The Courage to Be
Short Story on Living with a Narcissist
The second she heard the garage door open, Catherine tensed. All-day she felt relaxed and at ease. Once in a while, a wave of anxiety swept through her because she knew her husband Paul was due to arrive later that evening. He worked hard for his family and she admired him for that.
During her day, Catherine managed to dodge any unease she felt over Paul’s arrival but the hum of the garage door opening sent her anxiety through the roof. Her body went rigid. Her blood raced. She leaned against the kitchen counter when a flashback of her life with Paul swept through her mind.
They married when she was twenty-four years old. He was twenty-nine. Catherine, fresh out of college still feeling unfamiliar with the world and having endured an unstable upbringing with an alcoholic parent, divorce, and turbulent teenage years, Catherine didn’t know who she was or what she really wanted in life; until she met Paul.
A handsome self-made businessman who ran a rapidly expanding business as a contractor charmed his way into her life. He was different then. She felt they could build a life together. She chided herself, remembering the article she recently read about different kinds of love. It made her wonder if when they married, did she truly love him? Or was there another reason? Escape perhaps? She sighed; fifteen years of marriage and all of it a blur.
A few years after they married, she noticed he had an explosive personality. If she said anything to contradict him, he would anger. Her opinion didn’t matter. Sometimes he flew into a rage for no apparent reason. Endless rants were the norm when he felt provoked. She never knew what to say or what not to say. In her mind, she didn’t know what she did to provoke him. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t figure this part out. What was she doing to make him so irritated with her?
As the years progressed, she learned, as she did with the alcoholic parent who also burst into this same type of rage, to keep quiet. If she said anything, the screaming escalated. If she said nothing, it eventually stopped. Sometimes she tried to fight back but he twisted her words around, confusing her more. Finally, she lost sight of herself. Catherine became a pleaser. A person with no personal boundaries when it came to Paul. She lost herself and she knew it.
Catherine stared at the garage door leading to the kitchen. His footsteps were deafening. Her eyes fixated on the door, she marveled in disbelief after so many years only now had she begun to recognize herself again. Catherine and her psychologist worked on her fears when it came time to stand up to this man who triggered her every weakness but who also brought out her strength.
Catherine took a few deep breathes and plastered a smile on her face. She watched the door swing open. Within seconds Paul would appear. During those last few seconds, she realized she didn’t know anything about love. Fear, obedience, and pleasing were her go to’s. Love must be magnificent she thought to herself. She felt something stir in her heart.
Love doesn’t make the world go ‘round.
It's what makes the ride worthwhile.
-Franklin P. Jones
At that moment Paul walked through the doorway. He smiled although his face looked tired after a long day at work.
“Hi, honey”, he said, greeting her with a kiss.
“How was your day?” Catherine asked.
“Work Catherine. Work. What else?” His voice hinted irritation. Paul thumbed through the mail. Without looking up he asked, “Did you call Mr. Jenkins about our appointment tomorrow? The guy is such a jerk but he’s a good client. If he wants us to rebuild the deck again, we’ll do it.” He turned to look at her, expecting a reply.
Catherine hesitated; her heart pounded inside her chest. The palms of her hands grew cold and clammy. She looked him in the eye.
“Paul, there is something we need to talk about.”
He set his keys on the kitchen countertop without dropping his intense gaze into her eyes.
“Really.” He said, “About what?” He stood directly in front of her, arms folded, waiting for his wife to speak.
Catherine felt the edge of the countertop pressing into her back. She knew the minute she looked into his eyes it was over. She would crumble. She always did. His intensity almost overpowered her again but she told herself no. Not this time.
“Paul, I’ve worked in the family business for many years and I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. Something isn’t right. My stress level is out of control. I can’t sleep at night. I don’t have any time to do things I like to do. There’s something missing in my life. There is something missing in me.”
“What do you mean something’s missing?” His voice became angry. “You have everything. A nice house, a car. You never need money, what’s the problem? And stress? That’s life, Catherine. Work is life. We don’t work, we don’t live and we don’t eat. Simple as that.” He laughed. “I hope you’re not having some kind of a breakdown.” Before she could speak, he started to walk away, then thought better of it.
“Look, if you want to sit on the couch all day, go ahead. I’ll work.” Paul took off his coat, threw it on a kitchen chair, and started for the living room. Catherine grabbed his arm.
“Paul, please don’t be angry. Try to understand. You’re not the only one who has dreams.” This time it was Catherine who gazed intently into his eyes. The anger and hurt she saw there wasn’t going to persuade her into feeling guilty for wanting to live her life. Not this time.
Paul wrestled his arm from her touch. “That’s fine Catherine. Do whatever you want. Is dinner ready yet?” He flopped into his favorite chair in front of the television.
The dim light from the television inside the darkroom highlighted his profile. His strong jawline was the same the day they met but his dark hair began to show signs of gray. He held his head in his hands. She knew he was tired. Those familiar feelings of guilt started to slither up her spine but she decided long before they had this conversation, she wouldn’t let them in.
Everyone makes choices in their life. Paul, a workaholic, hungry for money chose to work long hours 24/7. She knew he did it for the family and for her. She loved him for wanting to provide everything they could ever need. Catherine knew she gave most of her life to Paul, his dreams, and the business. Now she wanted something of her own. Was it selfish? Some people might see it like that but the emptiness she felt inside affected every area of her life. She wasn’t happy. She sighed and left Paul alone while she finished making dinner.
They barely spoke during the evening meal. Paul talked about work and as usual, Catherine listened. When she told Paul about her day, he acted aloof. He answered her occasionally but without any real interest in the conversation. Catherine finally gave up. They continued their meal in silence.
After dinner, Catherine stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes. She looked out into the night from the bay window in front of the sink. Her reflection stood out against the kitchen light shining above it onto the glass.
Still holding a soapy plate, she rested her hand on the side of the sink and looked at herself. Her blond hair fell just below her shoulders. Her face and body were slender. The green dress she wore matched her eyes. Catherine gazed at the person in the window and realized she didn’t know the woman in the reflection. She didn’t know herself.
Catherine dropped the plate into the soapy water, dried her hands with a dishtowel, and tossed it over her shoulder as she left the kitchen. She had to find happiness again with or without Paul. She knew he would never change but she could. She walked down the hallway of their upscale San Diego home and into their bedroom straight to her closet where she hid her secret box.
The box contained reminders of her dreams long forgotten when she began her life with Paul. Carefully, she reached up to the top shelf and rummaged under her neatly folded sweaters. Her hands felt around every inch of the shelf until they touched the edges of the box. Elated, she pulled out the box.
In her hands, she held a pink shoe box covered with white and purple hand-painted flowers. On top of the box in white lettering, it said, “Never Give Up”. Catherine sat down on the floor of the spacious closet with the box in front of her. Carefully, she opened the lid.
Inside she found reminders of the many times she tried to start a project on her own but was unable to do so because Paul didn’t approve. Her project wasn’t a moneymaker. Hobbies didn’t make money. Or it got in the way of her work schedule. Excuses she thought to herself. Catherine knew she gave up on everything because of Paul’s disapproval. Not only that, she allowed someone else to crush what brought her joy.
She remembered many nights she cried herself to sleep after one of his tirades. He often told her how foolish to invest her time in things that didn’t make money. On one occasion, Catherine yelled back. She told him she didn’t care about making a ton of money. She just wanted to be happy.
Catherine picked up a pamphlet she put away years ago. It lay folded at the bottom of the shoe box. A tear ran down her cheek. The pamphlet was for nursing school. Someone gave it to her at the hospital where she volunteered. She thought of her dad who had been a doctor and her mother, a nurse.
She remembered Paul’s obnoxious laughter when she brought it home, told him about the program and how she planned to juggle her work schedule with school.
“I know I can do it, Paul. It will take some time but I want to apply.”
“You? We have a business to run and I need you here.” The sarcasm in his voice smashed her again.
The memory faded but it made her realize her fear of raised voices and anger stemmed from childhood. The puzzle of her life began to come together. The coping strategy she used with her alcoholic parent weaved itself into her adult life with Paul. Ironically, no matter how hard she tried, it never worked. Something always came up. Catherine felt exhausted from years of pleasing others, especially Paul. What about her?
Her thoughts turned to Paul. She didn’t love him in a romantic way. Maybe there are different kinds of love. She loved herself enough to recognize she had time to turn things around. Her dream of becoming a nurse hummed in her heart once again. Tears flowed down her cheeks as years of emotional stress and tension melted away.
Catherine returned the box to its place but held the pamphlet tightly in her hand. A quick click of the light switch on her way out sent her sailing down the hallway where she stopped in front of Paul, blocking his view of the television. He looked up at her in surprise.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
“Paul, I’m not moving until you listen to me.” This time Catherine raised her voice, not Paul.
“Tomorrow I’m going to apply to this nursing program at the college.” She threw the pamphlet at him. “We have the money. And about work, find a secretary or do it yourself. I’m done. Do you understand?”
He slowly put his hands behind his head and leaned back in the easy chair. Catherine tensed waiting for a fight to start but strangely, she thought she saw a hint of understanding in his eyes. Then it disappeared.
“I’ll do it myself.” He replied casually. “Hand me the remote I’m missing my show.”
She felt herself reach for the remote and quickly changed her mind.
“No. Get it yourself.”
Catherine turned and walked away. The sound of the television drummed in her ears. This time she told him her plan instead of Paul dictating their every move. A huge smile spread across her face. She stood in front of the kitchen window again. Her reflection greeted her under the light.
Instead of her green dress, the woman reflected in the window wore scrubs. Clearly written on the name tag attached to the nylon cord around her neck were the words, Catherine Moore R.N.
If you enjoyed my story please send me a clap or two, even a follow would be nice. I write on topics of mental and emotional health. My fiction stories relate to the important issues I write about. Thank you for taking the time to read it through.
