James Masterson was born in 1855. His family moved to Wichita in 1869 and three years later Jim and his two brothers, Bat Masterson and Edward Masterson, became buffalo hunters.
Masterson became a assistant marshal in Dodge City in June 1878. Other members in the police department included Charles Bassett and Wyatt Earp. He also worked as a deputy sheriff of Ford County under his brother, Bat Masterson.
In November , 1879, Masterson was promoted to marshal of Dodge City. He lost the job with a change in the city government on 6th April, 1881. Ten days later he shot Al Updegraff. As a result of this incident Masterson was ordered out of Dodge City.
Masterson moved to Guthrie before becoming deputy sheriff of Logan County. He also took part in a gun battle with b on 1st September, 1893.
James Masterson died of consumption on 31st March, 1895.
Yesterday morning about 3 o'clock this peaceful suburban city was thrown into unusual excitement, and the turmoil was all caused by a rantankerous cow boy who started the mischief by a too free use of his little revolver.
In Dodge City, after dark, the report of a revolver generally means business and is an indication that somebody is on the war path, therefore when the noise of this shooting and the yells of excited voices rang out on the midnight breeze, the sleeping community awoke from their slumbers, listened a while to the click of the revolver, wondered who was shot this time, and then went to sleep again. But in the morning many dreaded to hear the result of the war lest it should be a story of bloodshed and carnage, or of death to some familiar friend. But in this instance there was an abundance of noise and smoke, with no very terrible results.
It seems that three or four herders were paying their respects to the city and its institutions, and as is usually their custom, remained until about 3 o'clock in the morning, when they prepared to return to their camps. They buckled on their revolvers, which they were not allowed to wear around town, and mounted their horses, when all at once one of them conceived the idea that to finish the night's revelry and give the natives due warning of his departure, he must do some shooting, and forthwith he commenced to bang away, one of the bullets whizzing into a dance hall near by, causing no little commotion among the participants in the "dreamy waltz" and quadrille. Wyatt Earp and James Masterson made a raid on the shootist who gave them two or three volleys, but fortunately without effect. The policemen returned the fire and followed the herders with the intention of arresting them.
The firing then became general, and some rooster who did not exactly understand the situation, perched himself in the window of the dance hall and indulged in a promiscuous shoot all by himself. The herders rode across the bridge followed by the officers. A few yards from the bridge one of the herders fell from his horse from weakness caused by a wound in the arm which he had received during the fracas. The other herder made good his escape. The wounded man was properly cared for and his wound, which proved to be a bad one, was dressed by Dr. T. L. McCarty. His name is George Hoy, and he is rather an intelligent looking young man.
Jim Masterson, a first day settler of Guthrie and a well known figure about town, died last night about 11 o'clock. The cause of his death was quick consumption. He was conscious to the last. He was even out Saturday; but last night about 10 o'clock he called to have some of his friends come to see him, and died an hour later.
The deceased was at one time a well known figure in western Kansas. He was one of the marshals of Dodge City during its cowboy days and was reputed to be a brave man. He came to this city the first day and has been acting as deputy marshal since. He was considered here the bravest of all the marshals. Whenever a big raid was to be made on any stronghold of outlaws, like that at Ingalls,13 he was always asked to be one of the party.
When every man would flinch, he would still be found in the front rank. Every man has his virtues and his faults. Jim Masterson was a man who never went back on a friend, and never forgot an obligation. He never pretended to keep up the conventional social amenities; but yet there was a man whom money could absolutely never make break a trust, and who would have done a kind act to a man on the gallows after all the world had given him the cold shoulder, and where there was no chance of any personal reward. Many who walk the conventional paths of social life are not as honorable in their obligations to their fellow men as he was. He was so proud that in his last moments he would not let his condition be known to his relatives. He is a brother of Bat Masterson, a man of national reputation as a backer of athletic sports, and quite rich, but he would not apply to him for aid.
Gunfights on Guns.com: Bat Masterson's Brothers
Throughout history there have been those people who have been immortalized, and then there is the family of those famous figures, and in their own way they too have their moments. Gunfighters are no exception.
The name Bat Masterson is well known in gunfighter lore, and his exploits have become the stuff of legend, but few know of his brothers, Ed and James Masterson, despite that they both were gunfighters in their own right.
Ed’s first gunfight was in November 1877 when as the Deputy Marshal of Dodge City he was shot in the chest by Bob Shaw in the Lone Star Dance Hall. His right arm crippled by the wound, Ed displayed excellent gun handling skills by switching to his left hand shooting Shaw in the leg and arm. After Ed recovered he replaced Larry Deger as the town Marshal not Wyatt Earp as had been believed.
Ed Masterson soon began a public campaign to rid Dodge City of crime, but it came at a high cost. On the night of April 9, 1878 Ed Masterson noticed a drunken cowboy named Jack Wagner was wearing a sidearm. Masterson disarmed Wagner, giving his sixgun over to his friends. As Ed walked away, Wagner drew another gun that had not been seen and ran after the Marshal. Ed turned and grabbed Wagner who shot Masterson in the abdomen, the barrel being so close it set Masterson’s shirt ablaze. Masterson returned fire striking Wagner. Then Wagner’s boss Alf Walker got involved and Masterson shot him through the left lung and broke his right arm.
Ed Masterson walked across the street and collapsed, he died less than a half an hour later. Jack Wagner later died but Alf Walker survived his encounter with the brother of Bat Masterson. Ed Masterson was only 25 years old.
Bat’s other brother James, while not as famous was involved in more gunfights, being that Bat’s reputation was tied to Wyatt Earp’s. After Ed Masterson’s death he too began working with Wyatt in Dodge City and was present for Wyatt’s confrontation with a cowboy named George Hoy at the Comique Variety Hall. Hoy started shooting at Wyatt from his horse and both he and James Masterson returned fire. Hoy was wounded and would succumb a month later. Wyatt claimed the shot, but it was thought that James actually shot Hoy. If he did, he never disputed Wyatt’s claim.
Over the next two years James made over two hundred arrests and shot another man before he was let go in 1881. He then drifted round for the next few years working as a lawman and took part in several gunfights albeit indirectly. James’ biggest claim to fame, other than his brother Bat, was during the Battle of Ingalls on September 1, 1893.
James was part of a group of thirteen marshals put together to arrest the Doolin-Dalton Gang. The gang was in George Ransom’s Saloon when the lawmen moved in, and then the things turned sour very quickly.
Deputy Tom Huestin was fired at first and he dove for cover. As Deputy Dick Speed went to help his comrade Lafe Shadley, he was shot dead by gang leader Bill Doolin. Shadley himself was cut down by Bill Dalton. The fight really got interesting after James Masterson lobbed some dynamite into the saloon and then captured “Arkansas Tom” Jones who was stunned by the blast. The remaining gang members fled out of town only to stop on a hill and fire a few “fare thee well” shots at the posse, killing an innocent bystander. All told three of the Doolin-Dalton Gang was wounded but only one was captured.
James Masterson was not heard of much after the Battle of Ingalls until his death from tuberculosis on March 31, 1895 at the age of 39.
Bat Masterson was well known as a famous lawman and gunfighter but his exploits overshadow the valiant deeds of his two brothers who were in their own right worthy of an esteemed place in gunfighter lore.
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From the authoritative expert in personality disorders, Search for the Real Self is a thorough dissection of how one’s real self is developed, how it relates to the outer world, and how personality disorders are understood and treated in our modern society.
Personality disorders—borderline, narcissistic, and schizoid—have become the classic psychological disorders of our age. Outwardly successful, charming and powerful, personality-disordered individuals have long confounded their colleagues, family, lovers and employees—as well as mental health professionals. The author helps the reader understand them. After describing how the healthy real self develops and functions, he explains what can go wrong. Drawing on case histories, he shows how the false self behaves in relationships and on the job, and then delineates appropriate treatments, offering real hope for cure.
James A Masterson
Captain James Aaron Masterson Sr., USN (Ret), 97, died of natural causes on February 9 at Virginia Mason Hospital in Seattle, WA.
He was born on May 9, 1914 in Metz, MO. He grew up in Pittsburgh, KA. His father claimed he was 2nd cousin to the real Bat Masterson. When he graduated from high school, he and his good friend were recruited to join the Navy. It was in the depths of the Great Depression and the Navy would provide their clothes, three squares, and a bunk plus monthly income so he could send some of his pay home to his mom. When they were studying for seaman 1st, their officer convinced them to take the entrance exam for The Naval Academy. "Monk" (his Naval Academy nick name) graduated in the class of 1938. In 1940 he met and married Mary Hume from Snohomish, WA.
During World War II, he became the Commanding Officer of a seaplane squadron that fought the Japanese out of the Aleutian Islands from Dutch Harbor and bombed the beaches at Iwo Jima before the Marines went ashore. He was awarded The Legion of Merit and The Distinguished Flying Cross and a chest full of other medals. He was also awarded The Order of the Sacred Treasure medal by the Emperor of Japan.
After the war he earned his law degree from George Washington University. In Korea he served as the liaison officer between the United Nations and the Communist Chinese during the prisoner exchange conference in Panmunjom. He then served as executive officer of the NROTC at Notre Dame University. He attended the Industrial College of the Armed Forces. The commands he held besides the WW II squadron included NARTU at Anacostia NAS in D.C., Atsugi NAS in Japan, Naval Air Technical Training Center in Memphis, TN (largest command in Naval Aviation), and for a time as acting commander of Subic Bay Naval Base in the Philippines.
He retired in Seattle, WA after 36 years in the Navy. He worked for a time for the State of Washington in their court system. He was an avid golfer.
He was preceded in death by three sisters, his wife of 67 years and one son, Frederick.
He is survived by son Norman and daughter-in-law Joyce, son Frederick's widow Linda, son James Jr., and daughter-in-law Christie, a blended family of eight grandchildren, and 17 great-grandchildren, with one more on the way.
Private James Masterson
During times of strife and war, there are always tales of horrible, nightmarish things lurking just out of sight and driving good men mad. Perhaps it is the unfathomable cruelty of war that makes humans project these fantasies as a way of shutting out the terrible things men do to one another. Still, it is strange to consider how prevalent and enduring these stories can be, spreading through army lines like wildfire, igniting the imagination and multiplying fear upon fear.
One such story is said to have taken place during the American Civil War. Private James Masterson was attached to General Sherman’s division during the infamous “March to the Sea,” when the ghoulish Sherman cut a bloody, blazing swath across the heart of the South all the way to Atlanta, torching farms and cities with relentless abandon. The Southerners not outright killed by Sherman’s men were left to starve to death without so much as a roof over their heads.
Unlike his commanding officer, Masterson was racked by guilt and doubt - to kill an armed enemy was one thing, but these “partisans” were usually the elderly, women, and children. His commander, an astute man, saw Masterson’s growing unrest and moved him to the fore of the Advancing army, to scout ahead so that he wouldn’t have to see the aftermath of Sherman’s handiwork.
It was on one such scouting mission that Masterson’s unit came under attack. The local militia had lain an ambush and during the confusion, Masterson was shot and became separated from his fellow scouts. Bleeding and delirious, he wandered all night until he collapsed on the front stoop of a lonely manor house.
When Masterson awoke, he found that the manor had been converted into a field hospital by the Confederates and he’d been taken prisoner. The nurses who tended the hospital cleaned and dressed his wound, fed him, and even replaced his blood-soaked uniform with fresh, clean clothes.
Though they took his weapon and forbade him from leaving, the staff were not unkind and even the wounded confederates were never vindictive they even showed him a measure of respect for wandering so far with such a wound as he’d suffered. At last, it seemed, Private Masterson had found a pocket of sanity amid an inferno of chaos and he resolved to weather the rest of the war in the isolated manor.
But, for some unidentifiable reason, sleep would not come. Paranoia, guilt, or maybe just fear, he tried to reason, but as the predawn hours grew darker, he began to hear strange sounds echoing down the hospital’s long, narrow halls.
The sounds seemed to change gradually sometimes weeping, sometimes imploring, it was all he could do to shut them from his mind. He lay awake, clenching his eyes shut until he heard his father’s voice. Then, his wife’s. Looking around, the voices didn’t seem loud enough to wake any of the other patients, but to his ears, they beat with a pounding intensity, as if they were intended for him alone.
The whispers became too much and Private Masterson knew he had to find the source of the disturbance. Quietly and with a slight grunt of pain, the young Union scout set off down the moon-lit halls, his gut icy and his sutured wound burning.
He found that the voices terminated at a plain oak door on the second story. There was nothing distinguishing about the door - it seemed identical to those at his right and left sides. Still, there was something off-putting about the terrible humidity the second floor suffered from and the soft, muffled conversations behind the door. Pressing an ear to the painted wood, Masterson listened intently, trying to make some sense from the disconnected mumble.
With trepidation, Masterson turned the ivory knob and pulled the door open. Heat exhaled from the tiny room and the Private blinked at the unpleasant moisture. Moonlight from the windows at his back showed the room to be about six feet deep, as many wide, and perhaps seven feet tall, though the ceiling had a slight dome-like curve in the center. It was painted a vibrant red that had bleached over time into a dull pink. The crimson carpet retained much of its dark hue, though the dampness had produced splotches of white mold near the back of the room. It was as lavishly furnished as one might expect from a manor estate, though why the attendants had not housed a patient in it was not immediately obvious. Of the voices’ source, there was no sign.
Private Masterson was a God-fearing man, but he’d seen too much of war and murder to not have developed a superstitious nature. Rumors of Southern hauntings were regular fare around camp fires and his feeling of nameless dread had only mounted since opening the door. With slow, deliberate steps, Masterson began to back out of the room.
He felt light-headed and the temperature around him seemed to spike. He could not breathe and the moonlight dimmed into an enveloping darkness.
When Private Masterson awoke, he was surrounded by Union officers and doctors. They looked at him with equal parts curiosity and fear. When he asked, dazed, what had happened and where he was, the doctors mutely nodded to the soldiers, who led him out of the tent to view the scorching flames of the mansion-turned-hospital he’d so recently occupied. Masterson hung his head, sadly. Such was Sherman’s thanks.
Masterson was led back to the tent where his commanding officer, slowly and carefully, probed the Private’s recent memories. At the end, he shook his head and tried to explain.
The Army’s march overtook the wounded scout division and they’d quashed the bulk of the locals with all due efficiency. While searching for the remaining Confederates, they’d stumbled upon the Mansion. But when they sent men inside, they found it all but empty. The cots and medical instruments told them what it had been used for, but there was little trace of the nurses or patients until they’d reached the second floor.
There, working with grim, single-minded determination, they’d found Masterson, moving corpses from a wheeled bed and stacking them in a small, red room like so much timber. He’d been unresponsive to direct orders and it wasn’t until he’d unloaded the last body that he even glanced up at the Union soldiers who stared, horrified, at him.
Despite their guns, Masterson, they said, slammed the door to the red room closed and sprang at his fellow Union boys with surprising speed. One man got a lucky shot off and grazed Masterson’s skull, knocking him unconscious.
The Private listened to the tale with an expression of disbelief and terror. He asked, with a dry voice, who’d given the order to burn down the mansion.
His commanding officer bit down on his thick cigar and puffed bilious clouds of smoke, troubled. He locked Masterson with slate-colored eyes and cleared his throat. He had given the order, he explained.
He mopped his brow. When the soldiers, he said, had opened the door to the red room, there was no trace of the bodies that had been stacked in it. Just a hot, moist exhalation.
Edward James Masterson (abt. 1705 - aft. 1754)
In 1745 he leased 400 acres at Four Mile Run, Fairfax County Virginia.
Children: William, Robert, Sarah.
FROM "Edward Masterson, His Children and Grandchildren" by Ginny Schilt
Edward Masterson, known to us researchers as "of Fairfax Co," was born 1705/6. (Court deposition, where he was 44 in 1750) The earliest record we have found, so far, of him is an Essex Co., VA, court indenture showing 150 acres of land to Edward Masterson from Thomas Short, 19 Nov 1728. When he sold land in Essex Co. in 1735, the deed says he is "of the County of Caroline."
He was in Fairfax Co., VA, by 1745 when he leased 300 acres of land on Four Mile Run and built a mill where Doctor’s Creek entered Four Mile Run. (Fairfax Co VA Land Record Book) The Creek is now covered over and an apartment complex is built there. His will says he was a millwright.
In 1750, he bought 8 acres on Difficult Run, which became the boundary between Fairfax Co. and Loudoun Co. when the latter was formed from the western part of Fairfax Co. in 1757. On 25 Sep 1751, he asked the Fairfax Co. Court for permission to erect a water grist mill on Difficult Run and to have an acre of land confirmed to him. The report of the committee appointed by the sheriff was recorded 24 Jul 1752, so presume it was granted. (Fairfax Co VA Deed Book C)
James Raymond Masterson, Edited Historical Bibliography
James Raymond Masterson, 76, a former editor of "Writings in American History," an annual bibliography of historical research on the United States, died Wednesday at George Washington University Hospital. He had emphysema.
He was editor of the "Writings," published by the American Historical Association, from 1949 until retiring in 1973. During that period, the "Writings" for 1948 through 1968 were published under his editorship as volume 2 of the association's annual report.
During the same period, Dr. Masterson also worked intermittently as archivist for the National Historical Publications Commission.
He was born in Allegan County, Mich. He was a graduate of Western Michigan College in Kalamazoo and earned his master's and doctor's degrees in English from Harvard University. He taught at Western Michigan and then Hillsdale College in Michigan, before coming to Washington in 1942.
During the 1940s, he prepared records of the U.S. Navy for microfilming in the the National Archives, selected material on Army uniforms for preservation in the heraldic section of the office of the Quartermaster General and wrote a history of U.S. Army transportation in the southwest Pacific in 1941-47 for the historical division of the Army.
Dr. Masterson had published "Tall Tales of Arkansas", which later was reprinted as "Arkansas Folkore," and a satire, "Federal Prose, How to Write in and/or for Washington" written in collaboration with Brooks Phillips.
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James Masterson Net Worth
According to Networth and Salary, James Masterson’s estimated Net Worth, Salary, Income, Cars, Lifestyles & much more details has been updated below. Let’s check, How Rich is James Masterson in 2019-2020?
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Reference: Wikipedia, IMDb, Onthisday. Last update: 2020-02-10 08:31
James "Jim" Masterson
As you read, I pray you’ll not see me as being angry at anyone. Firm at times with some, I’ll agree with that. I know that no matter what a person has gone through, things they’ve said or done, or still doing for that matter, there’s a 50/50 chance of my having sought forgiveness for doing the exact same thing at one time or another. I know the battle is not against flesh and blood my friend.
Throughout this blog you will find me quoting things heard on the radio. You’ll not find the names of those who said these things in the posts. I do document their names, the date, time, and radio station call sign on my copy of the original document. I do not publish these details because our mission should be to expose the false teachings not to personally attack the person.
If you should continue reading my friend, you will find the Anthanasian Creed being exposed for what it is, a false doctrine. The word of God having the final say. My trusting in He who knows hears and sees all things, the God of the [Bible].
The Narcissistic Continuum
Dr. Masterson is internationally renowned for his clinical work, research, and writing on personality disorders. The book referred to in this interview is titled The Search for the Real Self: Unmasking the Personality Disorders of our Age. (1990). Dr. Masterson died in 2010 at the age of 84.
Watched it, CZ. For me. it raised more questions than answered. sort of between the lines?
When he says that the self separates from the parent (mother mostly) at 2-3 years of age, that got me very concerned. It's not that this isn't true but that I am thinking of our own adopted son. We adopted him at a month after his third birthday. He was left at the charity hospital (in a shoebox) at 13 months (weighing 12 lbs) by the grandmother and was in a 'failure to thrive' foster home with 9 other children. All on a spectrum of retardation. from severe to mild. He was diagnosed by DFACS as 'mildly retarded'. We doubted this, for no reason, except we wanted a child. He was 24 lbs at 3. He was kept in a crib and fed baby food until we got him at Xmas 1990. He didn't have the swallow reflex. We had to stroke his throat to make him swallow. Times were tough for our son. We got no help from DFACS. That probably was a good thing ultimately. But this issue of separating from the parent at 2-3? He had no development (intellectually/physically, etc. at 3 more with the development of an 18 month child. He was still in diapers and didn't speak (actually didn't speak except for maybe three word sentences until he was four. He had never slept in a bed. a single bed and this terrorized him. So, what goes here? It doesn't seem that he COULD separate from me or husband at that age. I doubt that he would have survived much. and certainly wouldn't have grown. We tried to put him in the local elementary school (kindegarten, 1st grade) where he was severely injured (teeth knocked out and palate broken in an after school class) We homeschooled after that.
I was a pretty rotten teacher/mother, still smarting from the wounds of my own mother and her narcissistic and abusive behavior. I've written about that before. so. I wonder about this separation. probably applies to most NORMAL environments with NORMAL and loving parents. But the separation issues here were probably extreme. first from the birth mother then from the neglectful foster parents (by the way, with many observations and complaints, we were able to get that substandard home closed).
Other thing: This separation issue at college? what about those of us who had to separate in order to survive the parental abuse? I ran way from home at 19. Neighbors said that the fully expected me to be found hanging from the barn rafters. So separation from the parents was not one of angst. staying was. Only this move on my part saved me I believe from further psychological harm.
As long as you play the 'good girl' to the mother, you are accepted. This is not necessarily true, because Narcissists (and not only extreme ones. ) keep changing the goal posts. There is no way to really please a narcissistic mother. And a daughter turns herself into a pretzel attempting to do so.
I have become more and more convinced that the thread of sadism runs through the relationships of Narcissists and their children. Narcissists get easily bored. They children are not seen as valuable or independent of them, therefore they 'play' with them like a cat with a tiny mouse. It's always an issue of Power for the Narcissist. Any attempt of the child to establish their own independence is only really allowed when the Narcissist thinks that narcissistic supply is not worth the effort and turns to other sources.
Sorry if this goes against some of what I heard, but this has been my personal experience. Considering life, I am amazed that I haven't given up! Actually, with separation, comes thriving.
What a terrible beginning your son had! I didn't realize everything he'd gone through before you adopted him. That he has become a healthy young man, speaks to the importance of loving and kind parenting. The only thing I can say about adopted children who experienced a traumatic infancy is that we don’t know why some children are more resilient than others. We can try to understand human development but we really don’t know that much. yet. Quite a few people have told me their children went to therapy because of our increasing knowledge about attachment. This is relatively new information. It wasn't common twenty years ago! As to your development as an infant having a narcissistic mother:
Narcissistic mothers can be excellent caretakers, allowing their infants to develop normally. Babies are lovely. Babies make us feel good about ourselves. We like babies. When the child begins to separate, that’s when the trouble begins. How were you treated before you were eight, or maybe six? Six-year-olds are little tyrants. Defiance would be insupportable to a narcissistic mother who needed a perfect mirror. By age six, the child has already mastered attachment although narcissistic Mom may not be healthily attached to her child! (I’m winging it on this response because I am not an attachment specialist but have learned a lot from my years and peers on the forum.)
Narcissistic mothers stifle a daughter's growth as an individual. Evidently they were able to 'bond' normally until the daughter was older and then the trouble started when N-mother couldn't bear her child's individuality. Uniqueness. The struggle between what Mom wants and what the daughter needs is the stuff of blogs and message boards.
I think most daughters of narcissistic mothers (even more than fathers perhaps) need to separate themselves physically in order to separate psychologically. College, as Masterson said, can start a process that didn't occur naturally and it can be very destabilizing without therapeutic support. I remember the first day my family left me at University. I had a panic attack. It was like all of a sudden, I didn't know who I was because the "me" I had come to accept as real, was the only "me" that was acceptable to my family. It's taken decades of work to accept my family's rejection and be okay with displeasing them.
Physical proximity to narcissistic families can delay our natural healing process (we're just stubborn enough to INSIST on being our True Selves, aren't we?). Close proximity can also keep us so triggered from the constant rejection that we can't do the work we need to do to be comfortable in our own skin. No Contact appears to be a solution for many and it's not a selfish act, it's survival. The blossoming that happens when people are not being consistently 'rejected', 'criticized' and 'controlled' is a beautiful thing to see. It's what keeps me attached to recovery work, watching people free themselves from oppressive and 'sadistic' relationships.
You got it, CZ. LOL! I'm laughing in relief because if I hadn't detached, separated, who knows? I would have been swallowed whole by an already dismissive mother. Physical proximity to narcissists does delay our healing. And yes, those damn triggers that turn everything logical and normal on their heads.
As for me. since you asked. the rejection started the moment I was born. My mother was a ballet dancer, and at 27, she was rather old for a first child, 65 years ago. Narcissists have a delayed emotional mentality of between 7 and 15. So, at 28 she already was a spoiled brat (that is a marker for narcissism I believe) a woman who 'married outside her class' according to her.
When the nuns handed me to her. she was recovering from 24 hours of labor she says, and though I was less than 6 lbs. I can see this, as she is only 5' tall, I was wrapped in a stiff cone of blanket with the corner flap over my face. I was a high forceps baby, meaning they used pincers to pull me out and of course my skull was misshapen and I was bruised. She told me that after that first view, she placed me on the pillow behind her head, up on the back of the bed. Sounds like rejection to me.
. She made me bleach my hair so 'we could look like sisters'. This is a way to deny a daugher her own individuality. I didn't realize how sick it was then. Only in the last few years. Actually, back then, I think I was flattered. and 'example' of bonding with me. Hah!
My son? He's fine. .
We started him on violin at 4, cello at 6 and bought him a baby grand at 7. He played for years until he left for the Navy. He was quite the composer and gave local concerts. Funny story: in one of his first performaces of a piano class, a lovely Korean girl played first, was marvelous, and our son was to play next. He flubbed the Mozart (K147) and his own ABA composition. LOL! The lesson learned? Don't play after the Korean girl.
Well, the human spirit is strong and can recover from these things. But I think that my decades of aborted attempts to be in her life only showed me that it was dangerous and impossible. She wasn't normal. And when we align ourselves with this, the bottom falls out of our lives. Close proximity doesn't allow light and reason. NC was something I tried for 3 years, and felt great guilt and dismay at doing so. But! Finally, I realized that any attempt to contact her in a normal way was always rejected. And I didn't deserve that battery. Nor did my son or husband who also came into her abuse. Life is so much better when you avoid the crazies. especially those in the too close for comfort family.
Two weeks ago, a friend and writer collaborator came from Australia to visit. (he was on a 5 week tour of Europe, and I was the last stop.) He took back my 5th book, "The Nightingale's Song" to do the photography and publish in Australia. This morning, River Muse Press said they wanted to publish my 4th book: "A Pitcher of Moon". Oh, I'm over the moon! These are the fruits of moving away from the narcissists in my life. The only way we can actualize ourselves is to take control of our lives and sum up the past in the correct ways. Therapy and your blog has helped immeasurably in doing this, CZ. My mother 20 years ago said that I would never be publlished. Well, take that, you old bat! And you STILL ain't in the dedication! And I got more books coming down the shute!
The sad thing is that you were excited about having the same color hair as your mother. Dying your hair mimicked bonding and in narcissistic families, pseudo-love is better than no love at all. The stories people tell me about their childhoods would be utterly depressing without an evolutionary view of human history. Considering how infants were swaddled and treated two hundred years ago, letting you lie next to her head gives me hope we're moving in the right direction! (If anyone wants a broader view of human history than our romantic notions of perfect families, read Lloyd deMause: "The History of Childhood").
My comment is not meant to dismiss your mother's narcissism and neglect, but taking a broad view puts things in perspective. Or perhaps the 'broad view perspective' is a defensive maneuver because stories like yours make me so sad. And angry.
I liked something James Masterson said in the video. He mentioned the Authoritarian Culture prior to the 1960's which instigated the "individualistic culture" we have today. In my view again, this individualism is the foundation to healthier parenting and "children's rights" even if society is swinging to the narcissistic extreme as we do with everything! We'll find our balance. Being able to talk about the way we were raised, what was good and what was not, is based on our "individualism", the belief that we are deserving of love and protection by our parents. Masterson's comment triggered a whole afternoon of thoughts about the "recovery" movement for ACoNs and what a miracle it is. My brain is a runaway train sometimes.
Older generations didn't have the 'right' (and may feel guilty) challenging their upbringing (dishonoring parents). So even if blogs like mine are upsetting to people, we are changing what has proven to be dysfunctional by creating healthier relationships with ourselves AND with our families-of-creation (hopefully). There isn't much we can do about our family-of-origin (FOO) if family members are uncomfortable OR UNABLE to defy the "No Talk Rule" silencing families.
AND what GREAT news about your book! I am so very very happy for you! You are an amazing and talented writer, LadyNyo! Moving away from your mother (physically, mentally, emotionally AND spiritually) has freed the Real You. She made it hard for you to be yourself, to find your real self, didn't she?
Yup., She made it hard to find my 'real' self. And it didn't happen really until I came into my 6th decade. Long time happening! LOL! And that happened because I finally, FINALLY saw that she would NEVER change, that any desire and wish on my part was a pipe dream. I finally embraced what she was. and the danger to more tender things that she presented. NC was a difficult salvation, but an uncomfortable salvation nonetheless.
You uncovered something that was just under the surface. YES! I was excited that our hair was finally the same color! LOL! I had seen this as not bonding but her overpowering desire to be seen as my 'older' sister. And that meant that I didn't have a mother in her. But you are sooo right CZ. In a Narcissistic family, bonding is rare, so anything that looks like bonding is embraced with hope.
No, I didn't make myself clear on her putting me back BEHIND her head. She expressed that "I came out Ugly". and she didn't want to see me. She was rejecting me. Of course, I only learned this about two decades ago, when she felt she could scrounge around to find more things to hurt me. And it did, but actually, I could laugh now. What an example of what was to come! LOL! I dreamed once that a nun picked me up and held me tenderly, even while my mother was putting on her makeup in bed. She was all about her physical presence. all the time.
Well, yes. You are right. The pendulum has swung the other way, and even if it unearths (or develops. ) more narcissistic behavior in our general society? The individualization of people is a relief. Just two generations ago, women who weren't marrier early were forced many times to live with a family, the birth family, or shunted off to other relatives where they were considered second class family members and little more than servants.
IF your blog is upsetting to people, let them be upset. It's, again. a question of their own ignorance and a refusal to change. It's basically a 'hardening of the heart' and you know of whom I am speaking of, CZ.
I know that our children are watching. they are like little hawks watching with 8x eyes. They watch for future behavior..theirs. We are teaching them all the time. good and bad. Oh! How I wish I could have gone back and rectified so much with my son. I was so angry at my mother and her cruelty that I didn't stop. until later. to understand that I was creating the same issues in my son. Fear, hatred, trepidation. The very same things I grew up with. It has to stop with us.
My son comes home from the Navy. Four years and I have had a lot of time to reconsider our life together. Your blog and CS's have helped so much. plus therapy with my darling Bavarian therapist. to get straight what is important in life. It's not books or awards, or publishing. it's the simplier and harder things: our human relationships that mark our basic humanity.
and that is what Narcissistic parents rob us all of: they confuse (we are confused. ) our basic humanity. It takes years to figure it out, or at least it did for me.
Love to both of you. You both are like sails for me pushing me in the heavy waters.