Dating Mr. Perfect: How I Became Trapped by a Covert Narcissist

 

Covert Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) is a mental condition characterized by a pervasive pattern of grandiosity—an exaggerated sense of one's own importance and abilities, a constant need for admiration, entitlement, and a lack of empathy for others. The belief that they are special or unique, coupled with a requirement for excessive admiration from others, is not overt but rather extremely subtle.

The perception of covert narcissism as potentially more dangerous than other personality disorders may stem from the fact that individuals with this disorder are adept at concealing their narcissistic tendencies. This makes it challenging for others to recognize the manipulation and self-centred behaviors until it's too late for the victim.

Covert narcissists may engage in passive-aggressive behavior, play the victim, or present a facade of humility—behaviours that are difficult for those around them to detect, concealing their true motivations. The danger that arises is from the emotional and psychological toll that relationships with covert narcissists can take on others.

Their subtle manipulation, lack of empathy, and need for control can lead to prolonged emotional and psychological distress for those in close relationships with them, potentially resulting in severe trauma and forms of mental illness. 

On My Way to Do Something Good

At the age of 17, I left home with plans to study crime in some capacity at a university in a neighbouring province. With almost two decades of  unpleasant experiences of victimization and bad individuals, I had a burning curiosity to understand why people behave the way they do. Why would anyone choose to be "bad" when they could be good? More than anything, I yearned to heal from the multitude of "bad things" that had happened to me throughout my almost two decades of life.

However, my path took an unexpected turn as I became entangled in a 34-year-long relationship with a covert narcissist. Instead of pursuing my academic interests, I found myself anchored in the same province where I grew up in which I did not want to stay.

In her book "Terror, Love, and Brainwashing," author Alexandra Stein notes that victims of narcissists, psychopaths, or cults are often on the brink of achieving something significant in their lives when they encounter the perpetrator and deviate from their intended path. 

Each time, these disordered individuals, or in Stein's case, a cult leader, convince them that they can provide a life filled with endless love, adoration, financial security, and protection from the harsh outside world. This narrative echoed my own story, resembling a metaphorical sale of my soul that took considerable time to reclaim. This is my story.

The First Meeting

We were 13 and 17 the first time we met—a chance encounter, as they usually are. I was with a group of friends at a city fair, and he had shown up with one of his friends, someone I knew of but not very well. Unbeknownst to me, that friend would later become our best man at our wedding.

I often tell people that if I had a criminal psychologist standing beside me that day, they might have informed me that this guy was not safe. The signs were there from the first sighting, but I didn't recognize them. What I did notice was that he didn't scan me up and down when I first saw him. At least not that I know of. 

That would have been a clear indication that he was only interested in one thing. I was accustomed to such attention, given that I developed early. However, he didn't just glance at me; he locked his eyes onto mine. As a young kid, I found it a bit odd and didn't understand why someone would do that. Nevertheless, it was a brief encounter, and I didn't think much more of it.

Not too long ago, I heard a well-known celebrity tell the TV audience that a prominent American politician, whom we all knew well, had done the same thing to her years ago. She considered this behaviour lewd, especially since the politician was a known womanizer. Which would now match up to what I have personally experienced.

The Second Encounter

It would be four years before I saw him again, and this time it was in front of a local bar. He was outside with the same friend, engaged in a fight with two other guys around the same age. In fact, there were many males outside fighting, which especially in small communities, was not uncommon. 

Drinking often equalled fighting, as many of us are aware. It was apparent that he was also exaggerating the fight to impress me (or perhaps my friends too), as he had noticed me driving past the bar, observing the spectacle.

We spoke a bit that night, but I don't remember much about it other than it was small talk. Somehow, I went on a date with the friend he was always with. It turned out to be a colossal disappointment due to the friend's perverted attitude towards females and it ended before it even began. 

That was another sign. Why was he friends with a guy like this? Perhaps life had conditioned him to believe this was normal as well. He didn't look like a bad guy. Unremarkable was basically the best word for him, maybe even a little boring or bland. "Nice" was about it. There weren't obvious warning signs back then not when alot of what I did see was familiar.

What I later realized down the road is that I unconsciously created in my mind an image of what I wanted and needed him to be, not what reality was. I got hooked because he was adept at being fake to get what he wanted and being whatever it was I wanted or needed.

The Third Encounter

It's now six years after the first encounter, and I have graduated from high school. Freshly broken up with a boyfriend who was so emotionally unavailable that it was ridiculous. The one before that lasted nine months but should have ended after the first week, considering the numerous times he threatened suicide if I ever broke up with him.

This is where I should have taken a break from boyfriends, but I felt my life would be better with just one decent guy in it. To be honest, I felt lost and wanted direction. I believed I was supposed to gravitate towards him, not out of want but need.

Outside a gas station in my hometown, I saw him sitting in a car. He was with his sister at the time, who was inside buying fuel. It felt like a sign to talk to him, as he had been on my mind a lot lately for some reason. Maybe he had somehow bored himself into my consciousness, or it was my quest for Mr. Perfect, or perhaps fate—or all of the above.

I suggested that we should go out sometime, even though I didn't know him very well. He had a very friendly smile, and he seemed quiet and unassuming, very agreeable to whatever I was saying. His face lit up at the idea of this date. Somehow, even after witnessing him beating that guy up four years before, I was still convinced by his smile and "niceness" alone that he was a good guy.

I made the phone call. It's something I still can't believe I did—a decision that would eventually bring so much grief, guilt, and shame when I realized, years later, that I had become trapped in a relationship I couldn't bear any longer. Discovering its abusive nature made it even worse. Over time, this decision played a part in making me believe I had somehow asked for the treatment I received. After all, he didn't chase me down.

The night went okay, but there was something a little off about him. At 21, he was four years older than me, and while I expected a difference, he seemed shallow. He smiled and nodded at all my comments and remarks, constantly agreeing to any opinion I expressed. Looking back, it felt like interacting with a smiling plastic mask.

He insisted on choosing the restaurant and the movie, and I ended up disliking the movie choice. It was some Western that involved the degradation of women, such as sexual assault on "whores" in brothels or something similar. I don't remember the exact synopsis, but that theme seemed to linger throughout the movie choices throughout our relationship. Strangely, he always managed to make his behavior seem normal. For me, it felt somewhat familiar, given that I hadn't had the most upstanding male examples throughout my life.

It was an odd union. I didn't feel accepted for being myself, yet at the same time, it felt oddly comfortable. If I wanted to watch or do something entirely different than he did, he seemed insulted that I wasn't enjoying it, rather than showing concern for my comfort. How could I enjoy it? After all, that movie was disturbingly reminiscent of rape.

I would have expected him to choose something I at least liked or something we both would enjoy. However, he appeared sullen when I didn't exhibit excitement about his choices. Consistently, his low-key pity party vibe always seemed to get him his way in the end. It became clear later on that he was very selfish and self-centred, but at the time, I dismissed it with a shrug, thinking, "everyone's weird in some way." If I'm anything, I am understanding of others' flaws. I admit that I was perhaps a little too understanding.

But that's how it went after that. I consistently placed myself second, as he always made it obvious that my choices, if they displeased him, would somehow put him out. Wanting to avoid hurting someone else or feeling guilty about it, I let him have his way. Incredulously, I even tried to alter myself to gain approval from him, attempting to be as perfect as I could because he was deemed such a "great guy."

Meeting his Parents

The first time I met his parents they were probably the friendliest and nicest people I had ever met. They couldn't have been more enthusiastic to meet me. I told him it was too soon to meet them as it had only been a couple weeks of dating but he insisted. When I think back on it, they were a little too excited to see me. It was like they hadn't seen him with a girlfriend for a while or ever. Or maybe this was girlfriend #25 and they were praying this one worked out.

His parents seemed an odd match as his dad was many years older than his mom and she was short and overweight and he was very tall and slim. His mom was extremely old-fashioned and very servant-like with his Dad. She definitely seemed to wait on him and he wasn't that doting of her. More like he completely ignored her when she spoke.

Coincidentally, both of his parents were virtually the same age as my grandparents, or at least acted the same age. Being the youngest in his family and myself the oldest, I often considered the dynamics: he was the baby, likely pampered, while I had been compelled to grow up and assume adult responsibilities ahead of my time. My fierce independence contrasted sharply with his dependent relationship with his parents. This marked a significant difference between us, one that I found challenging to relate to.

"Their Only Reason to Wake Up In the Morning"

One thing was for sure: he was praised up and down by his parents. Constant congratulations were showered upon him for everything he did, no matter how small. Throughout the years we dated, he would sit at the table and be the subject of his parents' enthusiastic regard to anyone who visited, including me. He sat there beaming, lapping up the attention. It was evident that he was the favored child among all his siblings.

Often, I would catch him standing around the corner, eavesdropping as people endlessly bragged about him in conversation. This usually happened after he had just fixed someone's flat tire or bartended last minute at a dance. It became clear to me later on that my role in his life was expected to be similar: to basically replace his mother by putting him on a pedesatal as though he were an omnipotent God, allowing him to get away with absolutely everything.

We stayed briefly that day, exchanging greetings and farewells before heading out for the night. As we drove away, I commented how great his parents seemed, expressing that they appeared so pleasant. His response was unexpected; he claimed they weren't like that when alone, offering a vague explanation that they weren't what they seemed.

Whenever family dynamics, like sibling bullying and parental issues, came up, he consistently defended them with statements like, "It was just a sign of the times then." He never wanted to address any problems, except to convey his disappointment in me through eye-rolling, heavy sighs, and coy remarks of consequences for letting him down in some way. This pattern would intensify later on, particularly after marriage.

I eventually discovered that his dad wasn't good to his mom or the kids, and there was an unsettling dynamic within the entire family. None of the parents or five siblings seemed to have boundaries when discussing sex in front of their kids, even walking around naked in front of each other, especially his father—all assumed to be humorous. I later learned that siblings were expected to help each other in every way, even with personal medical problems, a task that should have been handled by a doctor or nurse.

Of course, I found this style of upbringing extremely uncomfortable. During each visit, I sensed an uneasy atmosphere in his parent's house when the whole family was present. The best way to describe it is akin to being in an episode of the 90's TV show Twin Peaks—always an undercurrent of bass notes suggesting anger and fear. I often felt anxious, drained, and dizzy shortly after arriving.

His mom would casually pass by me during family gatherings, randomly exclaiming that they were poor but had a close, loving family. After my first Christmas with them, I asked him about the apparent discrepancy between his mom's statements and the visible family problems. He remained silent, staring straight ahead as he drove us back to my parent's house. I couldn't comprehend it, and the question lingered: why didn't I just leave and never come back? Call me stubborn and naive, but I was convinced that with my care and understanding, he would see my perspective, and together we would break away from this dysfunction.

Mammas Boy Extrordinaire

There's a saying that the very thing you adore about your spouse at the beginning may become the source of contention or resentment later on. In my case, it was the bond between my partner and his mother. 

What I didn't realize beforehand was that dating and marrying a mama's boy could pose significant challenges, especially when it comes to building a life together and raising children. Initially, I thought it was wonderful that they were close, viewing it as an indicator of how he might treat me in the future. However, with time, it became apparent that their relationship was not just close but also controlling and manipulative, and his family consistently took precedence over our relationship.

Eventually, I mustered the courage to address what seemed to be an emotionally incestuous connection between him and his mother. It became evident to me that he had assumed the role of a surrogate husband, given the problematic dynamics with his father. His mother, facing a difficult marriage, exhibited passive-aggressive behaviour and had a habit of denigrating their father to the children.

When confronted, he assured me that he would never treat me the way his parents treated each other. Unfortunately, this turned out to be untrue. He was definitely a mix of both of his parents.

His mother often confided in me, expressing that, without her son, she would have left his father long ago. She asserted her need for him and made it clear that moving in together or getting married would not be allowed. These statements took on a threatening tone over time. Despite being in our late twenties, we found ourselves frequently staying at his parents' house, hindering our independence and ability to build a life together, especially if marriage was on the horizon.

The co-dependent relationship between him and his mother took precedence over our privacy and individual lives. Many times, I witnessed them sharing long embraces in the kitchen, with him explaining it away as consoling his mother due to ongoing issues with his father or mounting debts. Following these moments, she would often gaze into his eyes adoringly and remark, "(his name) is just like me."

To say that I resented this statement is an understatement. It felt like she was draining the life out of her son, and her claim seemed preposterous to me. Her energy was off-putting, and the idea that he could be just like her was inconceivable. It seemed as though she wanted to suppress his individuality, and he seemed strangely complacent with that notion.

Over time, she made it clear that she feared he would become a lifelong bachelor, mirroring many of her older male relatives, if I didn't marry him. My instincts told me something was wrong here, but my desire for a fairytale love story blinded me to the red flags.

While he never displayed violence or rarely raised his voice toward me, his calm demeanour and soft-spoken nature masked deeper issues that would only become more apparent as our relationship unfolded.

Unveiling the Dysfunctional Family Dynamics

If the men in his family had a reputation, it was for being bullies, especially to their wives. They all held a deep sense of pride and didnt appreciate anyone stepping out of line. I had heard some stories, although apparently not enough to prompt me to run away. Fueled by the intense adoration I felt for him, I believed I could handle whatever challenges came my way. Our early days together were filled with a lot of fun, and I was reluctant to see that change.

It soon became evident that their lack of boundaries extended beyond bullying neighbours and each other. I began to realize that his misogynistic comments were influenced by the attitudes of males on both sides of the family. The abhorrent verbal sexual degradation I witnessed was somehow normalized by the laughter from his sisters and other women in the family, leading me to a false sense of complacency. Despite their apparent closeness, it was clear that resentment and constant competition existed among family members. Instead of providing support or happiness during problems or crises, they often turned cold toward each other. Often I heard his sisters exclaim when someone in the family did do something wrong it brought alot of shame to them.

For those who married into the family, the situation was far worse. Outsiders, regardless of how close they might become, were viewed with suspicion and spoken ill of, especially if they deviated from family norms or, worse yet, if they experienced a breakup. The aftermath of a split or divorce involved character defamation, with everyone who departed the family being labelled as either a whore, gold digger, or raging alcoholic. It was a stark dichotomy—you were either with them or against them.

One time, we had been invited to his sister's house for an engagement party for one of the other siblings. We were to stay overnight and attend rehearsals the next day. Climbing the stairs from our appointed bedroom, I walked into the kitchen just in time to hear his uncle make an extremely disrespectful comment about me. Everyone laughed as my partner stood there with a beer in hand, not addressing the remark.

I noticed that alcohol didn't necessarily spark situations like that, but it did amplify them. No one seemed embarrassed or concerned that I was standing right in the room at this point. I considered his uncle to be the most apparent misogynist on both sides of the family. With a jaded history with women.

Later that night, I had held my tongue long enough to get to downstairs and as I climbed into bed, I asked him directly why he didn't defend me from this grievous insult. I questioned why his family was so comfortable degrading me by laughing along, as though I were the family's joke. Having only been dating him for a few short months it was shocking to me. 

He rolled over and didn't reply. I demanded an answer and asked why he wouldn't respond, but there was still nothing. I considered this a major problem, though it seemed more infantile than dangerous. As usual, he gave me the pity vibe, as if I were somehow making his life hard by asking for respect. I dismissed this, thinking he was tired or didn't like confrontation. I was so wrong.

Another red flag emerged when I learned that his mysoginistic uncle's one and only wife had fled from him in the night years before, filing for divorce after just 6 short months of marriage. According to the family narrative, it was not his fault; she was labelled a gold digger and a whore. 

The same narrative applied to the story of his father's mother, who had also escaped his grandfather with citing abuse as she sought safety in another man's home more than once. She eventually came back and I believe that her diagnosis of dementia had a lot to do with the abuse she was subjected to.

Little did I know that I would eventually become the third generation to threaten to leave or escape out of desperation. I joined the ranks of those, including two of his paternal aunts who turned to psychiatric medication to cope with the trauma of abuse—a sobering realization of the familial cycle I had unwittingly become a part of.

Navigating the Family Dynamics

There was talk of his dad's depression and temper, with his mother expressing a desire to shield their grandkids from the harsh reality of their grandfather's true nature. Whatever that meant. It was obvious his Dad had issues but they were obvious to me. What was there to hide? He was clearly unhappily married and had a problem saying things he didn't mean. She on the other hand was passive-aggressive mean and nowhere near the victim she claimed as she always had a smile on her face.

It became a broken record, listening to her matter-of-factly recount sending my boyfriend out at the age of 15 to check on his dad, ensuring he hadn't taken a gun with him and ended his own life. Though she expressed it much cruder than that.  I despised that she did this to him at that age. I questioned from that day on what that did to him. 

What struck me was the anger and spitefulness of his brothers' wives and the general dislike the rest of the extended family had towards this family. Establishing a friendly rapport with them seemed like a major feat, as they appeared to harbour a strong detestation for my boyfriend's mother and partner and since I was with him, they saw me as "one of them". 

When questioned about all of this, he didnt disagree with the existence of family issues but refrained from explaining his opinion, merely stating, "Everything was fine until everyone got married." I took his word for it.

Upon hearing all these admissions, I cringed at the thought of how long it would take to extricate him from this family so we could live our own lives. He promised that once married, we would move far away within two years and agreed to visit them sporadically. Regrettably, it never happened.

Love Bombing & Devaluation: Unveiling the Manipulation

In the initial stages of our relationship, I couldn't have asked for someone more perfect. His affectionate gestures seemed a little extra, but I didn't perceive them as over the top. He had a unique way of doting on me, even assisting me with getting dressed. 

Early on, he expressed love profusely, showering me with restaurant outings, gifts, and trips to visit my family. However, a subtle warning lingered in the air—if I failed to reciprocate his declarations of love with equal fervour, I sensed trouble brewing. Despite an underlying unease, I dismissed it.

Occasionally, he would blindside me with unexpected insults, targeting aspects like my hairstyle or intelligence. In response, I would whirl around and demand an explanation, to which he would instantly shift to laughter, soothingly rubbing my back, and emphatically claiming he was just kidding or that I had misunderstood him.

After a couple of years, he subtly communicated that the person he once showcased as arm candy, elevating on a pedestal, was now deemed not good enough or smart enough. He covertly conveyed this through suggestions and insinuations. When I reached my breaking point and confronted him, he swiftly reverted to being Mr. Perfect again.

Despite the red flags, I believed he deserved a chance, considering his other positive qualities, such as job stability and doting nature. He had a strong reputation for being able to repair vehicles and anything around the house. I was drawn to the man's man persona he had in general. The endorsement of his greatness came not only from him but also from everyone around us who echoed his praises. 

The Constant Need for Praise & Attention: Navigating The Ridiculous

From the outset of our relationship, one glaring characteristic stood out — his insatiable need for constant praise and attention. Any failure to acknowledge him as fantastic in every aspect of life was perceived as a major insult. It didn't matter how trivial the accomplishment, from paying a bill to other seemingly mundane tasks, he demanded praise and compliments.

He would nonchalantly leave old love letters from ex-girlfriends lying around, encouraging me to read them. This behaviour hinted at low self-esteem, and a need for reassurance, but it left me feeling uncomfortable and hurt. He appeared oblivious to my discomfort and seemed indifferent, except when I criticized him for thrusting these love letters in my face.

This constant need for affirmation extended to every meal in a restaurant that he paid for. Repetitive tales of insignificant achievements, like a job interview or a Grade 8 play he starred in, became regular narratives. Over time, my patience wore thin, and I grew resentful of the time wasted with his constant demands for backslapping over minor accomplishments. 

In his defence, he remained silent, but the repercussions were subtle and vindictive. Later on, after we bought a house and moved in together, he would sometimes refuse to pay essential bills, such as the power and phone bills during cold months, justifying it by claiming he didn't feel appreciated.

Goodbye Earl

Despite how bad my relationship ended, I could still joke that the number one sign of an abuser is they don't like Goodbye Earl by The Dixie Chicks. I say this as it was probably the number one indication that he was a really bad guy. 

Anything revenge country sang by women irritated him but anything sang from a male perspective was celebrated. I would catch him glaring at me from the corner of my eye while I innocently sang along to the lyrics to these songs on the radio as we drove down the road on a date. 

This song was an entertaining spoof on wife abusers that many could, unfortunately, relate to but would probably agree was definitely not a good or moral way to deal with an abusive husband. If you don't know the song, it is about a woman who helps her best friend poison her abusive husband.

He also didn't like that I would question why he didn't find those songs funny. He would only look out the side window angrily. I also blew that off as just him being in a bad mood or being a man or ...something.

Afraid of Him for No Apparent Reason

There were instances when an unsettling fear would unexpectedly surface. On one occasion, we were playfully wrestling on the floor in my parent's living room. Everything seemed lighthearted until he suddenly climbed on top of me, grabbed my wrists and pinned me to the floor. Instantly, panic rippled through me and I pleaded for him to get off. Instead, he lingered, intensifying my fear, and it felt as though he was attempting to trap me.

After releasing his grip, he rolled over, wearing a smile. Calmly, he inquired about what had upset me. I admitted I didn't know but explained that I felt a sudden, overwhelming fear of being harmed. Strangely, he showed no concern about my distress. His response was a disconcerting fake smile and feigned concern without any genuine upset.

I quickly brushed aside this fear, attributing it to potential memories of past physical abuse from a family member growing up. I recalled instances as a child when I was punished while lying down, and it also seemed easier to assume a general fear of men rather than delving into the limited resources of the early 1990s to seek answers. Consequently, I chose to dismiss it without further exploration.

Pouting, Pathetic, and Entitled...

If he didn't get what he wanted, he had a talent for putting on a good pout. It wasn't uncommon to witness him rolling over on the couch, not responding when spoken to, stomping his feet, sighing heavily, rolling his eyes, and sitting in stubborn silence when asked to do something. For instance, if I pointed out that he hadn't double-bagged the garbage and it leaked I would get the silent treatment or a refusal to help with any household chores after that.

When questioned about what was wrong, his response was always, "Nothing. I'm just tired." However, he made sure to communicate through his disapproving looks that he was dissatisfied with something I had done. In my 34 years of being with him, I never figured out what I did during those instances or any other time. However, I realized after the wedding that it was always something he did, and I was going to take the blame for it. Nothing was ever his fault—ever.

Handling criticism was not something he would or could tolerate. In his eyes, any suggestion that he did anything unsatisfactory, regardless of what it was, was viewed as male emasculation.

Needing Constant Attention from Females

He was consistently over-the-top charming whenever we went out. Initially, I received compliments about what a great-looking and wonderful guy he was, but soon, this charm turned into non-stop trouble with other females. Even my mother, his mother, his sisters, my sisters, friends, both his and mine, and roommates initially saw him as fantastic and took his side over mine regardless of the issue.

In the local bar where we first started dating, he managed to attract the attention of an older lady in her 60s and a waitress around the age of 40. It was peculiar as we were both much younger than them. Both women swooned over him, and I felt ignored and disrespected as his girlfriend by these women. By him as well, as I wasn't fawning over him excessively like these others did.

Early on, I also encountered issues with roommates and co-workers. What I didn't realize until much later was that he had stirred trouble by showing up at my job early to pick me up and at my apartment before I arrived after work.

In these two instances, one roommate and one co-worker became infatuated with him and developed resentment toward my presence in his life. I learned about these situations from friends and co-workers after the fact. Both instances evolved into lateral violence in my apartment and workplace where I was forced to move and terminate my job at the same time.

However, back then, I didn't see him as the problem; I was just confused about why I was constantly under attack. Surely, he wouldn't be intentionally making my life miserable for me, right? He was very nice and kind.

Always Has to Look Good to Make Me Look Bad

I eventually confronted this "always has to look good" behaviour. At funerals and wedding services, when he wanted seconds at buffet tables, he would send me to get it. At that time, he was a bit overweight, appeared self-conscious, and somewhat shy. After seven years of dating, these actions were wearing thin, especially now that he was in his 30s.

Finally, I lost my temper with his requests and refused to accommodate him. It became evident that he was comfortable putting me in a position to appear like a glutton, and not him. I hadn't connected it to anything beyond low self-esteem or a potential childhood trigger that made him hesitant to take seconds on dessert. Getting the truth out of him on this matter, like many others, seemed impossible. Regardless, to me, it was a selfish move that I could not overlook.

In his world, the blame always fell on someone else when things went awry. Whether it was his ex-partners ending the relationship or an employer who allegedly failed to recognize his worth, he consistently pointed fingers outward. Any disapproval from these individuals, or worse, if they dared to speak negatively about him, became the root cause of his woes.

A disagreeable boss or women at the bar were swiftly branded as 'bitches' or perhaps even labeled as lesbians, accused of being somehow deceitful for rejecting him or not reciprocating romantic interest. Taking responsibility for his actions was foreign to him, and handling rejection of any kind seemed beyond his capability.

He vehemently refused to acknowledge that others also deserved respect. It was evident that he expected preferential treatment. Yet, if I ever did anything that slightly deviated from his expectations, he was quick to point out the perceived problem I had caused. This encompassed his sour mood and any explosive tantrum directed at an inanimate object, simply because it happened to be in his way. In his eyes, someone must have intentionally placed it there to cause him trouble.

Initially, I brushed aside these incidents, attributing them to excessive drinking, a sour mood, or spending too much time around his father. I found myself echoing his mother's justifications for his behaviour.

Jealousy & Grandiosity

He consistently had a negative word to say about anyone's accomplishments. According to him, it was never their skills or talents that led to their achievements; they probably cheated on exams or lied to creditors to acquire that new truck. When I questioned if he was jealous, his response was nothing more than a repeated retort of his initial statement.

I soon discovered that his parents shared the same attitude. Assumptions were routinely made about everyone whose property they passed. There was always some perceived wrongdoing in their acquiring a new vehicle or house. Yet, the entire family expected admiration for even the smallest achievements, even when purchasing a new shovel.

Mr. Nice Guy And His Bad Neighbours

Excessive charm also opened doors to countless job opportunities for him, many of which originated from the shadiest individuals one could ever encounter. He invested numerous hours on the phone or in person, ingratiating himself with potential employers.

One of his best friend's fathers was an unrepentant convicted rapist and domestic abuser, a scenario not uncommon in the remote area where we lived which I also found weird. His family believed that these individuals needed companionship; someone had to befriend them and assist with their chores or repairs since no one else would. I held a differing opinion.

His parents asserted that the wives of these abusers somehow deserved the beatings they received, and the victims of rape were perceived as flirting and asking for it. Shockingly, this viewpoint extended even to molested children, who were believed to have brought it upon themselves. This was a stance I could not tolerate, leaving me feeling like an outsider witnessing sheer madness.

It took a while for me to see that he would associate with anyone if he saw a benefit from them such as employment or some other opportunity. And that he was no different than them in their approach to women.

Weapons of Guilt and Shame

With everything I could see, I sensed something was amiss with him, yet I struggled to pinpoint the exact issue. He and his family consistently emphasized their upstanding nature, proudly considering themselves a family with high standards and revere despite their low social and economic status. They had a penchant for berating those outside the family, making them feel inadequate. At times, a mere drop of the head in shame or a disapproving look sufficed to communicate that you were the greatest disappointment on Earth.

The first time I witnessed this with my partner, I was appalled. It happened over a seemingly trivial matter—he had parked the vehicle in the driveway the wrong way, according to their standards. In the early stages of our relationship, when I still harboured the illusion that his family was good, we walked into the house, and both his parents hurried to inform him of his parking error.

As they hung his heads in shame, so did he. I stood there, a spectator to this scene playing out like a poorly scripted movie. This all over a wrongly parked vehicle, I thought? I was furious at the disregard for his emotional and psychological well-being.

On other occasions, I pointed out the similarities between his family and mine—both engaged in berating to control others. However, his family's approach seemed more severe. He seemed unwilling to discuss it, avoiding conversations about the toxic effects of guilt and shame, as I insisted that we needed to be elsewhere. Mistakenly interpreting his silence as agreement, I couldn't have been more wrong.

A Self-fulfilled Prophecy? 

He harboured  a notion that I would eventually leave him, frequently dropping comments like, "You're going to leave me for someone else" or "You're just waiting for someone better to come along." These remarks puzzled me, considering it was the early phase of our relationship, and I hadn't yet observed significant issues. It was still good.

He also insinuated that I might cheat on him, and post-wedding day, he even hinted at the possibility of me taking everything in a divorce. This likely explained the prevalence of subtle threats throughout our 34 years together. I often questioned why he bothered with me if he harboured such thoughts. Was he trying to fulfill a self-prophecy?

He enjoyed making assumptions, suggesting that anyone I spoke to on the phone or encountered in business meetings or group settings had a sexual interest in me. He frequently commented that my friends weren't true friends. While I often valued his opinions, I failed to realize that he projected his own disingenuous nature onto them.

Later on, he directly questioned my loyalty, implying that my choice of attire and others' behaviour towards me reflected a tainted reputation. I resented and felt deeply insulted and hurt by these comments, leaving me feeling alone and undefended in his eyes.

Sneaky and Vindictive

On numerous occasions during our dating phase, especially when we frequented bars, I would return from the bathroom or after chatting with someone across the room to find him engrossed in conversation with a group of men. These were often his friends, occasionally individuals I didn't know. However, the atmosphere would change abruptly as they all stopped talking upon my approach, heads dropping as if they couldn't meet my eyes, emanating embarrassment.

In the early stages of our relationship, I shared an experience from my past with him where a classmate engaged in similar behaviour. This classmate would spread malicious lies about me when I entered a room where he was conversing with others. Having been romantically rejected by me, he sought to sabotage any chance of me connecting with someone else. I expressed how this situation echoed a sense of sabotage I felt during my high school years.

Despite raising this concern, he adeptly dismissed it, assuring me that my interpretation was incorrect. I wondered that somehow he was trying to make me look bad so no one would hit on me or possibly some vindictive move due to some perceived slight that had occurred earlier. Once again, he managed to discredit my instincts. A pattern I had been conditioned to accept from an early age; a habit ingrained in me by those I trusted in the past, who sought to manipulate my perceptions.

Regrettably, I didn't end the relationship then and there. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. By this point, he had isolated me from most of my closest friends and family with his Mr. Perfect persona, leaving me with no one to confide in and bounce my concerns off. I wondered all the time if I felt what I felt or what I saw was correct due to his refusal to confess or validate anything I inquired about.

"I knew you would get around to me eventually"

There were moments when I pondered the role fate played in our meeting and the serendipitous encounters that brought us together. He once shared that he had dreams that foretold the future. For instance, during a snowmobiling trip, he believed our destined union had been revealed to him through a dream featuring a blonde-haired girl riding on the back of his snowmobile as we navigated down a steep hill—an image that, according to him, turned out to be me.

On another occasion, I broached the topic of a past date with his friend and best man, which occurred when I was quite young. I inquired if it bothered him, even though the encounter was extremely brief and disastrous. He nonchalantly replied that he always knew I would get around to him. This comment caught me off guard.

His tone left an unpleasant impression, hinting at promiscuity on my part (which was untrue) as if he were merely waiting for his "turn." I felt a surge of anger, but by this time, I had grown accustomed to his evasive responses whenever I confronted him about such matters. I questioned whether I had misunderstood or misinterpreted his words, a pattern that had become all too familiar.

A Confusing Game

From the outset, I sensed something was amiss with him but over time, this intuition evolved into a profound unease that discouraged me from delving into investigations about his actions or his family dynamics. I now recognize that narcissism compelled me to perpetually investigate, leaving no room for a genuine and truthful existence. 

Life with him lacked ease and love; instead, it was fraught with perpetual problems that mostly I believed attributed to his family. After several years of dating, I reached a point where I felt unable to continue. On multiple occasions, I attempted to discuss the stagnant state of our relationship and his family's interference in our lives, but he insisted that we would travel a lot and eventually move once married.

Despite my desire to break away, each attempt triggered a sullen response accompanied by a guilt-tripping tactic, insinuating that he couldn't survive without me. A sense of foreboding would wash over me, warning that ending this relationship might not bode well for me. It wasn't like past breakups in high school; those were straightforward. The previous boyfriends were obvious in their shortcomings, marked by suicide threats, cruelty, or complete disregard for my feelings, making it easy to walk away.

With him, it was a perplexing game of wondering, "Is it me, or is it him that is the problem here?" Unbeknownst to me, I was entangled with a gaslighter who sought to convince me that something was wrong with ME, not him. This manipulation had persisted for five years, and he had me questioning my own sanity for not wanting to be with a supposedly great guy like him.

The Devil In Disguise

At a certain point, he decided that it was time to get married and proposed. He insisted that the wedding be almost a year and a half away from the engagement date. I didn't see why that was necessary since it had been 5 years of dating. Why wait? Nothing was stopping this event from happening sooner. He said that there was not enough money for the wedding. I believed him as I had no idea what the finances were anyway because by this time he had convinced me he would work and I would stay home and raise our daughter.

Shortly after the engagement, he persuaded me to discontinue the oral birth control I had been taking for the duration of the relationship, suggesting it might be causing health problems. Despite my hesitation, his newfound concern made me rethink my decision. I stopped taking it, and very shortly after, he forced himself on me. Like all covert narcissists, he masked this violation with apparent affection, attributing it to my irresistible sex appeal and his undying love. 

I became pregnant and unprepared for this life-altering event as I was not even close to being mature enough for this new found role. Despite my fears and tears, he showed no concern as I believe he orchestrated this situation as we were gearing up for our wedding, and my hesitations and questioning his decisions around it seemed to threaten his plans.

Now, I found myself pregnant, living in the same house, having relinquished a job due to pregnancy and geographical distance from work, being isolated in a northern community far from friends and family, and with a wedding on the horizon. This definitely was a deliberate move on his part, fully aware of the predicament he had placed me in. Despite the circumstances, I just disregarded what he had done and quickly became excited anticipating the arrival of my baby girl.

Father of the Year

By the time my daughter was born, almost seven years had passed since I began my journey with him. These seven years were marked by confusion about my place in his life, his peculiar behaviour, and the concealment of his true character. It was also only six months away from our wedding date.

The manipulation, gaslighting, passive-aggressive digs, and the Jekyll and Hyde personas were now overshadowed by the arrival of our new baby. He briefly returned to being Mr. Perfect, basking in admiration and backslapping as a new father. I, too, was elated at his apparent return to attentiveness and love, especially towards our new daughter. After all, his desperate need for adoration from another female seemed to be fulfilled.

This state of bliss was short-lived when I came to the stark realization that my emotional and psychological needs were once again relegated to the back burner. When he was at home, he directed all his time and energy toward the baby, who undeniably adored him, captivated by his bright smile and calm demeanour. 

At first, this was exciting for me, but it did appear that he seemed to be more excited by the love and admiration from this baby girl than he was interested in giving love to a new life. As usual, even fatherhood would be about his selfish needs and not their health and happiness.

*Watching this interview with the author of "Wolf In Sheep's Clothing" opened my eyes to the reality of who I was with. I have revisited this material a few times in the last few years, as it resonated with me as profoundly truthful. It also marked the end of the brainwashing, dispelling any notion that he was somehow unaware of his actions and I was the blame for his behaviour.

Thanks for Reading.

Peace & Love ✌️

* In the blog "I Married A Dangerous Covert Narcissist," I delve deeper into the story of my 27-year marriage, building upon this life event. Follow along as I unravel the story of my entanglement with a covert narcissist.