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This is Part 3 of a series on narcissism and romantic relationships.
In Part 1 and Part 2 of this series, we discussed different dynamics related to neurotic narcissism that tend to hinder and undermine romantic relationships. Indeed, one of the most common problems psychotherapists see is a chronic and repetitive pattern of dysfunctional relationships. And each relationship eventually ends badly because of these same dynamics.
Groundhog Day
This is very much like what happens to Bill Murray in the memorable film Groundhog Day (1993). Those who have seen it no doubt recall Murray’s starring role (Phil Connors) as a totally narcissistic, self-centered, egotistical television weather man. After a while, such negative attitudes and self-defeating patterns of behavior—objectively obvious to others—slowly begin to become evident, even to the patient. (In Connors’ case, by dint of suddenly being bizarrely and inexplicably forced, as described in Nietzsche’s 1882 idea of “eternal recurrence,” to literally repeat the same ordinary day, same mundane details, and same interpersonal interactions over and over, ad nauseum.)
Nevertheless, the consistently selfish behavior with its predictable consequences commonly continues both for the narcissistic client and those attracted to them, as is typically the case with character disorders in general. The person is unable to help themselves from acting this way despite making conscious efforts to do so. And the inevitable question arises: Why? Why would anyone in their right mind persist in pursuing relationships that are obviously doomed to failure? What’s happening here?
The Profound Fear of Intimacy
There are no easy explanations for such persistent self-defeating behavior. One part of the puzzle has to do with a profound fear of intimacy. If we fear the opposite (or, for that matter, same) sex, how can we relate intimately to them? (On an archetypal level, there is what depth psychologists call “fear of the feminine” and “fear of the masculine” at play here.)
True intimacy makes one far too vulnerable to being hurt, rejected, abandoned, or betrayed, something that the narcissistic patient all-too-painfully experienced early in life, when what Kohut ( 1978 ) calls their “healthy” or normal narcissistic needs were, in one way or another, not adequately met. Instead, we defend ourselves from true intimacy with thorny defenses (see Part 2) that keep potentially dangerous others—and the anxiety they evoke—safely at arm’s length. And, since this is usually done quite unconsciously, it becomes a compulsive, repetitive pattern, undermining and sabotaging every close relationship we attempt to create. It is an excellent example of what Freud (1920) referred to as a “repetition compulsion.” And it is directly related to the problem of pathological narcissism but commonly occurs also in borderline personality disorder as well as some other psychiatric conditions.
What Is a Repetition Compulsion?
A repetition compulsion is, by definition, an unconscious neurotic defense mechanism. Here’s how it works. The repetition compulsion is a futile attempt to rewrite history and reality. The history we try to rewrite as adults is typically the troubled or inadequate relationship with our parents or primary caretakers, particularly the opposite sex parent: i.e., the origin of the narcissistic wounding.
When the early parental relationship is fraught with frustration, disappointment, rejection, abandonment, neglect, or abuse, it places the child in a precarious position psychologically. In order to survive these devastating so-called narcissistic insults, wounds, or injuries, children deny, dissociate, or minimize the painful reality of their predicament, repressing their feelings of anger, rage, depression, and despair. Instead, they hang on to hope: childish hope, a kind of “magical thinking” that, if only we can be as good, nice, perfect, polite, popular, smart, quiet, athletic, talented, successful, or amusing as we perceive our parents or caretakers wish us to be, we will eventually get them to love us as we—and every child—want and need them to. This is the childish fantasy that underlies and informs neurotic narcissism.
Sadly, in reality, this will never happen no matter what we do (or don’t do) because the problem actually lies with the parent’s incapacity to perfectly love and accept us as we are, bad behavior, neediness, dependency, and all. This misinterpretation of reality feeds into a child’s grandiose belief, what in CBT is called a “core schema,” that they possess the power to control and rectify the deficiency by transforming themselves into someone more acceptable and that there must be something terribly wrong with them, an inherent unlovability or unworthiness, an almost delusional “cognitive distortion” unconsciously carried into adulthood. And so, the narcissistic adult in the powerful clutches of the repetition compulsion (or perhaps more accurately stated, of their wounded “inner child”) continues to try desperately to get the love they needed and deserved, only now from symbolic stand-ins for the parents. But to no avail. For no one now can undo what was done or provide what was unfortunately not provided during childhood. We cannot change the past.
The “Abandonment Depression”
Certainly, not even the best parents are perfect, and so we all go through this to some degree in one way or another. Just as our parents did. It is an existential fact of life. We can consider ourselves fortunate to have parents or caretakers who, though clearly flawed, were “good enough” to employ Winnicott’s (1953) term. In reality, this is tragically not always the case. Which makes the repetition compulsion and repressed abandonment depression even more powerful and potentially devastating. The emotional, and sometimes physical, abandonment has already long ago happened, and the child defended against it as best they could so as not to be destructively overwhelmed.
Narcissism Essential Reads
Part of that primitive defense mechanism includes the comprehensible hope of being able to change the parent’s response by becoming what we perceive they want us to become, which wards off what psychoanalyst James Masterson (1990) aptly terms the “abandonment depression.” So long as we continue to unconsciously cling to this childish hope, we avoid drowning in despair. A child is psychologically and developmentally unequipped to deal with such loss, but the adult patient has more resilience and inner and outer resources available to swallow this “bitter pill” and the accompanying intense emotions if they choose to in therapy.
In adulthood, this early childhood scenario is unconsciously and compulsively recapitulated by most of us to some degree or another. Our so-called “inner child” complex is active and still seeking to turn the rejecting, ambivalent, emotionally unavailable, or abusive adult into a loving one, despite having failed to do so during childhood. This becomes the primary sign, symptom, and signature of the patient’s problematic repetition compulsion, which plays out at times in the transference relationship with the therapist.
