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Trapped in the Middle Seat: The Endless Discomfort of Life with a Narcissist and how to Reclaim Your Armrests
You know that feeling when you need to visit the lavatory, but you’re trapped in the middle seat and the fasten seat belt sign is on?
That’s what living with a narcissist was like.
He always picked an aisle seat, by the way. He didn’t care if we were seated together.
It was never my turn. He might throw me a bone here and there to keep me on board, but make no mistake, he owned everything.
He would pretend to include me on the budget — the budget that he used as another tool to emotionally beat me up, and then act like I was the problem. I was too touchy for those discussions, according to him, so the poor guy had to go it alone.
Never mind that I gave him the connections for his job, which led to most of his other jobs. Never mind that I gave him sound investment advice. Never mind I helped him find his style and supported him by trying to never need anything, ever.
No, when I had the gall to adjust the categories in the budget once, he put it all back like it was. No discussion.
When we ate out as a family of six, he would buy one or two cups and then we would all share. After the divorce, I made sure that…
