An affair, devaluing, gaslighting

The video begins with Susan verbally bashing me while bragging about an affair she’s having and claiming Emma has a new Daddy.

The interaction is hinged around Susan having just thrown a set of curtains in the bin. Yea, I know, it’s beyond nuts!

Actual interaction

This is from an actual interaction between Susan, Emma and I, word for word.

Here we go…

Part 1 of 2

Part 2 of 2

Here’s the transcript

Susan

I’ll just tell you Emma, I’ve met somebody. You’ll have a new Daddy. Wouldn’t that be nice.

You actually think I’m lying. That’s actually the funny thing, because I’m not John. Oh by the way, Martina knew about it anyway. Everyone knew. Right under your face.

Me Narrating

Ok, so we join this as I’m getting an earful for attempting to paint two upstairs rooms during me week off work.

Me Narrating

She’s entitled to have an affair it would appear.

Me Narrating

Aside from the obvious fact that this is appalling parenting, Announcing to Emma that she has a new Daddy like this shows a complete and absolute absence of any kind of empathy or feeling for me or for Emma. This is cruel and harmful. The way it’s delivered without hesitation, trepidation or any kind guilt or remorse is chilling to say the least.

Me Narrating

This is not an isolated incident, it’s all too common. It will ultimately serve to alienate her from Emma. Yet she will go on to accuse me of parental alienation. Anyway.. let’s return to the chaos…

Me Narrating

…I’m skipping some chatter about putting clothes away…

Susan

What a waster of fucking space anyway. Pause… Don’t touch my clothes tomorrow. Don’t touch my Oil. Don’t touch my room.

Pause… Don’t touch them. They’re mine. I bought them. I bought them. I said I bought them.

Me

Oh my God. What are you doing? We can use them.

Me Narrating

As this proceeds, observe the resolute ownership of things. The entitlement here is off the scale.

Susan

No, for what? I said they’re mine. I’m serious. They’re not yours. I said they’re not yours. They’re not yours. They’re mine to do what I want. Yeah, they’re mine.

Me

That’s bizarre, why do you want to do that?

Susan

What? So we have more rubbish in the house, is it? I’m trying to understand.

Emma

Mummy…

Susan

These are… my stuff. If I want to dump them, I can.

Emma

Mummy, if you want the upstairs to be painted…

Susan

Emma, I’m not going to be living in this house to understand what’s going to be painted or what’s not. I’m just making it very, very clear. I actually met somebody. I met somebody at work. I’m very happy with the person. So I will be moving out. So whatever’s mine is mine.

Me

I… I just think… it’s rather strange that what you would dump… that you would put a perfectly good pair of curtains into the bin?.

Susan

Emma darling, I want to get out. They’re mine. They’re not yours.

Me

What do you mean they’re mine?

Susan

No, Oh… I bought these.

Me

Oh Christ… Do you know what you want with them? If you want to throw them away a perfectly good pair of curtains don’t let me stop you. And seeing as you are throwing them away, maybe I could use them for covering the floor when I’m doing the painting and stuff. Painting the downstairs master bedroom for example.

Susan

I don’t actually care what you paint anymore. You’re not touching anything that’s actually mine. So my… my… ability of trusting you … into my room is between zilch and nothing, John. You don’t live in my room. So why would you do it?

Me

The only mistake I made was the color choice.

Me Narrating

Boom… did you notice that. I tried to defend myself against the onslaught. I’m admitting a mistake. I’m conceding. She’s just on-upped me. Up to now she gaslit the crap out of me trying to convince me that the DIY and painting I was doing upstairs was less-than. Now I’m finally beginning to concede. My reality is now shifting to hers. She’s beaten me down.

__BEGIN PART 2__

Susan

No, no. The mistake we made was getting married, John.

Me Narrating

What a spectacular irrelevant, unhelpful change of direction. A deflection. Word salad.

Me Narrating

We ain’t trying to resolve anything here this kinda crap just keeps it going. This entire interaction produces quite potent narcissistic supply but a “circular conversation” tangent like this serves only one purpose, narcissistic supply is being sought.

Me

Oh God…

Susan

So, whether you like it or not, you only got married because Martin, your lawyer said you only wanted to sign papers because you had no legal rights over Emma. That was the only reason. No, I’m being honest, John. Because the day we got married, you moved upstairs.

Me Narrating

Bullshit!

Susan

So, last Christmas, I met somebody. I’m very happy with the person. I want to move out. I want to get on with my life. That’s all I want. I asked you. I wanted to get a divorce. You won’t get me a divorce.

Me Narrating

Just like that, as simple as that. She’s happy to walk out on Emma and live happily ever after with some random dude. This is “Magical thinking”. In fact, it ticks many of the nine criteria for NPD in the DSM. - Fantasies of unlimited success - Preoccupied with fantasies of power, beauty, or ideal love - Grandiosity - Sense of entitlement

• Arrogant haughty behavior - Belief in being special And probably more… Christ! Anyway…

Emma

But he likes you.

Susan

We don’t, Emma. We don’t.

Emma

No, it depends if the person you met likes you.

Susan

Yes, he actually does.

Emma

You don’t know that.

Susan

I do.

Emma

He might be lying.

Susan

He isn’t Emma. There’s not many people in the world that actually lies, and I’m not one of them. I’m not going to start. I’m not going to start. I’m going to be honest with you. I met somebody else. I told John the last day. He obviously didn’t hear me that very well. Or he thought I made it up. Well I didn’t make it up.

Me Narrating

Said the queen of all the liers.

Me

So you had an affair is it?

Susan

I went off with somebody, yeah. I actually did.

Me

At Christmas, is it?

Susan

Yep.

Emma

I thought Christmas was your favorite year.

Susan

Well, let’s just say, Emma, I can do whatever I want now. It doesn’t make a difference, John. I want a divorce.

Me

Well shur if it doesn’t make a difference how is the painting upstairs disrupting you so much? Why am I getting so much grief over it?

Susan

I want you to leave me alone. I want you to get on with your life. I want you to give me the divorce that I want.

Me

Shur, Jesus, present the papers then. Jesus Christ, you don’t know what you’re asking for. For God’s sake. Jesus Christ.

Susan

I’ll get the papers then.

Me

God almighty tonight.

Susan

I’ll get the papers. Just leave me alone. You don’t talk to me. You don’t speak to me. We don’t communicate. You want to live with Daddy, that’s fine, Emma. Just keep me out of it. I think you did pathetic upstairs. I think you did so bad that it’s absolutely a joke. You pulled every fucking skirting board. You pulled everything… I paid thousands of flooring upstairs and… you just ruined everything. You pulled nails and everything off the flooring up there. So you get a good satisfaction of whatever you’re talking about heat. And then you open windows upstairs.

Me Narrating

Discarding Emma? Her own daughter, just like that. Lack of empathy for Emma.

Me Narrating

I only had a few days off work. I tried so hard to paint two rooms upstairs and make several repairs to them. The magnitude of the devaluing was so extreme it still upsets me even now, years later. This was just a sample. “Pathetic”… There would be no turning back after this. This escalated into a full blown discard phase. The devaluing was intense and lasted for weeks. Our marriage ended here.

Emma

Mummy!

Susan

No, there’s no mummy.

Emma

Mummy, if you took off the nails, the roof would fall off.

Susan

You can do whatever you want … I’ll dump whatever … I need. You give me back the tools that Dad gave you as well, John. They’re not yours. You’re on your own. As far as I’m concerned, you’re on your own.

Emma

Well, tomorrow’s a school day.

Susan

Yea, you go to bed. You have a nice day at school tomorrow.

Emma exits!

Me

I don’t know why you want to throw away curtains, it is bizarre. What if you want to change them? What if… I don’t know… something happened to some of them? Like, wouldn’t it be nice to have a spare pair of curtains?

Susan

No. Oh my God. It’s… If I want to keep them, I can keep them. If I want to dump them, I’ll dump them. It shouldn’t bother you. It shouldn’t bother you.

Emma returns

Emma

Mummy

Me

I live in this house Susan

Emma

Mummy

Yeah, you can, but this is not your stuff, like. This is mine.

Me

Jesus this is bizarre!

Susan

(Gaslighting) It isn’t bizarre, John, because when do you ever give me anything? You hide stuff from me. You lock things away. You locked the doors upstairs. You’ve took my keys from my room.

Me Narrating

Text “It isn’t bizzare” Gaslighting

When she denies my experience saying “it isn’t bizarre”, that’s gaslighting. She’s trying to convince me that my experience, my feelings on the matter are wrong and that I should adopt her perspective and feelings on the matter. I (unfortunately) participate in this gaslighting dynamic by actually trying to convince her that my feelings on the matter are valid. It takes two to tango. It takes two to Gaslight.

Me Narrating

(Projection, confession) “I hide stuff? I lock things away?” That’s projection. It’s a very overt, blatant form of it, but it’s projection none the less. She’s straight-up accusing me of doing the things she does herself. When it happens like this, make no mistake, it’s a confession.

Me Narrating

And, FYI I took the key because I needed access to the room and didn’t want her locking me out of it.

Me

You locked me out of the room, out of the bathroom, access to all the toiletries, access to clothes.

Susan

I mean… So… That’s actually my bathroom. Downstairs. I sleep downstairs. You have two bathrooms upstairs.

Me Narrating

Entitlement

Susan

If you want the toiletries, well move them upstairs.

Emma

Mummy. If you want to use the bin it’s free…

Susan

It’s outside I’ve put them Emma. It shouldn’t bother you, what I do, anymore.

Me Narrating

Think about that one. Oh der God it’s hard to know where to begin.