A Narcissistic Christmas Carol - Ghosts of Narcissistic Christmas Past, Present, and Future

The Ghost of Narcissistic Christmas Past 

It was December 25, 2015 and the whole day felt like something out of a cheesy holiday romance film. I was back in my hometown staying at my parents house with my charming new boyfriend, my sister and her family. I can still remember the feeling of excitement that buzzed through my body as I sipped coffee in my pajamas and gazed out the window past the Christmas tree, mesmerized by the sparkling sunlit snow of my parents sprawling suburban Ohio yard. 

Leo was only the second boyfriend I’d brought home for the holidays, and something about this Christmas felt different, magical, almost too good to be true.

Since the arrival of my three-year-old nephew, most of the gifts under the tree had his name on them. We exchanged a few gifts between the adults, but my sister and I were in our thirties now and the torch had been passed to the next generation. I would usually purchase one or two modest gifts for my family, and although I had a good job I wasn’t able to afford more than that which felt good enough to me. So this year, when my boyfriend suggested that we plan to give multiple gifts to each of my family members as a way of showing appreciation for hosting him, and not to worry because he would gladly purchase them, I was caught off guard by the extravagant gesture. When I explained that this was far more than my family usually did for Christmas I was met with a tearful speech about how I was “the one” and that he wanted to make this Christmas special - plus his family “went big” for Christmas every year so this was just business-as-usual for him.  I had a nagging feeling in my stomach (bah humbug!) but I brushed it off as butterflies, excited about all of the possibilities that lay ahead for our new life together, and ultimately, I was charmed by his gush of emotions and generosity.

I had recently quit my job, accepting Leo’s offer to work for his company remotely so we could travel around the world together for a year as digital nomads, and the news hadn’t gone over well with my family. They understandably expressed concern and alarm about such a bold move, and only three months into our relationship. I understood their concern, after all it was a new relationship, but they didn’t know Leo like I did. They didn’t know about our plans to get married and have children. We were older (I was 32 and he was 39) so although things felt like they were moving quickly I understood his timeline if we wanted to have kids due to our age. Besides, I was being offered a year of international travel funded by the man I was falling in love with, a man I thought was my soul mate - who could say no to that?!

I knew he wanted to make a good impression on my family that Christmas to show them he was serious about our relationship and that he could support me financially during our travels, but the look on my sister’s face when Leo handed her a fourth gift from “us” hit me like a gut punch - a punch that registered for only a moment and then I chose to ignore it, not wanting to spoil the magic that I was feeling that morning. (Bah humbug!). Leo’s last gift was for me, an envelope containing two plane tickets to visit one of my best friends in St. Petersburg, Florida where he had recently moved. My gift was that we would travel there to celebrate New Year’s Eve with him, and Leo had worked the whole thing out as a surprise. I was dizzy from the flood of dopamine surging through my body at such an extravagant gift. It was such a thoughtful gesture, a gesture that solidified in my head that he wasn’t intimidated by the fact that one of my best friends was a man and that he recognized how important my friends and family were to me, and that he would be supportive of those relationships. If there had been any lingering recognition in my body of how bizarre this display of over the top gift-giving was from the look on my sister’s face earlier, I instantly forgot about it and was seduced by the extravagance of the day.

Just six months later, we were married and the next two Christmases that followed bore a similar resemblance to that first Christmas - an over-the-top display of gift giving that seemed to be more for the benefit of Leo’s ego rather than for the delight of the recipients. Only now, Leo put on a show of dressing up as Santa Claus for my nephews, bringing them more gifts, candy canes, and an underwhelming costume that left the adults wondering if his lackluster performance might generate questions about Santa’s legitimacy at a premature age. It amused my nephews, but it seemed to excite Leo more than it did the children. It also required the adults to do a lot of juggling to ensure the timing of Santa’s entrance was just right, and the general air among my family seemed to be - I guess this is nice? (Bah humbug!)

Our third Christmas together was the year Leo’s parents and teenaged niece, Shayla, came out to stay with us and it was the year things really started to come into focus for me about how bizzare Leo’s behavior truly was around Christmas. Leo’s family had always struggled to pay their bills so we sent his parents $500 per month to help them cover expenses. Neither of his sisters (including the mother of his niece) came out for the holiday, stating they couldn’t afford it, but Leo insisted that his niece should come out anyway. I felt bad for Shayla that she wouldn’t get to spend Christmas with her mother and so when Leo asked me if it was okay with me that we do the heavy-lifting in terms of gift giving for Shayla, I said yes. Initially I was touched by his desire to step up and give Shayla a nice Christmas. That feeling lasted approximately one hour which is the time it took for his family members (including his sisters who weren’t coming to visit) to start sending us long lists of things they wanted for Christmas, including his parents. They were treating him (and in turn me) like an ATM, expecting us to buy them everything they needed for the year from pajamas, to small appliances and electronics. (Bah humbug!) I’ll never forget the way Leo made me feel when I initiated what most people would consider to be a normal, and calm, but honest conversation about the fact that it felt as though we were being taken advantage of, and perhaps this year we could dial it back a little and focus on spending time together rather than blowing the Christmas roof off! I remember hearing the words selfish, cold, unloving, and entitled being piled on top of me like heavy bricks during his lecture-like, shaming response. What kind of person was I, and why didn’t I want his family to experience the joy of Christmas when we were so fortunate? (Bah humbug!) I’m ashamed to say, it worked. I felt terrible for wanting to have an understated Christmas and decided to try to see things from his perspective. Cue the Christmas movie montage - it was time to make Christmas magical!

Before I knew it, I had planned local activities during their stay, bought matching pajamas for the whole crew, spent over five thousand dollars on presents for his parents, his niece, and his two sisters not in attendance. I was also doing all of the meal planning, grocery shopping, cooking and gift wrapping. It was like I blacked out and when I came-to, Christmas had gotten completely out of hand! But I hadn’t really wanted to do any of it. It was like there was a ghost of Christmas whispering in my ear, constantly pushing me to go bigger, buy more, do more, take on more responsibilities. It felt extravagant, it felt ridiculous, and I felt exhausted. (Bah humbug!) When I stopped to inspect my progress, I realized that Leo hadn’t done a single thing to get ready for his family to come that Christmas even though he had insisted that we host everyone and that he couldn’t wait to plan the perfect Christmas. This wasn’t how I did Christmas, this was insane! I had been sucked into the toxic transactional relationship of his family’s Christmas celebrations disguised as an over-the-top display of joy, which had clearly been the pattern in their family for years - and I hadn’t even realized it was happening! It was only after weeks of running around like a Hallmark movie character charged with saving Christmas that I finally had a chance to sit down and examine my handiwork. (Bah humbug!)

That year when Christmas morning arrived, there were so many presents they didn’t all fit underneath the tree. This didn’t seem to surprise his family and as if they had done this countless times before, they quickly and methodically set to work standing them all up on end, and stacking them from the wall out toward the couch in an embarrassing display, like a sea of gifts. They went around in a circle opening gifts one-by-one from youngest to oldest, always acting pleasantly surprised when there was an occasional gift for Leo, or me. 

By our third Christmas together I had grown weary of the extravagance, and the exhausting show of it all. (Bah humbug!) I told Leo that I was ready for a more low-key Christmas this year and asked him to agree we’d buy each other three gifts at most, and one for each adult in both of our families. Begrudgingly, he agreed and I felt better already. But when Christmas morning rolled around and I woke up to a pile of presents under the tree, most of which had my name on them. I felt a knot in my stomach and a wave of panic. Hadn’t we agreed to keep it small? After Leo opened his three very thoughtful gifts from me, and mine too many to count, we sat drinking coffee by the fire and I caught myself thinking back to that first Christmas spent with my family, missing the magical feeling of it all. It was eerily quiet, and I excused myself to use the restroom after drinking what felt like 12 cups of coffee as an excuse not to have to talk to Leo. As I stood up, Leo slapped his hands on his knees and proclaimed, “Well, I definitely won Christmas this year! Hopefully you’ll make it up to me!” (Bah humbug!) What ensued next was a confusing lecture mixed with shaming, gloating, and guilt about how he clearly was a better husband than I, a wife. I suddenly felt the need to defend myself - hadn’t we agreed to keep it low-key this year? I had kept my word, and he hadn’t, but somehow I was still “the bad guy” and it was clear he wanted me to know it because every time I reminded him of our promise, he was right there with another reason for why I was such a bad wife. (Bah humbug!)

The last Christmas we were married was in 2020, our son was 11-months old. We invited his whole family (one sister came this time) out to stay with us in our brand new million-dollar home we had built to join in celebrating our baby boy’s first Christmas with us, and my family who all lived locally. This time, I was prepared for the mess of extravagant chaos that I was expected to maintain as part of his family traditions, so I prepared ahead of time. When I initiated a conversation with Leo about what we should get for our baby boy for his first Christmas, I was shocked to find out that he had already been shopping for our son and had purchased a mountain of presents for him without discussing anything with me first. “Okay,” I thought, “he’s being proactive, that’s helpful.” When I  suggested we sit down together to look at all of the gifts he responded by saying, “You do your shopping, and I’ll do mine.” It felt cold, disconnected, and most of all, competitive. The quote from the year prior, “I definitely won Christmas!” rang in my ears like a shrill warning and it sent a chill down my spine. (Bah humbug!) Was my husband trying to beat me at Christmas shopping in some sort of twisted competition for our 11-month-old son’s affection? He barely spent any time with our baby, and now it seemed as though he was trying to buy his affection like everyone else. At that point in time, I was conditioned to push down every dark thought I had about my husband’s behavior. I know now that I had been programmed to reframe every epiphany I had about his toxic behavior as my own issue with criticism and judgement, and to shame myself back into submission and denial. So I went about prepping for the holiday, even though something felt off, and icky. (Bah humbug!)

When our son awoke Christmas morning, everyone was gathered around the tree, excitedly waiting to see him open his first Christmas gifts. The presents were even more numerous this year than they had been in the past, everyone clearly excited to shop for our sweet little boy. I was so focused on trying to enjoy the magic of my baby’s first Christmas, that I didn’t open the gifts being set aside for me while everyone else ripped into their gifts. Leo and his family, squealed with excitement as they opened gift after thoughtful gift that I had carefully purchased with their interests in mind. After an hour-and-a-half of flying wrapping paper and posed photos holding up shiny new gifts, someone pointed out that I hadn’t opened a single gift yet and everyone encouraged me to sit down and open one. 

There were three presents for me to open, all from Leo. I opened the first - a pair of tube socks branded by my favorite band, Phish. Leo seemed proud of himself as I smiled and thanked him for the socks. I opened the second gift - collapsable laundry hampers. I was the one that did our family’s laundry and I had mentioned recently that our hampers weren’t getting the job done so I feigned excitement over the utilitarian gift and tried to see it as thoughtful. I opened the third and final gift - a set of frying pans. I sat there staring at the box of mid-grade frying pans from Bed Bath and Beyond that my multi-millionaire husband had bought me for Christmas - and I felt numb. The silence was deafening. Leo’s mother finally broke it by yelling a shrill, “That better not be all you got your wife for Christmas! Tube socks, laundry bins, and frying pans?!” When my baby boy pulled at my pajamas - that matched the ones he wore - clearly hungry for a bottle, it pulled me out of my shock-induced stare. When I looked up Leo’s face had turned bright red and I could tell that he only felt angry because he’d been called out by his mother. There was no embarassment, no moment of realization at how little thought he’d put into his wife, only anger that he’d been called out for the thoughtless partner that he obviously was. The realization knocked the wind out of me, as if I’d been clobbered by Santa’s overstuffed sack - the only value I held for my husband was as his servant. My duty was to cook, clean, do laundry, take care of our baby, run our company, and make magic for him and everyone else. But there had been no magic spared for me. Despite Leo’s insistence that I’m a materialistic person, things aren’t important to me. Experiences are. So while that wasn’t the final straw, I began to see through the act and recognize the reality of what my marriage really was instead of what I’d wished it would be. I was an afterthought. (Bah humbug!) 

By the time Christmas 2021 rolled around, I had just recently moved into the modest new home I purchased for myself after needing an attorney to force my millionaire husband to give me the money I needed to move out. He fought hard to keep me prisoner for three months after I filed for divorce, refusing to release the funds for my down payment on a home. My son wasn’t quite two years old yet, and my family and I were relieved that I’d finally gotten out of that house, away from my abusive husband. I felt as though I was on the path toward peace. We had agreed that my son would spend Christmas eve with his father that year, and that I would receive our son for Christmas day with my family, beginning just before dinner time. 

When Leo pulled up to my sister’s home to drop off our son, for the first time in months a respectful co-parenting relationship seemed as though it might be possible. As he handed my baby to me who had been wriggling in his arms, reaching out for me despite his father’s resistance, Leo handed me a book, meant to be a Crhistmas gift to me from our son. Overwhelmed by the joy of seeing our son, and the tanglible hope for the kind of co-parenting relationship all divorced mothers dream of, I surprised myself (and Leo) when I leaned over and hugged him. As I pulled back, thanking him for the book, our son smiled, gently pressed between us. 

After a quick goodbye, I opened the door to my sister’s home with my baby in my arms, and my family including my two nephews and my best friend who had joined us for the holiday all greeted us with enthusiastic excitement! My littled boy squealed with joy and laughter, clearly so excited to see his family. My nephews brought my baby upstairs to play in their rooms, and I had missed him so much that I joined them, not wanting to be apart from him a moment longer. Not five minutes later I heard my brother-in-law in the doorway. In a hushed voice he said, “Cat, you need to come downstairs, the police are here.” I felt confused and angry all at once - it had to be Leo, and somehow I knew it was. 

As I walked downstairs I heard the two police officers inform my brother-in-law who answered the door that they were here to perform a wellness check because my ex was worried that I was drunk and would be driving our son drunk later that night. My heart sank. As I continued down the stairs I could hear my brother-in-law tell them, “This guy is a bit of an asshole.” and the lead officer replied, “That’s what I figured.” The feeling of rage burned hot in my cheeks and churned in my stomach. I knew in that moment that Leo would never leave me alone, never let me have a moment’s peace or joy as long as he lived. That he would be sure to do anything he could to ruin any opportunity for joy for me and my family. I apologized to the officers profusely, offered to do a breathalyzer test, and waited patiently for my mother to stop offering them cookies so they could wrap things up and we could sit down for dinner.

By the time they left, the meal that had been placed on the table prior to the officer’s arrival was cold. The children were oblivious to what had transpired - my youngest nephew had even asked the officers if they were there to bring him presents! But despite their best efforts to move on from the incident, intent not to let my abuser ruin our Christmas, the damage had been done and our table was a little quieter that year. The feeling of dread hung heavy in the air that night. This was just the beginning, what fresh hell awaited me, my son, and my family in the years ahead? (Bah humbug!)

The Ghost of Narcissistic Christmas Present

This Christmas we are almost four years post-decree with a recent order issued in June awarding me primary custody and sole decision-making authority for all areas of our son’s life. The chaos, abuse, and neglect of the last four years, coupled with the trauma of an unethical Parental Responsibilities Evaluator (custody evaluator) by a supposed veteran mental health provider who was either charmed by Leo, or an abuser herself, had taken a toll on me, my son, my family, and my retirement savings. But today I’m grateful to say that the protection I fought so hard for has been a godsend. My son who, to put it mildly, had been struggling tremendously and was exhibiting signs of trauma and neglect after being forced to spend half his time with his abusive father, is finally moving beyond survival. His therapists, teachers, family and friends all regularly tell me they can see a huge difference in him, and dare I say, he might even be thriving! A remarkable turnaround only four months after our new orders were issued. 

The five months since our new orders were issued have been the longest stretch of peace and security I have felt in almost ten years. So when my ex sent what seemed like an innocuous message to his school’s WhatsApp chat before Thanksgiving, I knew that stretch of peace had come to an end. (Bah humbug!)

Initially, it seemed as though my son was participating in a community service project, was really his father’s desperate attempt to gain favor with the school community and make himself look like the amazing father that he needed so badly for everyone to believe that he was. At first glance, it seemed as though my son was volunteering for an established non-profit to help collect and provide gently used toys to underprivileged families who needed them for the holiday. After a closer look, my ex had built an entire website with our son as the poster child, with videos of him plastered all over the website, and YouTube. The collective information from this website and the YouTube videos splashed my son’s full name, age, grade level, and school all over the internet. I was horrified, and not at all surprised. When digging deeper into the “project” I realized that my ex planned to take our son to the homes of strangers to collect these toys, and then visit the homes of strangers on Christmas eve dressed as Santa Claus and an elf to distribute the toys. I was hit with a dizzying mix of emotions. Pride in my son’s desire to give back to his community, and rage at the level of public exposure and potential danger caused by his narcissistic father exposing him to predators and bad actors on the internet. All for the sake of the attention and praise he was seeking to feed his ever-hungry ego. (Bah humbug!)

A few families from the school reached out to cheer on my son and ask what they could do to help, and publicly, I did the same. But behind closed doors people came out of the woodwork to express shock and concern about such a public-facing role with serious safety concerns for my young son. 

“With so many established non-profits that already do this, why in the hell would he create his own “charity”? And why would he expose your son like that on the internet, did he even consider your son’s safety in all of this?!” One of my closest friends in the school community vented to me after staying conspicuously quiet on the subject for almost a week after my ex sent that message. “I was so angry for you, and your son that I had to let myself cool off before I could talk to you about it.” 

The relief I felt at not having to explain not only the safety concerns I had for my son, or the shockingly self-serving motivation behind such bizarre behavior, was a tremendous weight lifted. Finally, people were seeing through the mask, seeing my son’s father for who he truly was, our abuser. And while selfishly it made me feel better to know people were finally seeing the truth, I was still worried for my son’s safety.

Just two weeks prior to my ex’s announcement of the charity he had created with our son at the center, Leo reached out to my attorney as he was now pro se (self represented), having cut ties with his fifth attorney. He wanted to get my attorney’s feedback on his desire to file a motion to have our case file sealed for the safety of our son, his safety, (and even Cat’s safety). He literally put my name in parenthesis in the email as if I were some afterthought, which I already knew I was to him. See the story about our final Christmas as a married couple above for reference.

Most divorce orders are public record, and an attorney can buy into the file if they have the relevant party information. So when Leo’s girlfriend’s ex husband got a hold of our recent orders somehow and gave them to (Leo’s girlfriend) his ex wife, all of a sudden my ex was concerned with our son’s safety. For this reason, he demanded that our case file be sealed and he intended to file a motion to protect all of us from “harm”.

I had learned that he had posted the public-facing videos of our son on YouTube a full two weeks prior to his demands that our case files were sealed. All of a sudden, I could feel that all too familiar feeling of the ghost of Christmas past where nothing he did made sense, and it was coming back to haunt me. Somehow in Leo’s mind, exposing all of our son’s information on the internet, and using him as the poster child for a vanity project he created to boost his own image was fine, but our case files remaining public presented a clear and present danger to our son?! You can’t make this stuff up, folks. The lack of logic present in his thinking either indicates that he is so clueless about how absurd his behavior is, or he truly doesn’t care and doesn’t think anyone notices how obvious his maniacal and selfish plots truly are. Or he really is that clueless - which I think might be even scarier. 

When I reached out to Leo to inquire about his plans to keep our son safe with such a high level of exposure on the internet, to ask him to take down the YouTube videos, and to provide clarification regarding if he really intended to dress our son as an elf and himself Santa Claus and go to stranger’s homes on Christmas Eve to deliver gifts, I was met with a non-answer. “Our plans are not yet set.” It sent a chill down my spine. He knows how crazy this all is, I thought, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he is using our son as bait on the internet in an effort to raise his public credibility. He doesn’t care that he’s putting our son in situations that have the potential for harm. He doesn’t care that he has definitely violated the terms of our court-ordered decision-making authority with this brazen, thoughtless, and selfish act. He doesn’t care, and he never will. (Bah humbug indeed!)

The Ghost of Narcissistic Christmas Future

In Charles Dicken’s novel, A Christmas Carol, Ebenezer Scrooge is a miserly old man who is visited by the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future. The ghosts teach Scrooge the importance of kindness, generosity, and the Christmas spirit, and he transforms into a kind and generous man. This is the dream of every protective mother forced to co-parent her children with her abuser. That one day, he’ll have an epiphany and see the light. I’ve gotten caught up in my own Scrooge fantasy more times than I care to admit, daydreaming about my ex suddenly having an “a-ha!” moment and becoming the man I fell in love with - the man he pretended to be. 

Getting sucked into the story of your narcissist realizing their evil ways and changing for the good is an intoxicating fantasy that all survivors of narcissistic abuse fall prey to every once in a while, especially around the holidays. There is so much grief and loss in divorce, but even more so for those of us who have escaped our abusers and are forced to co-parent with them through years of hell and trauma, all the while being told that we “chose this” for ourselves when we married them, when we had children with them, and when we divorced them. This is called disenfranchised grief, and it cuts so much deeper than the forms of grief society deems to be a loss that’s out of our hands.

The holidays are an especially activating time for abusers. The collective joy and celebration of love and togetherness activates the deepest, darkest part of their shame - that they can never truly be loved and never truly love another because deep down they hate themselves. And so they take it out on us, those of us whose only crime was to see them clearly for who they really are and decide that we’ve had enough. Enough for ourselves, and enough for our children. Those of us brave enough to envision a life free from abuse, free from coercive control, free from the traumatizing level of chaos that only such a frighteningly disordered and unsettled person can create. (Bah humbug!)

So what are we to do, when do we get to experience joy during “the most wonderful time of the year” when our abusers are intentionally working overtime to find ways to harm us - and in turn our children? When everyone else is celebrating and we’re stuck in a cycle of hyper-vigilance, waiting for the narcissistic ghost of Christmas past to crash our Christmas Present and cast a dark shadow over our season of supposed joy by reminding us that our Ebenezer Scrooge will never, ever change. The only words of comfort I can offer are the ones I regularly offer to myself - I can always count on him to be Ebenezer Scrooge, and that’s the one thing I can count on but at least it’s something. If I can accept that my abuser is stuck in an endless loop of anger and revenge, then I can plan for it so it doesn’t catch me by surprise.

The harsh reality that I have come to accept is that there is no fairy tale ending for me, no magical transformation that turns my evil Scrooge-like ex into a kind and generous man and that I have absolutely no control over that. So I focus on the things I can control - what I do with my energy, my time, and my joy. I wrap presents early in case he throws a wrench in my day by not following our court-ordered holiday schedule. I book a trip to Mexico for myself and my son using credit card points from my divorce bills to get away from it all and enjoy quality time together. I explain to my son that this year, Christmas will be a little smaller, and when he replies by saying, “It’s okay Mommy, I’m just glad I get to be with you!” I know I have cultivated a relationship with him based on trust, love, and mutual respect. This is so much more important to me than the transactional relationship my ex has with our son (and with his family), constantly buying him things and offering “surprises” to hold his interest, because there’s no real bond there. (Bah humbug!)

What Ebenezer Scrooge realizes at the end of A Christmas Carol is that above all, love and kindness matter most. But he never could have come to that realization without bearing witness to his past and taking valuable lessons from everything the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future showed him had come to pass, and would come to pass if he didn’t change his ways. Since I know there’s no hope of my abuser ever having this kind of epiphany, I decide to flip the script, and I realize it’s me that needs to be the one to change. So I begin by changing my perspective.

As a divorce coach and graduate of the One Mom’s Battle High Conflict Divorce Coach Certification Program, I have learned to live in a state of radical acceptance. I accept my circumstances for what they are (even if I don’t like them or agree with them), I focus on what I can control and my ability to foster my own resilience despite my circumstances. I remember that I have the power to create joy and peace in the present moment, and express gratitude for my own strength, will power, and for the support of those around me that helped me achieve a level of peace I could only dream about four years ago. I remember not to give my ex “free rent in my head” as my therapist used to say, which is easier said than done. And to focus on really living in the Now.

So today as I sit on my couch and sip coffee staring at the Christmas tree I bought after my divorce, decorated with the family heirloom ornaments that were held hostage during the months after I filed for divorce, watching my son play with the toys I saved up to buy him because during our separation his father took most of the toys we bought for him when we were married, and I revel in the feeling of peace that I fought so hard to achieve over the last four years. And what I realize I have in this moment, and what I am determined to cultivate in my Christmas future is joy, peace, and love. There’ll be no Bah Humbuging in this house!

Merry Christmas to all the protective parents out there, and may God bless us, every one!