Brought to you by the Write…Edit…Publish team and inspired by this 16th-century painting from Italian Baroque master Caravaggio.
“This one depicts a classic subject by an Italian Master and needs no introduction. Narcissus is a well-known character from Greek mythology – his story has been repurposed and retold all through the ages.
This particular painting can be interpreted in many ways – will you update Narcissus’ story to fit a modern timeline? Or retell it from a different angle/POV, perhaps a Narcissa instead?
Explore the mental disorder that is known after Narcissus and its impact? Or perhaps go in a different direction entirely – make Narcissus quite incidental to the story – maybe the painting is only a prop in the setting?
Remember, there is no right or wrong interpretation. You can make the prompt front and center of your entry. Or not. Totally your call. Think out of the box, or rather, frame – and delight us with yours. Happy writing!”
Rita did not have an easy start in life!
My submission for this challenge is culled from a previously written chapter of THE”SHE” CHRONICLES, plus added material.
Rita grew up in Germany during the Depression. Her mother, who never wanted this child, verbally and physically abused her, treating her like a slave.
In the last year of WWII, Rita refused to work for the Nazis and got arrested, spending her 21st birthday in jail. Although not molested by her captors, her mental health surely suffered.
Several years later, Rita married a Canadian army
officer who rang her parents’ doorbell in the middle of the night, looking for relief from a severe toothache. Her father was a dentist, and she worked as his assistant.
To Rita, prestige, class distinction and appearances were everything.
From her perspective, an army Captain, elegant in dress uniform, medals gleaming, was a prize catch, and she was sure to be respected as his wife!
Above all, Rita yearned for approval and admiration, had a driving need for attention and was incredibly vain. Little did she realize that her dream would turn into a nightmare!
Unbeknownst to her, the dashing officer was an alcoholic with PTSD, a byproduct of the Korean War.
In 1955, Rita gave birth to a daughter through excruciating pain. The baby surprised everyone by showing up a month early, and there had been no time to drive to the preferred hospital.
Instead, the child was born at the ancient local facility, injuring the mother in the process. She should have had a caesarian, but that didn’t happen.
Subconsciously, Rita blamed her daughter and, for decades, told anyone who would listen how giving birth had ripped her up inside, how she almost died, how she never wanted a child…
Finally, her daughter had had enough. “I don’t want to hear that story again. Stop blaming me for all your problems!” Rita was shocked by this response. After all, wasn’t SHE the one who had suffered in agony?
She did not recognize that her daughter’s emotional scars were equal to her physical ones.
Rita moved to Canada with her husband and daughter in 1959. The culture shock had been unsettling!
All she ever wanted was a picture-perfect family living a fairytale life. She was obsessed with taking photos as evidence of this utopian existence. Everything had to be staged “just so,” with not a hair out of place.
Labouring intensely to perpetuate this image (her domestic skills were flawless), Rita cooked lavish meals in a finely decorated home, dressed her young daughter like a princess (fodder for the school bullies), even taught her how to curtsy.
She always appeared impeccably groomed and smiling, regardless of what was happening behind the scenes.
Nobody knew about the horrible fights, the nightmares, the tears. Her daughter was left to fend for herself during this strife. Rita should have given more thought to her child but was too wrapped up in her own drama.
Rita expected everyone to kowtow to her demands and believed she was always right. Anyone who dared contradict her, or disobey one of her mandates, was subjected to her wrath.
Her daughter had a rebellious streak and, more than once, felt the sting of the carpet beater on bare flesh.
At 14, two inches taller than her mother, she ripped the tool out of Rita’s hands and threw it in the garbage.
That was the end of the physical abuse, but the castigations continued. Nothing the girl did was up to Rita’s standards.
Hypercritical of everyone, not just her family, Rita had a disturbing tendency to value wealth, position, and personal habits over character traits.
“So and so is a good person, who doesn’t smoke or drink,” was a typical declaration. Of course, her husband, and later her daughter, did both, and she was known to have a cocktail on occasion!
When her daughter married a blue-collar worker, Rita was appalled, as she expected a doctor, lawyer or millionaire for a son-in-law.
Consequently, she refused to contribute to the wedding expenses and was dismayed when the young couple managed it themselves.
On the morning of the ceremony, Rita flew into a rage and slapped the bride in the face. Why?
The obstinate girl refused to decorate her vehicle to match her mother’s. “Oh no, this will ruin the photos!” Fortunately, it did not, thus preserving the fairytale.
In a rare moment of remorse, Rita offered to pay for the honeymoon. After a time, she came to respect and love her son-in-law, likely because he wouldn’t tolerate her bullshit.
A severe case of Raynaud’s ( a circulatory disorder) convinced Rita to move to a warmer climate.
When her husband retired from the army, they relocated to San Diego, in southern California.
Despite the warmth and sunshine, darkness prevailed behind closed doors.
It was not until years later, when Rita’s mate stopped drinking, that life became more enjoyable, at least as much as she would allow. Her perfectionist mindset never gave her peace.
Mother and daughter kept up a regular telephone correspondence.
Rita only returned to Canada once, while (temporarily) separated from her husband and needing a place to live. That visit lasted six months, and everyone was miserable.
The dutiful daughter made several trips to California over the years. The first few days were always good, but eventually, old animosities arose, and bitter words flew.
When her husband died, Rita was already showing signs of Alzheimer’s and couldn’t cope with life.
Her daughter wanted to bring her back to Canada, but she refused, citing the cold winters. “Why can’t you move down here?”
Once again, Rita’s only child put her life, husband and business on hold and found her mother the best possible care home.
At first, the old woman was cantankerous, calling every day to complain (without merit). Eventually, she came to appreciate her caregivers and surroundings.
When her daughter returned for one last visit, Rita acknowledged her efforts for the first time and even said those rare, magic words: “I love you.”
Rita drew her last breath on Oct. 3, 2016, at 10:17 p.m. PDT
She was 92.
Word count: 997
FCA
Tagline: Rita did not have an easy start in life!
In case you haven’t guessed already, this is about my mother. It’s not the typical warm and fuzzy portrayal, but it is honest, as I see it.
Some people just aren’t cut out to be parents, and my mother was one of them. She had enough problems of her own. That said, she did contribute positives as well.
She taught me manners, grace and poise and expanded my world view through travel. My musical ear comes from her, as does my interest in arts and culture.
This was a woman of many talents. Superb scratch cook and baker, decorator, seamstress, event planner, hostess. organizer, housekeeper, gardener.
She even became a fitness instructor for seniors when she was in her 60s and designed a line of workout wear.
For some outstanding writing, click HERE to see what the other participants are offering.
**WEP TEAM**
Denise Covey-Founder/Host / Yolanda Renee – Co-Host / L.G. Keltner – Co Host
Nilanjana Bose – Co-Host / Jemi Fraser – Co-Host / Olga Godim – Badges
Nick Wilford – Judge / Lee McKenzie – IWSG Liason
Published Monday, Dec. 6:
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Dog Mom and (retired) Canine Innkeeper in suburban Toronto, Canada, known as The Doglady. Former corporate workaholic. Writer, photographer, digital creator. Animal lover, music fanatic, inveterate traveller. Eternal hippie/rockchick. History, literature and cinema buff. Hockey and soccer fan. Dedicated night owl. German/Canadian binational, multilingual. Let me entertain you!
60 thoughts on “RITA – PORTRAIT OF A NARCISSIST”
Hugs, Debbie! It takes courage to share such intimate details of one’s personal life. It was heartbreaking reading about the difficulties you experienced, but it was also heartwarming reading about the credit you gave your mother at the end.
Thanks, Shilpa! 🙂 I was trying to portray all sides of her, not just the negative. It was cathartic, more than anything else.
While I sympathize with the pain your mother endured in life, I quite think you deserve a medal for enduring her abuse and treating her with compassion. Thank you for sharing your truth.
Thank you so much! ? My saving grace was I got out early (married at 18), then my parents moved thousands of miles away. Some relationships are easier from a distance. 🙂 When my mother got Alzheimer’s, she had no one else to look after things, and I couldn’t abandon her.
That was deep and honest; thanks for sharing it the way you did. I “knew” it had to be longer than 1,000 words; shows what I know. IMHO, I think you’re one of the nicest and most caring people I’ve ever met; you learned your lessons well, even if you had to learn them on your own.
I am touched by your kind words, Mitch. Thank you so much! ? Most parents teach kids how to behave, but some teach them how NOT to. Fortunately, I was able to overcome my upbringing. 🙂 As for the word count, it doesn’t include the postscript and probably seems longer because of the photos.
This must have been been a pretty challenging piece to write. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks, Bernadette! 🙂 Yes, it was a challenge, but also cathartic. I tried to be as fair as possible, without descending into bitterness.
Debbie, what a lovely, authentic article.
It takes a certain level of braveness and vulnerability to share such an intimate story! It must have been quite the challenge to do so, but you did such a great job!
With all her quirks, Rita was such a vibrant personality… she literally bounces off the page and I was captured by every word of this tale! Thank you for sharing!
Thank you so much for those kind words, Michelle! ? Yes, it was definitely challenging to write this, but also cathartic. I appreciate your insights.
This must have been a true challenge to write. Kudos to you for the nuanced portrait and tribute to your mum. Motherhood is far more complicated than the idealistic picture it is normally built up to be. Thank you for sharing this at WEP.
It was, Nila, but also cathartic. 🙂 I did take great pains to make it as balanced as possible. Yes, the ideal image of the perfect, loving mother, perpetuated on Mother’s Day and TV shows, is not a reality for many. Thanks for reading my story and sharing your thoughts!
Thank you for sharing this! Some people certainly aren’t meant to be parents, and human beings are always more complicated than they may initially seem. You did a great job of showing her flaws as well as her strengths.
Thank you so much, Laura! I tried to convey a balanced portrait but didn’t want to sugarcoat anything. It is what it is, as they say. 🙂
This is a vulnerable story and well done. It made me think of my mom’s relationship with her mom, and I with mine. Both are/were bipolar, which brings its own challenges, both for the sufferer and their families. A lovely way to use the prompt. Thank you for sharing the pictures, as well.
Thank you for those kind words, Shannon. Growing up with a bipolar mother must have been equally problematic. My sympathies! I added the photos to illustrate that things are not always as they seem. My mother was obsessed with presenting images of a perfect life to the world.
I thought that might be autobiographical, and was hoping it wasn’t. Seems like a fairly even-handed portrayal, and a reminder that people are complicated, not all good or all bad, for the most part.
Thank you, Rebecca. 🙂 I tried to be fair and didn’t want to descend into bitterness.
I did guess quite soon that Rita was your mother and I applaud you for the compassion with which you write about her. Your childhood must have been very hard, with scars that took a long time to be smoothed out in adulthood. Thank you for sharing with such honesty, insight and kindness.
Thank you, Kalpana. ♥ This was difficult yet cathartic to write. I did make a concerted effort to understand my mother’s behaviour; otherwise, it might have descended into bitterness. Yes, there are scars, but as the old adage states: Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger! 🙂
I think every person and every family are knots of contradictions. Your story is an honest tribute to your mother. It reflects both your pain and hers.
Thank you, Olga. 🙂 Families certainly are complicated.
You didn’t have an easy time of it, for sure. It is unfortunate that some people are not cut out to be parents. I’m glad that at the end, you are still able to focus on the positives.
It was not an easy childhood, for sure, but I felt it was important not to dwell solely on the negatives. And, it made me a stronger person, in the end. Thanks, Nick! 🙂
Debbie, I had no idea how tough you had it! I am sorry.
I’m glad you managed to break the cycle and take the high road.
Throughout the story I kept thinking “I wonder how Rita liked that fact that her daughter married the Italian guy…”
It took the woman 60 years to finally acknowledge you. Does “better late than never” apply? I sure hope so. Hugs to you! ?
Thank you, Tamara! ? Dwelling on the bad stuff only makes a person bitter, so I felt it was important to balance it with some positives. ? Rita didn’t like the Italian guy at all, mostly because she thought the proletariat class was inferior. She did change her mind once she got to know him. 🙂 Narcissists generally don’t care much about other people, except how they reflect on them. I was surprised by her late-stage acknowledgement, especially since fault-finding was her norm. It was nice to hear!
I’m sure writing this was a challenge, but perhaps cathartic as well. I hope so. Acknowledging that our parents are only people with flaws and often demons of their own is something all of us must come to. You’ve done an excellent job in capturing her pain and her reality.
Thank you, Lee! ? Yes, it was cathartic and also challenging to write. As I got older, I understood that my mother lived in her own hell long before I was born.
Hi Debbie – this made sober reading … yet it was very readable – excellent writing. People can be cruel (self-centred) … just so sad they cannot see the hurt being inflicted. I’m so glad you’re happy and can relax now after your mother has died – you certainly did what you could for her … but this was so heart-wendingly written – congratulations. All the best – Hilary
Thank you for that wonderful critique, HIlary! ? Writing about my mother was cathartic and freed me from much bitterness. 🙂
Hello Debbie! Whoa, what a mother! I was wondering as I read whether it was a true story and confess, I wasn’t surprised when it was! It must have been excruciating at times growing up with such a narcissistic mother. But as you point out at the end, she did teach you some good things, too. And I guess you focus on the good now that your mother has passed. Brave of you to share your story and heartrending to live through. Thanks for every word and I hope it wasn’t too painful.
Thank you for your kind words, Denise! 🙂 Writing about my mother was cathartic, albeit difficult. Dwelling on the bad stuff only makes a person bitter, so I feel it’s important to balance that with good points as well.
Hello Debbie:
Oh what a mother! I can’t even imagine. I applaud your honesty. My husband had a mother like yours. His mother had been injured and a doctor told her that having children would kill her. It didn’t, she had two. My husband was the youngest and he was told his entire life that he was never wanted. His father was abusive too. I was naïve when I married him, husband was now an abuser and it continued in our marriage. Now, while still a pessimist, he is no longer abusive because he’s found God. I know he loves me, but it’s still hard because he doesn’t know how to show love. I do hope that you can recover from all of that. Every child is precious, even those who are old adults now.
Nancy
Nancy, it sounds like you and your husband have gone through equally difficult situations. Showing love was never big in my family either, but the good news is, I found my soulmate early in life, and we’re still together, 50 years later! Thank you for reading my story and for your kind words. 🙂
I suspected that your story was true. And ached for all of the participants. Well told.
Thank you so much! 🙂 Yes, I mostly write memoirs and non-fiction.
Debbie,
I remember the story of your mother. I’m happy on the last occasion you had with her, she told you that she loves you. I know at times it didn’t feel like she did but she did even if she had a hard time admitting it. Thanks for sharing such a raw, personal story. Sending love and hugs to you, my friend.
I was surprised she said that, especially since the Alzheimer’s was fairly advanced by then. At least she always knew who I was. Thanks for re-reading my story, Cathy and for your kind words! ?
That was quite an account.
Arlee Bird
Tossing It Out
Truth is stranger than fiction, Lee. 🙂 Thanks for reading!
I think the greatest crime that Satan committed against mankind- and the most successful at destroying any potential of faith- is making parents who never learn how God wanted them to be parents. I was fortunate in that with all the warts my parents had, they managed to give all of us a kernal of faith which most of us were able to let grow.
Religion was never part of my childhood, nor is it now, but you know what they say: “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” At least, having dysfunctional parents gave me strength of character. 🙂
Hi Debbie!
When they say what doesn’t kill us… they’re not kidding. I admire the strength it takes to be so candid about something so heart-wrenchingly wrong. It was no doubt your strength that kept those cheerless years from breaking your spirit. I applaud you!
Be happy, my friend. You deserve it.
Merry Christmas!
Thank you so much, diedre. ? It helped that I got out early (married at 18) and also that my parents moved 2500 miles away. Well, not so much at the end. The commute was killer and the stress unbelievable!
Merry Christmas and all the best for the New Year! ?
My heart shivered and shook throughout this. Narcissism is incredibly difficult to cope with. Sending hugs your way
Thank you, Jemi! ? It is difficult to be a pawn in someone else’s life.
I’m so sorry, for you but also for your mother. Perfectionism is a curse! Thanks for sharing your story.
Thank you, Yolanda (Do you prefer Renee? I’ve seen others call you that.) ? Perfectionism is indeed a curse and one that I am also plagued with, although it has mellowed with age. Good thing! 🙂
I know what you mean, I too suffer from it. And yes, for me it’s mellowed too. But there are still things about it I enjoy. And I’ll answer to both. Yolanda is a first name, Renee the second. A name my mother stole from my Aunt, they were both pregnant at the same time. Odd name, as all my brothers and sisters were named after family members. But I was born first, and my aunt had a boy. She then insisted everyone call me Renee. 🙂
Thanks for the explanation about your name. I was using Yolanda until now, so I might as well continue. 🙂 I agree; perfectionism has its good points. No half-assed quality, for instance. It seems like nobody takes pride in their work anymore!
Hi Debbie. Parents certainly can be difficult. In my case, it was my father. It does us good to express our feelings. It does make us appreciate the finer points of their character and it does you such justice that you could still see the positive points of your mother’s character! That is something so many abused people forget to acknowledge. They wrap themselves up in their own sorrows as your mother did. She did love you in her own way, and as you said, not every person is meant to be a parent. She did the best she could and gifted you with so much, more than you can imagine. The greatest gift she gave you is your compassion…despite everything, you still took care of your mother. You are truly a kind and wonderful person.
Thank you, Michael. Your kind words are much appreciated! ? Writing about my mother was cathartic, and it helped me realize there was some good with the bad. As for being compassionate, yes, I am, for the most part, but as an only child, I also felt duty-bound. My mother had nobody else after my father died.
What a wonderfully written and amazing story about your mother, Debbie! My mother and I got along tremendously, however, my father was a different story.
Thank you so much, Eugenia! ? Yes, I remember you mentioned not getting along with your father. Hopefully, you can find some good points in your relationship with him. It took me a while to get to that stage with my mother.
What a wonderful piece about your mother, Debbie. So well done. You were honest but not bitter about your difficult relationship with her and your hard childhood. You were able to step back and see your mother for who she was and have incredible insight, forgiving her for her demons and how she hurt you. I am inspired. My mom was not easy either and often I feel she resented having children just like your mother. Through your poignant recounting of your mother, you have reminded me to appreciate my mother for her good qualities and forgive the bad ones.
Thank you so much, Cathy! ? It took me a while to get to the point of acknowledging the good with the bad, but I wanted to be fair. I’m glad my story was helpful to you.
What a very lovely and touching story. I have told you before that I have yet to get up the courage to write about my mother. My sister asked recently ‘Why was she so angry?’ Doing my family history research, I am getting answers and have one relative who has related information. And am sure that writing eases some of the pain you must have felt and still feel. Take care.
Thank you, Denise! ? Yes, I remember you telling me about your mother, and I am glad you are getting some answers now. Writing about mine was definitely cathartic. It might work for you, as well. 🙂
Woah. That was an incredible word journey. I hope writing this eased your spirit. It feels like good therapy. Life is hard.
Sorry for your loss.
Thank you so much, Jamie! ? Writing about this was definitely cathartic.