But the child of narcissists is shunned at a deep level continually. Their real selves are not recognized. They might talk with their parents, but there is no authentic connection, no sharing of self, no true recognition.
My process of thawing continues, and very old, very primitive, entirely forgotten feelings continue to emerge as the ice thins. It is likely not true to say I was never healthy, that I never spontaneously exhibited honest childish exuberance and playfulness, but these feelings were not fed, and likely in most cases punished, explicitly, or tacitly, and this–added to an on-going inability of both parents to see me as a separate and different person–is what led to my crash some time between 5 and about 8.
You know, we call it a nervous breakdown when someone loses the ability to work due to “nerves”–large volumes of conflicting emotions they cannot process well enough even to function–but there is no difference between this and a broken spirit, other than that a shell of obedience remains. The inner vitality is gone. And perhaps “nervous breakdowns” are healthy, in that the person–forced to choose between surrendering their self and the social ignomy a period of helpless dependence compels–elects the former.
I’m rambling. But there is something here.