probably date myself if I say that Alice Miller’s book “The Drama of the Gifted Child,” was one of the first books that led me to a lifelong fascination with psychotherapy. Originally published in German in 1979, Miller’s book explored what is happening to children who are brought up by narcissistic parents. The child might grow up to become highly successful in environments that value meeting other people’s needs, such as leadership in politics, business, or the arts, but this success comes at a cost: the child has developed a ‘false self’ to meet others needs at the expense of their ‘true self’.

Picture a child who, from an early age, learns to be hyper-aware of their parent’s needs. This child becomes an expert at reading the room, anticipating mood shifts, and providing emotional support – essentially becoming their parent’s parent. To the outside world, this child appears remarkably mature and bright for their age. What the outside world fails to notice is that this is a survival strategy of someone whose childhood was taken away from them.

As this child grows up, the skills honed in childhood often become the foundation of their adult identity and professional life. Their ability to anticipate and influence others’ emotions can lead to impressive careers in fields like media, theatre, politics, or even psychotherapy.

But there’s a hidden cost to this emotional attunement that Miller brings to light: the development of a “false self.” This is the part of the person that’s developed in order to meet others’ needs, often at the expense of their own emotional well-being.

Meanwhile, the “true self” – the authentic core of the person’s identity – gets pushed aside. By focusing so intently on others’ emotional needs (and becoming very good at it), these individuals often neglect their own, leading to a deep-seated feeling of emptiness or neglect that can manifest as depression in adulthood.

It’s a paradox: the very skills that make these individuals successful and admired can also be the source of their deepest feelings of sadness and shame. They are masters at navigating others’ emotional landscapes while feeling lost and abandoned in their own.

The journey towards healing, Miller suggests, involves recognizing this dynamic and starting to uncover and nurture the true self. It’s about learning to turn that finely-tuned emotional awareness inward and giving oneself the attention and care that was so freely given to others.

The image is of a paperback book cover. The inscription reads: Alice Miller The Drama of Being a Child.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The mind-body connection according to Spinoza and its implications for therapy

One of the central topics in psychology and philosophy is the intriguing relationship between the mind and the body. The 17th Century philosopher Benedict Spinoza offers a prespective that challenges our conentional understanding of this connection. Spinoza’s opening gamibt is a surprising claim that we don’t trully know what our own bodies are capable of.

According to Spinoza, our bodies remain unknown to us because we habitually place the mind between ourselves and our physical being. This raises an interesting question: What might happen if we found a way to liberate the body from the domination and control of the mind? How might we walk, talk, and love as bodies first?

Spinoza’s view is view stands in stark contrast to the Cartesian perspective, which sees the mind as separate from and in control of the body. Instead, Spinoza proposes a different model. He suggests that the body and the mind are like the two parallel rails of a train track; they don’t have a hierarchical relationship but always operate together, in parallel. This concept, known as mind-body parallelism, has profound implications for how we understand ourselves and our experiences.

One curious consequence of this view is that the mind and body are connected in ways we might not expect. Because the mind is not ‘on top’ of the body but parallel to it, anything that affects the mind necessarily affects the body, and vice versa. This interplay between mental and physical states opens up new possibilities for understanding health, well-being, and therapeutic practice.

So, what significance does this have for therapy? First and foremost, it serves as a reminder that the mental and the physical are not two separate realms, but intimately interconnected aspects of our being. Changes in one inevitably cause changes in the other. To live a good life, then, one must take care of both mind and body as a unified whole.

Consider, for instance, how sadness often manifests physically: in sagging shoulders, a bent back, and a lowered gaze. If Spinoza is right about the parallel operation of mind and body, it might be possible to alleviate feelings of sadness by consciously changing one’s posture. This idea aligns with modern somatic therapies and embodied cognition theories, which emphasize the role of the body in shaping our mental states.

Spinoza’s philosophy also resonates with contemporary therapeutic approaches that integrate physical and mental health. Mindfulness practices, for example, often involve paying close attention to bodily sensations as a way of influencing mental states. Similarly, exercise is increasingly recognized not just for its physical benefits, but for its positive impact on mental health. Spinoza is challenging us to move beyond the notion of the mind controling the body and instead explore the dynamic interplay between the mental and the physical selves.

Guilt and the suppressed anger within

Have you ever struggled with overwhelming feelings of guilt? There may be more to this emotion than meets the eye.

Sometimes, guilt is actually a manifestation of repressed anger – anger that we couldn’t afford to express, especially in our formative years.

Think back to your childhood. If you experienced mistreatment or abuse from a primary caregiver, your natural response may have been to feel angry at that person. But as a child, you were utterly dependent on that caregiver for your survival and wellbeing. Expressing that anger directly was simply not an option.

So instead, the anger got pushed down, shoved aside. But it didn’t disappear. Instead, it got redirected inwards. Rather than thinking “you hurt me,” the child learns to think “it’s my fault, I deserve this.”

The caregiver’s status as good and benevolent is protected, and the child can restore a sense of safety. But the cost is significant – the child also learns to habitually turn their anger inwards, and guilt becomes the default emotional response.

This dynamic can become deeply ingrained, carried forward into adulthood. The guilt persists, but its origins in repressed childhood anger often remain unexamined.

Becoming aware of this pattern is the first step. With self-compassion and the help of a therapist, the suppressed anger can be gradually brought to the surface and released. This allows the guilt to dissipate, replaced by a truer, more empowered sense of self.

If you struggle with guilt, know that there may be more to the story. Exploring the roots of this emotion could be a profoundly healing journey.