Most of us probably view Narcissism as an adult issue. And, most of us have been bullied as children.

What if the two were one and the same?

My first encounter, beyond the familiar childhood wounding from my family of origin, was when I was in grade school, with my first “best friend.”

Grooming kicked in already at the tender age of six. Yes, I was groomed to choose another six-year-old Narcissist as my best friend. I was groomed to endure bullying as a normal part of friendship and child’s play.

I didn’t know that’s what was happening at the time. Being a first grader, there was no language for what I was experiencing, other than “she’s acting mean” and “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Now, many years later, after learning more about some of the inner mechanisms of abuse, I see how insidious and pervasive Narcissistic abuse can be for the individual. It’s not something we only encounter as we reach some settled, mature adulthood. It often does start in childhood. And it stretches far beyond that of bullying and “kids are cruel.”

For the purposes of anonymity, let’ call my best friend, “Sharon.” She was the first playdate I was introduced to, shortly before I started Kindergarten. Sharon and I were raised in a small town, rural setting. I was an only child, so I was already hungry for companionship and connection. Sharon had siblings. Most of my peers did. I was somehow, the odd man out, being sibling-less.

Perhaps it’s paranoia, but I often felt, even as a small child, that there was a judgment from both kids and adults alike, scrutinizing me with a “What’s wrong with her? Why is it just her?”

I often felt like a freak for my sibling-less status.

And maybe this sent out some unconscious, desperate signal, making me ripe for the picking.

Again, I was desperate for friendship. I had become well-versed in keeping myself occupied, all by myself.

But I was a social animal.

My friendship with Sharon started out friendly enough. We played with dolls. Our parents took us to events; there were sleepovers. I’ll never know how Sharon felt about me having no brothers or sisters. She always complained about hers. I’d spent my childhood hearing things like, “It must be so great to be an only child. You must get everything you want!”

(Not quite).

Encountering the sibling situation of Sharon and my other friends, indeed, the extra people did feel strange. Sibling rivalry, fights, teasing and assorted roughhousing were all foreign territory for me. Once my bullying experiences started in childhood, I often wondered if my lack of this sibling stuff, somehow, made me softer, “too sensitive.” Maybe if I had a brother or sister, it would “toughen me up,” enough so, that other kids would view me as worthy, not strange.

Again, was every bit of this simply stage-setting, grooming me for the Narcissistic abuse of childhood AND adulthood?

I still wonder.

The Silent Treatment:

My first experiences with this abuse from Sharon happened, like I said, in first grade. At recess. On the playground. I don’t remember the official kickoff of the behavior. Just suddenly, Sharon was mad at me and employed the silent treatment. It seemed to happen daily. She’d freeze me out, and, of course, because I wanted us to be friends, I kept chasing after her, apologizing, although, I never knew what I was apologizing for.

Sound familiar to anyone out there?

Day after day, recess after recess, she’d ignore me, going out of her way to make sure I was not included in any kind of games. And, day after day, I’d come running, apologizing profusely. She then seemed delighted by that and she decided we were friends again.

Until the next bout of silent treatment.

That was, until one recess period, I didn’t chase her; I didn’t apologize. Instead, I found someone else to play with. And, of course, that sent her reeling. When she “complained” to this newer recess friend about why I wasn’t responding in my usual fashion, this girl responded, “She got tired of saying she was sorry because you were always mean to her.”

Out of the mouths of babes, huh?

That was a watershed moment for my six-year-old self. I felt empowered and educated. I saw, for the first time, how a child could, indeed, be manipulative with another child. Not exactly news flash material, but my eyes were now opened in a way they needed to be for me to survive childhood, and certainly, the first grade.

Punishment: Flying Monkeys…Only Eleven Year Old’s:

Time marched on concerning my grade school experiences. And, soon enough, despite my knowledge of Sharon’s tactics, despite my process of befriending other peers, I still encountered her punishment. I was punished for seeking companionship outside of her.

Enter the mean girl phenomena.

I really don’t what it is exactly. Is it something they put in the hot lunches?

Is it hormones? Is it nature? Is it nurture?

But, sure enough, around the fourth-to-fifth grade marker, I was besieged by mean girls, in Narcissistic terminology, “Flying Monkeys,” à la Sharon.

Such fun.

The Smear Campaign:

Yes, for daring to establish friendships and play with other girls, I was punished, and, in Narcissistic terminology, once again, it manifested as the Smear Campaign, even if it was a child’s version of it.

Cliché stuff, of course: being shunned, crank phone calls, nasty notes, spread rumors. I was having a difficult enough time as it was; I certainly wasn’t a popular kid. But these tactics, further enforced by the Flying Monkey Mean Girls, the designated minions hired to do Sharon’s bidding, made life and school miserable for me. It may have also sent further unpopular messages to my entire class, at large. I felt like it was open season, that there was some invisible target on my back that conveyed to the other kids just how much of a loser I was.

Again, so much of this is cliché, but, cliché stuff does not mean it was any less painful and personal to experience.

No Resolution, Just Frustration:

As each grade came and went, as Sharon and I grew older, I witnessed the inevitable growing pain changes of insecure pre-teens becoming insecure adolescents, all jockeying for some position of power, status and personal sovereignty.

Not for the faint of heart, mind you.

Sharon and I grew up in the same school system, encountering one another, for the full twelve years. As the years unfolded, not surprisingly, our lives took different paths.

Sharon, eventually, after years of struggle, fighting and social climbing, did, in fact, become “popular.” And, once she attained that standing, she appeared to be more peaceful about life. I, however, not surprisingly, was not a popular kid. I was active, involved in the arts, in speech, in writing, all things that paled in attention when athletics came into the picture. If I was certain about one thing as a kid, it was that I was NOT an athlete. (I still have terrible physical education flashbacks).

Sharon and I were cordial enough, by adolescence. Yet, I always felt this tension from her. And sometimes, I experienced an attitude of entitlement. Was that from being popular? Or was she still insecure and looking for a way to feel superiority over me? I cannot say for sure.

But I do know there was never any resolution concerning our relationship. We never had any deep discussions about things; there was no closure. Only this feeling of “loose ends,” of confusion, of a knowing, on my part, that I was not safe with her.

So, I reasoned, it was best to keep things at surface level, for my own protection.

We haven’t been in touch since those high school years. I often wonder if she turned into some full-blown Narcissistic. Does she blow up her relationships? Is she simply “moody?” Has she changed?

I don’t know. But I do know I received a Narcissistic abuse template as a child.

And, as I’ve matured into adulthood, I see certain recurring themes: insecurity at being “enough,” chronic apologizing, “settling” for mistreatment. It’s these issues (and more) that I’m working on improving, if not healing. It is slow going.
Some people may say, “Get over it. You were kids.” I hear that. But it simply is not that easy and clear cut.

They are called formative years for a reason.

But I am going forward with the lessons I learned from childhood. And yes, Sharon was a powerful teacher.

Narcissistic abuse can exist out of the mouths- and hearts- of babes.

A child, yes, unfortunately, can be abusive.