Ramani Durvasula's Blog

Bikini Bodies: Learning to love myself through another woman’s day at the beach

I didn’t realize until it was a few days into my trip to Hawaii over a recent holiday that there would be bikinis involved. More specifically, there would be a bikini on my body, and the bodies of other women who were also at the beach. I had been working so hard to finish my semester at school, wrap up all the loose ends at work before heading off for vacation with my family, that this simple fact seemed to escape me. It might seem confusing why this is even something worth mentioning – especially since I packed my own suit, and willingly consented to going on this family trip- I’ll get into that.

It took about two days of beach time, reading books, and winding down from the semester to begin to notice that there was something in me that was getting all stirred up. (Stirred up is a term I use in therapy a lot with my clients, it’s another word for triggered, or like having your psychological snowglobe shaken up). For most of my conscious life I have struggled with my body, and who I am within my body. But in recent years have come to the place where I finally feel free in my body, free enough to wear a bathing suit joyfully at the beach, move my body in time to the music that I hear,- dance with abandon. That’s why sitting on the beach and suddenly realizing that I was being triggered by bikinis, and the women they were being worn by, was such a shock. I thought I was over this. I thought I could look down at my body, in any shape and size, and with honesty- really like it.

The story gets more complicating (and shameful if I’m honest) if I tell you what created this sudden realization. There was a woman, who appeared to be about 65 or 70, standing a few feet in front of me brushing sand of her cellulite covered thighs. She had far from what our western culture would define as the perfect body, and was wearing an orange bikini so bright it was as if the bikini was saying ‘I don’t mind if you look’. I am embarrassed to admit that the prominent thought that entered my mind was: ‘some people are just not meant to wear certain things’. I think, if I am courageous enough to sit with this long enough to uncover what that might mean, that it means that in that moment I believed a few things: only certain kind of bodies deserve bikinis, she should be ashamed of the way her skin hangs over the top of her suit, and that her body, women’s bodies, should look a certain way in order to be acceptable. If I’m trying to protect my ego a bit more, I might say that this meant that she should cover up and have more dignity, not make herself an object, to have more modesty. But the truth was,that I was the one sitting there judging her. I was the one who was evaluating her as if she was an object which needed to ‘measure up’ to the standard our culture has set for her- I was the one, implying with my judgment, that I had the power to determine if she was good enough or not.

It has been a few weeks since this happened. But to be honest, I have felt kind of jumbled up inside- realizing that perhaps my attitudes towards my body were not as free as I thought they were. Instead of joy, it might have just been tolerance, or resignation. In years of graduate school and advanced clinical training to be a psychologist, one of the most significant things I’ve learned was that there is a parallel between how I treat (and think about) others, and myself. I realized that day on the beach that my work to come into more full acceptance of who I am as woman is not yet done. And, truthfully, that may be a journey I am on until I die. But it is not possible for me to judge the woman in the orange bikini while actually really being free in myself. I can’t serve the masters of judgment and freedom at the same time. In reflecting on this experience I realized that after all of this my embarrassing thoughts about her skin and thighs, the work left undone in my heart to accept my whole self as I’ve been created- on that day on the beach she may have been more free than me.

I don’t know what was going on in the head of that woman when she put that bikini in the morning, how she feels about herself in general, or how she felt about her body while brushing sand off her thighs in view of everyone on the beach. But I know that what my heart needed, it got: a very salient reminder that my journey as a human, to be refined, is never done. I have more work to do to learn to love myself as I am, not through the eyes of my cultural context. How I think and treat other women is a litmus test for how I’m doing in that area. Instead of seeing where I, or others, do not measure up, I yearn to be a woman who can see where there is beauty and strength, creating a narrative of life and spirit in the space we take up in our physical selves as women.

Author Bio:

My name is Hillary McBride, and I’m a PhD student in Counselling Psychology and therapist in private practice in the Vancouver area. I am passionate about helping women love themselves, as they are, resisting shame about all parts of themselves, including their bodies. I have partnered with a number of organizations to provide workshops for women of all ages to help them resist body hatred, and prevent or treat disordered eating. I also write a column for the Feminist Current, called the Feminist Therapist.  In October 2017 I have a book coming out called Mothers, Daughters, and Body Image: Learning to love ourselves as we are. Follow me on twitter for updates about writing and speaking: @hillarylmcbride, or on my website at www.hillarylmcbride.com

Today marks 25 years since the day I arrived in Los Angeles – a silver anniversary. When I started thinking about this anniversary a few years ago – I thought about penning a love letter to the city of angels.

But as often happens in love stories, things change.

Ironically, yesterday would have been my 20th anniversary if I had stayed married. And today is my 25th anniversary with a city from which I also plan to be divorced. A few days ago my ex-husband gave me the last of a few rogue boxes as he dispenses with the last of my echoes from his home – it takes a long time to separate an intertwined life. Ironically, in that box were old floppy discs and a slip of paper. The floppy discs feel like a relic from an Egyptian tomb, unreadable, and containing stories from the past…… I don’t have the patience to riddle out a Rosetta stone to figure them out.

But on that slip of paper from the box were scribbled the directions to my first apartment in Los Angeles. Exit the 405 freeway at Santa Monica Blvd. Go left on Santa Monica Blvd to Barrington Avenue….. I turned the piece of paper over in my hand, and was taken back to a morning long ago.

Twenty-five years ago, in the early hours of the day, on September 1, 1991 I took that turn onto Barrington Avenue with my best and oldest friend Jill who drove with me across the country from Connecticut. In a threadbare Nissan Sentra that broke down 4 times in the mountains of Utah. The backseat held a collection of textbooks and an IBM desktop computer with a 286 processor. She helped me unpack and then went back to Connecticut, wishing me and my mysterious new love – Los Angeles – all the luck in the world.

LA started as a love story for me. Not with a person, with a city. When I came out here for my interview with UCLA for my Ph.D. – I thought LA was one of the prettiest places I had ever seen. Mountains, oceans, palm trees, houses scattered across hillsides as if in a Mediterranean dream town. UCLA was glorious, hugging the hills of Bel Air with insouciance, and embraced by breezes off of the Pacific – a long world away from the cow fields of UCONN and Storrs, Connecticut. I was coming from the urban tundra of New York City in the dead of winter and the Hudson River as glimpsed from the number 1 train when it emerged at 125th Street was iced over. LA was cheap compared to NY – my rent money went farther, and I had one too many near misses during late night subway rides. In LA I could safely ensconce myself in my rusty Sentra at night. NY didn’t stand a chance.

LA felt like an exciting paramour with a twinkle in his eye – the great guy you don’t think you can get. I would overlook his other faults (traffic, still not cheap, far from everyone I knew) (and this was before Facebook and FaceTime and iPhones – when you said goodbye to your friends and family on the East Coast you didn’t see them until you saw them).

My friends looked at me quizzically – LA? Really Ramani? It doesn’t seem like a smart city. Are you sure you won’t get bored? Much like friends would view a pretty new boyfriend as a frivolity so too did my friends view LA. But I fell in love with this town and committed to making a life with it. They didn’t think LA and I could make a horse race of it. But we did.

And so started an almost 25 year love story. I fell deeply in love with LA. With the curves of its mountains. The cool breath of the marine layer. With the palm trees and the purple jacaranda. With Griffith Park observatory. With Angels Flight (when it was running). With El Matador beach. With Las Virgenes canyon. With the summit of Mt. Baldy. There was no end to LA’s charms. My first many years were absent of commute – I lived close enough to my classes at UCLA to walk. I fell harder in love every day. And even when LA showed its harder sides early in the game – the 1992 LA Riots, the 1994 Northridge quake – I just held on tighter, convinced we would weather the storms, and never wavered in my devotion to this city.

I got married and divorced in LA. My children were born here, thrive here, and attend magnificent schools here. I completed all of my graduate education and had my entire career here as a psychologist and professor. I fell in love in LA and had my heart broken in LA. I’ve made some of my dearest friends here, and I’ve helped more than a few people through their broken hearts here. The street corners in LA are evocative – one reminds me of a kiss, another of a disappointment, yet another of my children’s laughter.

I have lived all over this city – from Westchester to Venice to Calabasas to West LA to Beverly Hills to various outposts in the San Fernando Valley. I became accustomed to the myriad emotions of this mercurial city. I didn’t let LA’s petulance get to me –LA redeemed its dark moods with its wonderful weather, jasmine and orange blossom scented Springtime air, and the caress of Santa Ana winds. I dreamed big here. I had a chip on my shoulder – I would make it, I would make it big, it was that kind of town, you get sucked into the vortex of dreamers……

Over time, the cracks in my relationship with LA began to show. As my life shifted, LA showed its more tenuous side – traffic, crowding, cost of living. LA is like a fun boyfriend, but when life became real, LA did not step up.

I came to find out that the early years were a bit of a honeymoon period – a beautiful little bubble when we slept in and ate long brunches on Sunday. LA is a tough town once reality sets in. And it set in. It’s a company town which sells illusion and fantasy – seductive commodities, which when seen in the harsh daylight, lose their luster. The stage set called LA became just that – facades with no interiors.

Just like in a marriage or long term love affair, I can’t pinpoint the moment I fell out of love with LA, but it has been a long time coming. It became lots of things – the traffic, the cost of living, the overcrowding, the hypocrisy of electric cars parked in the driveway of McMansions, the economic disparity, and my personal frustrations. My children spent endless hours in the car as we drove to preschool, playdates, and music practice. God forbid a friend wanted to see us at 6 pm – they may as well have asked us to have tea in Hong Kong – and as such it could become isolating here. In many ways, LA became like a narcissistic boyfriend – nothing I did could win him over. The immigrant myth I was spoonfed – that hard work pays off – was dismantled. It’s an expensive place in which to raise children, and the arms race of keeping up with other mothers and their intensive activity driven lives damn near broke me.

I suppose LA and I finally fell out of love when rent started becoming unaffordable and housing options dwindled and my salary did not keep up. It’s a story that plays out up, down and all around the Golden State and Southern California.  I parlayed a small down payment into the purchase of a small apartment on a noisy street. I tried to buy a real home with a yard or at least an apartment in a quiet neighborhood but I was outbid over and over again by impossibly high all-cash offers, and finally went for the cheapest option. I ended up in the “Charlie Brown Christmas tree” equivalent of an apartment. The mortgage is less than the astronomical rents in the region, and each night I listen to the din of traffic and neighbors and plot my escape. I installed a hummingbird feeder in a tepid attempt to lure nature to my front step, but have not managed to evoke any thirsty visitors yet. I have covered the walls with the relics of my life and attempted to turn it into a home, but it is at best a yurt, a temporary noisy resting place with electricity and running water and slowly we build memories there. For now, it is home.

The daughters are growing up, and at this point, I realize, as do many in lackluster marriages, I am staying with LA for the kids. I work hard to make opportunities happen for them, and that sets what seems like a futile and Sisyphean LA worklife into a meaningful quest. But as I advise all of my clients – when you leave a relationship, leave with grace.

So here, on my 25th anniversary with my complex lover called Los Angeles, what I thought would be a love letter has devolved into a Dear John letter. LA and I are slowly breaking up – but it was a hell of a run. I suppose we are “consciously uncoupling”, and the inherent narcissism of this beautiful city means that it really doesn’t care if I stay or go. I still have several years to tough out here, and have committed to becoming a tourist – see all the sights not only of LA but the rest of California – so when I say goodbye, I know I saw all of it – good, bad, and ugly. I went to the Broad on Saturday, and will go to the beach this weekend. I still have never seen Big Bear or Mammoth or Idyllwild or Death Valley or Arrowhead or Mendocino. Lots still to do – LA and I still have some stories to tell together, and things to discover about each other – still some bits of love story to eke out. But despite my antipathy, LA remains a muse, and inspired me to start my first novel (non-fiction does not appear to be my metier, so why not make stuff up?). It is my hope that I finish it someday, perhaps right around the time I pack up and fall in love with a new town. And maybe that is the best kind of love story – that the love remains a muse, even whence you part ways.

I try and pretend the traffic outside my window is actually the ocean, that I am ensconced in a Malibu beach house and the ebbs and flows of the roaring traffic are just the waves…… When I squint hard, and the setting sun makes an anemic attempt to stream through my small windows, and the traffic patterns are right, and I scatter a little sand on the floor it works for a minute, and I am reminded of the LA I fell in love with so many years ago…. But then a motorcycle roars by and the illusion shatters. As many illusions shatter in LA.

Thank you and happy silver anniversary Los Angeles……

I will never regret a minute of it.

The world waits with bated breath to see who the grandiose gadfly will select. Seemingly overnight, America has become well-versed (somewhat) in the dynamics of narcissism, and Trump is the ultimate teaching tool for the disorder (lack of empathy, entitlement, grandiosity, rage…). Calling Trump a narcissist isn’t even interesting anymore, it’s like calling the sun hot.

But as we await his running mate, pundits are wringing their hands over the why, who and how of his putative VP. How does he choose someone who softens his myriad rough edges but still holds on to his constituency of alienated Americans?

The lessons may lie in how most narcissists pick spouses. My work is in the impact of narcissism on close relationships (short answer – it is not good…). Many times narcissists do better than the rest of us in the romantic arena because they are charismatic, successful, charming – they play a good courtship game. And they are smart – they will choose spouses that elevate their status (e.g. a narcissistic man will choose a very beautiful or very successful person as a partner because it elevates his status, not because he is in love with that person).  Narcissists also choose partners they can control – (most domestic abusers are narcissistic). Choosing a partner wisely can often save face for a narcissist (at least in the short term), and allow them to be as controlling as always. If they choose a decent enough partner, it can deflect from the narcissist’s boorishness, and maybe even make people say “if she is willing to marry him, he can’t be THAT bad a guy.” He’s still a bad guy – life is not a fairy tale, and the fairy princess is not going to save the rotten guy with her loving kiss.

So, Trump needs to pull on his narcissistic heart and choose someone who will deflect America from his dark heartedness. Just like the mean guy who has a pretty and graceful wife. Most of us get snowed by these “beauty and the beast” marriages for years – it should be easy for Trump to trick America for 4 years or even just one election cycle by choosing the correct superficial running mate.

I am not a political strategist, so the Republicans and the Trump folks can figure out how to keep playing to their stakeholders. Ultimately – narcissists are all about window dressing – and Trump is masterful at scoring a trophy wife.

Now he just needs a “trophy-Veep.”

Dr. Ramani Durvasula is a Professor of Psychology at California State University, Los Angeles, a psychologist in private practice and author of Should I Stay or Should I Go: Surviving a Relationship With a Narcissist (Post Hill Press). The views expressed above are solely those of the author.

Rape is rape. Regardless of whether it takes place on a darkened street corner, as a woman walks home to her car, in her home, by a stranger or someone known to the victim. Or on a college campus. Geography does not matter. Perpetrator does not matter. But when it does occur on a college campus, it defies our sense of safety. Campuses, full of bright young things, doing bright young things, should be safe…….

They are not.

A young woman is raped on an elite college campus, the perpetrator receiving a lenient sentence. She pens a heartrending and deeply honest account of her experience and her grief. I’ve read it several times – once from the perspective of a woman, once as a mother with daughters, once as a scholar who studies violence against women and trauma, once as a clinician who has worked with rape victims, and once as a college professor. It should be required reading for every young woman and man. It is both brave and heartbreaking  because, it is the experience of too many young women.

The American Association of Universities reports that nearly 1 in 4 college women has reported unwanted sexual contact. These statistics are consistent across a variety of studies and yet we are not seeing a systematic response.

Rape is rape and the fault lies in the perpetrator. Blaming women for being drunk, a short skirt or even being at the party in the first place is specious at best. Blaming a victim for a rape is like blaming a mugging victim for carrying a wallet.

The perpetrator’s father’s entitled paean to contextualize his son’s crime (“20 minutes of action”) put the lens on deeper issues of privilege, entitlement, a society that perpetuates violence against women and sexualization of girls and women, and our endless focus on achievement over compassion. Are parents so bogged down in their children’s “success statistics” that teaching kids the simple goal of being a good human being is being left at the wayside?

Ironically, the very college campus at which this happened is supposed to be a repository of the best and the brightest – and one only need to watch documentaries such as the Hunting Ground or read various reports on campus sexual assault such as the AAU report to know that sexual assault is too commonplace on our campuses. Much of it goes unreported, and too many campuses are turning a blind eye or simply aren’t mounting up the resources to address it systematically.

As a professor and a parent, I have a front row seat to the boiler rooms, cultures, families and schools that grow the students who are attempting to get the Holy Grail – the Ivy League and elite university admissions. The paths to these promised lands are manifold and extreme– legacies, athletic ability, perfect grades, perfect scores, summers spent in elite university programs and expensive summer camps, access to elite internship programs. Every breath is analyzed from the perspective of whether it will “look good on an application.”

In all of this – have we lost their humanity? A culture of robots who can regurgitate, bubble in multiple choice tests, get great swim race times, and achieve, achieve, achieve. Where is feeling and emotion built into this? Respect for others? Self-regulation? Self–reflection? I suppose if there is no line on the application, there is no need for it. When do they learn to talk about feelings? Fears? Hopes? They are so programmed to please us and the world, that they can lose sight of what matters. Obsessive focus on achievement obviously does not cause rape, however it can dehumanize us. When we make success and achievement peppered with entitlement such a focus, we lose compassion and circumspection. When the evaluatory mechanisms of merit are reduced to swim race times and AP test scores, conscience, propriety, and respect can get lost.

In the father’s letter about his son – he talked about his son’s ACHIEVEMENTS – past and future – his swim race times, his hard work, his lost future – as though these are virtues. When people talk about their adolescent kids, they too often frame them in terms of achievement, and not their souls. There is no GPA for empathy and compassion (community service is not empathy and compassion – too many young people are doing community service “for their college applications” ). I mean the real thing – the ability to step out of your busy life to listen, to be present, to hear the perspective of another, and attempt to understand it. If we could quantify genuine empathy and compassion, and the ability to focus on meaning and purpose, AND compute that as part of the GPA– universities would look VERY different.

Does this mean that teaching empathy, compassion and self-reflection and addressing the blind focus on achievement and elitism will stop this college rape culture? Don’t know. It’s an empirical question – but this isn’t just about alcohol and frat parties. This is about an endemic culture of entitlement and mindlessness that is seeping into psyches and society.

When there aren’t enough hours in the day after the AP classes and SAT prep and athletic and play practices – when would we insert this time for empathy? Ideally it is built into life. How often do we ask our students and children – “what do you want your life to look like?” I recently asked my own university students this question – “why are you even going to college?” and they stared at me blankly. One student finally had the courage to say “because we think we have to….” When the parents view their children as extensions of themselves, and could not endure the disappointment of little Brock not going to Stanford – they lose the opportunities to be PARENTS. To teach children that the only things that matter are respect, compassion, humanism, kindness, equality. But that means the parents have to believe those things too – and when buffoons are raising kids, they raise buffoons, or worse.

The blind obsession with achievement means that we are not having VERY important conversations with our children. I resent the fact that I have to spend many hours telling my daughter that as she gets older she is to never leave a glass unattended at a social gathering, to never leave a female friend alone at a party, to not walk home alone even when she is someday on a campus. I am teaching my daughter how to enter a war zone where violence against women is still permissible, and too many universities, invested in protecting endowments and reputations act slowly if at all. Parents of sons – listen up – for all the time I spend teaching my daughters to protect themselves, you should be teaching your sons how to respect women, how to manage and regulate their own behavior and monitor their friends, how to spot a young woman who may be unsafe and get her to a place of safety, and despite raging hormones to have a healthy vocabulary around sexuality and reflect on our prevailing paradigms of violence against women.

As long as we imbue virtue in someone SOLELY because they were admitted to an elite college without taking a holistic view of the child – we continue to foment this culture. We must find ways to educate sons and daughters beyond classrooms, grades, and achievements, and for parents to take a long dark look in the mirror at whether we are parenting our children or programming them. And then – we have to address the structures that continue to blame women for being raped, justice systems that still appear Neanderthal and inequitable, a media that glorifies violence against women.

Problems this complex do not have just one cause. And we need to take a long hard look at our systems of excellence, and the “get out of jail free” cards that come with achievement. Perhaps Common Core should be re-written to include Reading, Writing, Arithmetic and Respect, and there needs to be an AP exam on Self-Reflection.

It’s time for a rewrite and a revision on our culture at large.

He won – and he may win the whole thing.

Nine months ago I was derided when I shared my belief that Trump had it in the bag. “The American people are too smart for that…..” “It’s flash in the pan Ramani, people will get bored” “Stop being Chicken Little, there is NO way, he is a buffoon….” If the Kardashians are in their 12th season on TV, we have sufficient evidence that the appetite of the American people for lowest common denominator superficiality is insatiable. Most people misunderstand narcissism, and so they fall for the bait more often than not.

It’s fun to watch the Republicans squirm – that is making for some amusing and gratifying sideshow antics. I am not a Republican and I don’t tend to care for them – fiscal conservatism feels mean spirited, social conservatism feels stifling, and the thinly veiled bias held by the party as a whole makes me squirm. My prototype of the standard bearer of Republicanism is either paunchy White country club guy or scary dude with a gun rack. Trump is both – and he is entertaining to boot. He tweets instead of speaking and as soon as real issues are raised he reaches into his standard bag of tricks and insults women/immigrants/ethnic minorities/Ted Cruz.

But I am not a political strategist, pollster or media wonk – who breathlessly and ridiculously opine on his “strategy” – narcissism is not a strategy, it is a personality. They are all becoming repetitive, and frankly it’s time to bring in the psychologists to let America know how this is going to go down. America is about to enter into a relationship with a pathological narcissist – and these relationships always have the same natural history – so here is how it will unfold (I wrote a book about this – no one read it – so let me give you the punch line).

Narcissists use charm, wit, and their privilege to draw you in, then they use fear and degradation to keep you in. They are masterful at making you believe that they understand you better than anyone else, and then break you down and leave you believing that you are lucky to have them because no one else would want you. They are prone to rages, insults, deflection, deception, humiliation, double standards, and hypocrisy. They believe empathy is for losers. They label their cruelty as “honesty,” And they make lots of promises they will never keep. They lie, apologize, and then lie again. (anyone who has been in a relationship with a narcissistic cheater knows how that goes “it was just one night, I was drunk baby…..I’m so sorry….it won’t happen again”).

Narcissists do have “friends” – not the way you and I have friends – they are more like “acolytes” – people who live in fear and awe and share in the creepy discourse of the narcissist (e.g. most cult leaders are narcissists). I do not envy his Cabinet.

In my clinical practice, I really do try to work with my clients to keep them out of these narcissistic relationships, but the heart wants what the heart wants, and they think “my story will be different.” It never is. So I help them clean up the mess afterwards. More often, I get the clients after they have endured the narcissist. The stories are always different, yet exactly the same. Seduction, followed by dismissal, desperation, desolation.

The media pundits did not take a course in abnormal psychology, so their beliefs, and the hopes of the RNC and the American people that he will now “change” and become more “presidential” is hogwash. He may posture and fake it –narcissists are like chameleons, they can turn it on and off with cold precision, because they care about the win, not the process, and definitely not authenticity. Narcissists as a rule do not change. There is no incentive for them to do so, because they believe nothing is wrong. Trump is the same spoiled trust fund child who dodged the draft, a reality TV star, a gaudy developer – he has been the same guy all along. The likelihood of change is minimal. And that may be a good thing for him. His constituencies seem to like his vitriol and his divisive rhetoric. He may not want to change a thing – his narcissism is working for him. It tends to work for most narcissists. We have created a world in which material success and insults eclipse compassion in all arenas. We don’t tell our kids to be kind, we tell them to be successful – perhaps we all need to take a long look in the mirror. Perhaps Trump is a symbol of what this country is becoming.

Relationships with narcissists NEVER end well. The other people in the relationship lose themselves. Doubt themselves. Are always apologizing. Never get a fair shake. Are often deceived, lied to, or are the victims of verbal, emotional or physical violence. Get ready America – this is not going to be Beauty and the Beast. The Beast will not become a compassionate President, instead things will get scary. Walls will be built – literal and metaphorical.

I am scared. Very scared. I actually don’t know if Trump is a racist, sexist, genderist, isolationist guy –I have never spoken with him. I am sure he has some ethnic minority friends, he may have some women he respects. Maybe he has even talked to a Muslim. I bet he has even been nice to one or two Mexican immigrants and did not call them a rapist to their face. This isn’t about his personal preferences and relationships. What terrifies me is that he has given national permission and encouragement for treacherous playground insults and divisive invectives which in turn will inform Trump administration policy and represent a slow evolution to even more calcified structural injustice. People will harness his rhetoric and continue to poison the well with unfettered bias. He has frothed up the waters and tempers of an electorate which is (rightfully so) angry about income stagnation, lack of jobs, economic insecurity – and Trump gave them an enemy. Not the corporations who are actually to blame for their woes (Trump is not going to throw his friends under the bus), but rather the immigrants, the poor, women, Muslims, LGBT groups, and ethnic minority communities. Easy targets. Dangerous possibilities.

We very recently lived in a world of Jim Crow laws, ethnic slurs, restrictions in voting rights, union violence, and immigration bans. The pendulum may start swinging back to these eras and policies of fear. Trump harnessed the most potent force in the world – hate. And in a world that venerates billionaires, maligns the impoverished, reveres consumerism, and has lost its spiritual true north – Trump will be a shoo-in.

I am scared. Scared for my children growing up with this kind of venom and division. Scared for my students, who want to work with diverse populations and disadvantaged communities but will likely find little funding. Scared for my Muslim friends who will be traversing even more treacherous territory. Scared for immigrants who like my parents, just wanted a crack a bat to pursue their dreams.

Ask anyone who has been in a relationship with a narcissist, it not only hurt them, but also those around them.

I think he can win. Americans are angry, dispossessed, disillusioned, and drunk on the anti-intellectual “earth is flat” polemics that are the stuff of social media fodder. He harnesses this disenchantment with the finesse of the Wizard of Oz.

And it may take 4 years before we remove the curtain on the Wizard. By then it will be too late, the scars of narcissistic relationships last a lifetime.

I suppose there is a bright side – maybe I will sell a few more books…….

Imagine if people came with warning labels?

Just like packs of cigarettes – a sort of handy “surgeon general’s” warning.

Not sure where it would go. Small of the back? Lower arm? Dog tags?

Obviously, we can’t do this – because while things like cigarettes harm everyone somewhat uniformly – we are affected differently by different people. But – just imagine……

WARNING: SPENDING TIME WITH THIS PERSON MAY CAUSE SELF-DOUBT, SHAME, LOSS OF SELF-ESTEEM, AND NEGLECT OF YOUR OWN HEALTH AND WELL-BEING

Or “This person may result in unwarranted criticism, frequent deception, carelessness, neglect, and contempt.” Or “Spending time with this person will be fraught with self-doubt, devaluation, and ultimately neglect of your own health and well-being.” Or simply “narcissist who lacks all empathy, and is regularly entitled and grandiose.”

I would argue, as the doyenne of all things narcissistic, that by and large, narcissists are not good for our health. Instead of thinking about this in terms of warning labels, perhaps it is useful to think about this in terms of our health. When you go to a health care provider, or even just read a magazine article about health – everybody knows the basics – don’t smoke, eat fruits and vegetables (and avoid too much sugar or fat), get sleep, exercise, don’t drink too much alcohol, wear sunscreen – these are all tips about avoiding bad things and doing good things.

Odds are, the last time you were at the doctor, s/he gave you a quick tidbit about diet or exercise or some other health habit you need to change. But were you asked about the toxic people in your life? The quality of your relationships? I am guessing not.

Anyone who has been in a toxic relationship (e.g. with a narcissistic spouse or partner), or has toxic family members, friends, or bosses/coworkers- knows that these relationships are likely taking the greatest toll on your health of any behavior or stressor you experience – they are the reason you don’t get enough sleep, that you may rush through meals or eat to cope, that you fall back into unhealthy coping habits such as smoking, drugs or alcohol.

I can tell you as a health psychologist, if you want to change a bad habit, change what happens right before it. And for many people, the trigger that sets off the cascade of unhealthy behavior, is unhealthy relationships. Imagine what life would feel like with a supportive partner, a mother who doesn’t criticize you, a boss who gives you credit for your work?

It’s interesting that the health community feels that they should weigh in on whether you eat that candy bar in the middle of the day, or need to go to bed by 11 PM,  but don’t stop to reflect on the toll the narcissistic and other nasty characters in your life are taking a toll on you. It’s as though your toxic relationships are none of their business. Trust me, they are.

We view toxic relationships as something to be endured, or better yet – we blame ourselves and think that we are at fault – and just as with unhealthy behaviors- yes, we are responsible for lighting up the cigarette, but we aren’t responsible for the tar and nicotine inside the cigarette.

Obviously, people do NOT come with warning labels, but we as human beings come with instincts. We know when something does not feel right, or we are being treated badly. And instead of focusing on playing nice at such times and “faking it” – you would do a whole lot better to distance yourself altogether from anyone who ever leaves you doubting yourself, who criticizes you relentlessly, who lacks empathy, who deceives you, who throws you under the bus. In general, if it doesn’t feel right, it isn’t.

If you reflect on your toxic relationships and really look back, you recognized at the beginning that something wasn’t quite right, the red flags were there, but for some reason you pushed through. (that old adage that relationships require “hard work”)

Junk food is no different – we eat it because it sometimes tastes good, it’s cheap, it’s easy, and then it becomes a bad habit, and we have to remind ourselves to not go there.

Nasty people often start like that – they may sort of be fun or interesting in the beginning, then they treat us badly, we get used to the bad treatment, and then it becomes our new normal, and then it makes us sick.

The warning labels are there even if they aren’t always readily visible, make sure you read them before continuing to consume a toxic person.

Your health may depend on it………

Dr. Ramani Durvasula is a professor of psychology, licensed clinical psychologist and author of Should I Stay or Should I Go: Surviving a Relationship With A Narcissist.

It’s the morning after Super Tuesday, and I feel vindicated.

Most people and students I know told me “you are ridiculous, stop saying Trump is a contender.” They would assert that he is flash in the pan, a short-lived reality series of sorts. “We know you are trying to sell a book on narcissism Ramani, but maybe you just don’t understand people – the American people will see him for what he is, he’s an entertaining buffoon, nothing more….” I didn’t and don’t agree – we have changed as a culture, and Mr. Trump is the symptom AND the disease.

Bottom line, this is a relationship issue.   America, we are about to get into a relationship with a narcissist, and I can GUARANTEE you, like all relationships with narcissists – it is not going to end well. Narcissists tend to do well in the courtship phase (much like a primary race), say what you will about Trump – while he is a bully, a blowhard, and a buffoon, he also possesses the “seductive” traits of narcissism – charisma, passionate, visionary – and narcissists are masterfully skilled in drawing in partners, but typically neglect them once they have them. They will put on the full court press to win a partner over, but once they have you, expect rage alternating with coldness, chronic disappointment, and living in a state of self-doubt. The prevalence of pathological narcissism in the population has never been accurately documented, my spitball guess is that it sits somewhere around 10-25% depending on geography. Inside the beltway it is likely 50% (and of course in Hollywood it is probably 80%), and Trump brings a brand of narcissism that is bigger and bolder than the usual political windbag. I am not so naïve as to label Trump the only narcissist in this race, he is just the showiest – and in some ways the most dangerous because he is giving permission and voice to the most divisive rhetoric.

If we elect a pathological narcissist, we are headed for the landscape of a narcissistic relationship and all of its disappointing fallout. By and large narcissistic relationships always follow a similar roadmap. Excitement, entertainment, seduction, promise of a bright new future, followed by disappointment, dashed expectations, desolation and abuse. It’s fun when it’s fun, but once the courtship is over, expect a world of pain.

This isn’t just about building walls, racist rants, schoolyard insults, and grandstanding. This is about a long-term committed relationship (4 years is long in the post-Tinder world). The red flags are there, we are choosing to ignore them.

America loves narcissists – that is clear. We have dutifully tuned into Survivor and Housewives for years. Trump himself is a reality star. We love a mindless circus. Trump is going to keep going, and as long as we are subsisting on a steady diet of inanity and billionaire worship, he may be the only show in town. Just like too many people choose bad partners because they enjoyed the excitement of courtship, we are about to make the same mistake. It never ends well.

I hope the American people prove me wrong. Just like a narcissistic seduction, vindication only feels good for a minute.

(Dr. Ramani Durvasula is a Professor of Psychology, clinical psychologist and author of Should I Stay or Should I Go: Surviving a Relationship with a Narcissist)

Thanksgiving marks the starting bell for the holiday season. Eat, spend, drink, party, rinse, lather, repeat.

Even if it sometimes feels like forced gaiety, consumerism, and high expectations – the holidays are in fact a special time. Collectively, at this time of year, we do some of the most important work of being human – we step out of busy lives and spend time with our families, loved ones, friends. We come together at parties, dinners, spiritual communities, and gather around trees, candles and gifts.

That said, the high expectations of the holidays can sometimes make for a shiny wrapped package that doesn’t deliver. Just like a narcissist. The ongoing emptiness of a narcissistic relationships can feel like psychological coal in your stocking.

Narcissists exert a unique power during the holidays – for the other 11 months of the year – it is usually their way or the high way, but during the holidays – when the needs of many people have to be simultaneously balanced, their selfish, unaware, and entitled behavior can sap the holidays of joy and in fact fill them with anxiety.

You know the drill:

• Being overcontrolling and requiring that everyone open holiday gifts in a certain order or requirements about table decorations, house guests, meal times, menus.

• Complaints about thank you notes and other missteps from the year before

• “I don’t want to drive all that way to see your elderly aunt”

• “I have a last minute deadline –tell her we can’t come to her party”

• “Please take care of buying the presents for my family……” (and then after you do it) “you bought her what?”

In the narcissists’ worlds – the holiday cards usually look better than the reality.

Too many people turn a potentially joyful time of year into a train wreck by becoming too wedded to expectations and losing sight of what is important –human connection, family, friends, sharing, self-reflection, slowing down, shorter days, and a world draped in lights and even hope. Narcissists tend not to be strong in any of these suits, and can often dampen the holidays to a point of dread. Just like the rest of the year, the holidays can turn into a time of “appeasing the narcissist.”

So how can you keep the Happy in Holidays when you have a narcissistic spouse/parent/sibling/friends/in-laws?

1. Manage expectations. You know how your narcissist(s) behaves during the holidays (and the rest of the year) – do not expect this year to be ANY different. Ensure that you work around him or her, find the joy in the moments, don’t allow your pleasure to be hijacked, and be prepared for the usual behavior.

2. Reach beyond yourself. This is a great time of year to start giving to others – volunteer – at a food bank, toy drive, veterans’ organizations, hospital, facilities that work with the elderly. Giving to others contextualizes the holidays and fills them with meaning (rather than mindless hustling). Then carry it forward into the rest of the year.

3. Prepare. You can set a clock on the typical last-minute disappointments your narcissist will bring. Not only prepare yourself psychologically – but plan on doing the lion’s share of the work – gifts,decorating travel plans etc. (and prepared to be criticized).  Get your shopping, decorating, planning done early – and let go of the fantasy that the narcissists will play nice

4. Self-care. Don’t let the holidays run you ragged. Keep exercising, take walks, rest, enjoy the decorations, bake with your kids, connect with friends. Trying to please a narcissist at any time of year is tough, at the holidays it may be impossible. A stronger “you” can better manage the emotional roller coaster.

The holidays are full of myths – Santa Claus, his helpful elves, and the idea that some magical holiday blessing will alight and your narcissist will turn into a sweetheart. It’s more likely that Rudolph and his red nose will show up. Don’t get lost in the fantasies, and take solace in gratitude for some of your realities. Don’t let the narcissist draw a shade over what could be a very sweet time of year.

There is always the new year to get it right……

When people with a psychotic disorder such as schizophrenia are evidencing hallucinations or delusions, we subsume that behavior under their disorder. If they are hearing voices, we recognize them as auditory hallucinations. If they believe the FBI is monitoring their thoughts, we recognize this as a delusion. If they are seeing small aliens walking across the dinner table, we understand that it is likely a visual hallucination.

What we don’t do is spend time spinning their behavior into something else. It is accepted as part of the disorder, treatment is given, and  typically  the symptoms abate and are managed.

So let me ask WHY. Why is every political pundit on the planet gussying up and parading on CNN, and MSNBC and FOX and everywhere else reflecting and opining and deciphering Trump’s behavior. Why is everyone so damned uncomfortable with the N word?

Trump is a perfect narcissist. In a few weeks I start teaching my junior level abnormal psychology class, and in Trump I have the ideal teaching case. Why do these political pundits keep framing his ignorant and narcissistic behavior as strategy, and gleefully guessing his next move? Is it because we take away their punch line when we boil it down to the simplest explanation – he appears to be a full blown narcissist and he is never going to change? This week he went after Carson’s medical training and spiritual core and Fiorina’s looks. Just like at a sideshow, I look forward to next week’s gruesome insults, it’s sort of fun to see how horrifying this can get.  He’s a street fighter, and in a world of internet insults, and anonymous electronic bullying, he is the mascot of the mean.

Trump has nearly every characteristic of a disorder which is clearly delineated in the DSM-5 (many of us in the field argue about whether a dysfunctional personality style should be deemed a disorder, but these are conversations for another day). It just happens to be a disorder that our soulless capitalist engines reward, but that doesn’t make it ok. And just as we would not wonder if a person with schizophrenia is being strategic about having religious delusions in hope of winning the evangelical vote, don’t talk about Trump’ s insults, entitlement, bullying, grandiosity, and superficiality as strategy. Don’t give Trump and his symptomatology so much credit. Any psychologist worth her salt can predict his next move. Perhaps the political pundits would like to sign up for Psychology 310/Abnormal Psychology with me (class begins September 24, there is a wait list – but I can try and squeeze you in) – they will then realize that this is superficial child’s play and playground antics, not high level political tactics.

In the meaner, more ignorant America that evolves one Kim Davis at a time – he has a shot at winning this election. Betting on Trump to engage in a below the belt ad hominem attack of his competitors is like betting on Secretariat to win a country fair horse race. Plan on it. It’s not strategy, it’s in his DNA.

It’s the “N-word” that is going to define this presidential election like no other.

After watching the presidential debate, the ongoing post-debate Trump-ian shenanigans, and Hillary Clinton’s selfies with Kanye and Kim, – it is eminently clear that we are in for a hell of a ride. The N word, NARCISSISM, is going to run the show –and personally I can’t wait. Our self-absorbed culture is about to get a leader that will embody our societal ideals of selfies, self-promotion, lack of insight, meanness, consumerism, and power, with absolutely no interest in public service, social justice, international relations, or ethical leadership.

The debate wasn’t a debate, it was grandstanding, like listening to a bunch of has-been football heroes in a hometown bar. And Donald Trump is the sovereign leader of blowhard bluster, you can’t beat him at his own game. His utter lack of insight means that he is unfiltered all the time. Donald Trump’s charming refusal to apologize for his prehistoric discourse about women actually makes me GLEEFUL. There is nothing more pleasurable than watching a bunch of pundits and bloggers and columnists and anchors who cannot get their heads around NARCISSISTIC PERSONALITY DISORDER. It is a diagnosis for a reason. It tends to behave the same way most of the time. And refusal to take responsibility is one of the hallmark characteristics of narcissism. There are narcissist mutts out there, but Trump is an AKC certified pure-bred narcissist. It’s perversely refreshing to watch him stand his ground.

Grandiosity, idiocy, and sensationalism have long been the terrain of the modern celebrity, and apparently now celebrities and politicians are training at the same finishing school. When there is little distinction between the antics of a Real Housewife and the future leader of the United States, we should be afraid. The lunatics are now running the asylum.

Once upon a time schools and bridges were named for politicians and presidents. I would take the long way around before I drove over the Donald Trump Memorial Bridge (it would probably sense I was a minority woman and crumble half way across the river).

I am mesmerized by Donald Trump’s honesty – he is a narcissist with no filter, and what you see is what you get. He is a politician who does not lie – kind of invigorating, and he is crazy like a fox. If he thinks something, he says it, frontal lobes be damned. Dear Donald – please stick in the race – I am grateful for the free publicity and for the entertainment. I can do without the insults about women’s bodily functions, but you are the patron saint for pathological narcissists, please don’t leave, this is far too fun.

Perhaps Lance Armstrong is available to be your running mate.