Number four: they audit every expense. Give a narcissist an empty hour and a ledger, and you will witness a theater of control drama. My father kept a thick notebook filled with grocery figures. On lazy afternoons, especially on weekends, he would flip through the pages, calling us one by one to account for the smallest entry. “Who bought this? Why? Who said you could?” A packet of chips could spark an interrogation long enough to ruin the evening.
It was not about budgeting; it was about establishing dominance by forcing everyone to justify harmless purchases. He reminded us that the home was his kingdom. We tiptoed around shopping lists, afraid of a lecture or, worse, physical abuse. For children growing up in that environment, money becomes tied to fear. Even as adults, you may catch yourself defending a simple coffee purchase to nobody in particular, as if an unseen critic or torturer is waiting.
Raiding Belongings: Asserting Ownership
Number five: they raid through belongings. Healthy people organize their space to feel comfortable, don’t they? Narcissists invade it to assert ownership. My father would march into our rooms when boredom struck him, opening cupboards and drawers, flipping through school books, tearing up old drawings, or breaking toys while claiming he was decluttering. Curiously, his own items were never touched.
That ritual was not about tidying; it was about projecting his internal mess onto us. He needed to remind everyone that nothing truly belonged to us—not even the quiet corners where we stored our little treasures. I learned to hide things in the least obvious places because anything visible was at risk of disappearing. If you have ever felt nervous leaving personal items in plain sight around a narcissist, you’re not overreacting; you have been trained to protect your peace from random destruction.
Picking Random Fights: Disrupting Peace
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