My husband and I spent months in marriage counseling before our counselor gave us the test. It consisted of about a hundred questions or more. We each completed our answers and returned our tests.
A few weeks later we arrived at our next appointment.
Our marriage counselor — who is also a psychologist — was straightforward. First, he looked at me and said, “You’re not an enabler. You’re a master enabler.”
Then I turned to my husband.
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“You lack empathy,” he said. “It’s a serious deficit.”
My husband was upset.
“I don’t care,” he said. “If a dog falls through the ice on the evening news or if someone, I don’t know, loses their job.”
“Again,” said the counselor. “It’s a serious deficit. Empathy is a developmental stage that we get in childhood and you’re missing that critical empathy.”
My husband kept arguing with our counselor. He thought the questions were ridiculous and that the test meant nothing. He was not willing to accept anything that was said to him. Naturally, he did not realize that this was the least aggressive way to diagnose Narcissistic Personality Disorder.
“That’s not my opinion,” our marriage counselor said. “These are industry standards in the field of psychology.”
My husband still refuses to acknowledge the test.
It took our consultant months to get to this point. Good therapists understand that not only does it take time to determine what’s going on with the individual and the relationship, but you risk putting people off wanting to continue counseling if you say too much too soon.
We went through a few more months of appointments.
My husband no longer wants to continue marriage counseling.
“Why would I come back?” My husband said. “I’ve been told you care and I’ve been told I’m an asshole.”
Those were his exact words.
“The enabler might be a very caring person,” I said. “But it’s still unhealthy behavior.”
Eventually, I continued to counsel myself. This has been my paradox: marriage counseling for one person. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t ready to leave my husband yet but I wasn’t happy enough to want to stay either.
One day, a marriage counselor sent me home with two books. One was about living with a narcissist and the other was about living with a passive-aggressive personality. My husband was what is known as a covert narcissist. Their behavior appears relaxed but they are just as controlling as an overt narcissist.
My husband saw a book about living with a narcissist.
Incredibly, he picked it up to read it.
I went back for my next marriage counseling appointment.
“My husband wants to read a book about living with a narcissist,” I said.
“Truly?” Our advisor said in surprise.
About a week later, my husband entered our bedroom. He put the book on the table and looked directly at me.
He said: “Yes.” “This is not me.”
That was the beginning and end of the Narcissistic Personality Disorder diagnosis.
My husband refused to believe his diagnosis, which is unusual for a narcissist.
The narcissist does not believe he is a narcissist. It is related to their extreme lack of empathy. A lack of empathy prevents the narcissist from seeing outside his world and into another world. There is only one world: the world of the narcissist.
This is why the narcissist does not live in actual reality but in his distorted perception of reality.
They never leave their world.
That’s why they can make those they love crazy.
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I didn’t just marry a narcissist. I married a narcissist on the end of the narcissistic spectrum.
I’m not sure why I stayed so long after being diagnosed with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. I think part of me felt validated. I wasn’t losing my mind. This man was two completely different people. One is charming and the other is cold, cruel, and sensitive.
And I believed in miracles.
I knew there was no cure for narcissism. I realized that it was rare, if impossible, to treat this troubling disorder. But I thought if I prayed hard enough my husband might be the rare exception.
I was fooling myself.
I was in denial.
Narcissism is an abusive and dangerous personality disorder.
I don’t remember any of the other questions on the test we took. Partly because there were so many, and partly because the two questions my husband repeated that day are seared in my memory. They left no room for any other details.
Not just because my husband refused to acknowledge his lack of empathy, but because his answers to those questions set off bells and whistles in my head.
They reminded me of all the times my husband had inappropriate reactions: when he refused to pick me up from surgery when I was under anesthesia. When he refused to come to the hospital to pick up our second son because he said he had to work. When he was upset, I wouldn’t go on a business trip when my mother was dying. He didn’t shed a tear when he put our dog to sleep.
These are just a few examples of the times I lacked critical empathy.