To Divorce or Die in the Hands of A Narcissistic Spouse?

Is God pleased with divorce or death in marriage? The answer is (not) obvious.

Like the recent spate of burning schools, is narcissism stacked against indulgent parenting? Narcissism has become the go-to diagnosis by columnists, bloggers, YouTubers, and TV psychologists. It has become an attention-getting term.

Before labeling our unlikeable spouse, relatives, colleagues, pastors and politicians as narcissists, this article attempts to unmask a narcissist. It gives a sneak peek into Musembi and Mumbua’s marriage. It further draws parallels with China’s ‘Little emperor syndrome‘, before concluding with a Greek myth.

God hates divorce. Marriage is for life.

A marriage is dissolved by divorce, when spouses irretrievably breakdown their relationship. Traditionally, it is terminated by death. But what if a spouse kills the other?

What would you rather, a dissolved marriage or a dead spouse? Perennially, marriages have been plagued by at-fault divorce and homicidal deaths. Mostly, when one spouse is a narcissist, gas-lighter, or a stiff-necked fool!

A narcissist is one who has an overinflated view of his own abilities. He is over confident and admires himself too much. Similar to the proverbial kitten that sees itself as a lion in the mirror. She is full of herself. Has a big head, is a blowhard, and loves the sound of her own voice. A legend in her own mind.

They are neither humble nor caring and are always in ‘enemy mode’. Their complete disregard of other people’s feelings has created a pandemic of internally displaced persons and refugees for life.

Married to a toxic spouse, should you stay or leave?

Musembi was going about his day job when a call came from Mumbua, an acquittance he couldn’t remember. The call didn’t just disrupt his schedule but took over the driver’s seat in his life. Exposing his soft underbelly and subjecting him to fear, intimidation, exclusion and rigidity. Almost ruining his youthful vigor.

Meet Musembi, a bi-spectacled and light skinned chap. Raised by a single mum and with one sister. A passionate marketing professional who is naturally endeared to people. He loves developing, reviewing and implementing marketing strategies to increase his clients’ sales.

At 30 years, a prosperous career and future awaited him. That is what they told him at his graduation party, three years back.

When Mumbua called him, he was unwell. He had been through rounds of medical and psychiatric tests. Freshly discharged from hospital, with prescription drugs. His body and mind were caving in to work-related stress. His coping mechanism was losing grip.

Two months earlier he had been put on Performance Improvement Plan, with a grace period of three months. He was to have weekly check-ins with his supervisor. At risk was his summary dismissal from the marketing agency.

After the hospital discharge, he had rushed back to the office for his weekly check-in meeting. The discussions deflated his morale. His supervisor was curt and uncaring, not considering Musembi’s ill health, which was obviously was impacting his performance.

Good health and great performance go together.

Mumbua’s call came soon after this meeting. He was busy collecting his thoughts and files, before checking out for the day. Mumbua wasn’t a contact saved on his phone. He still couldn’t put a face to her name. She vaguely described how they met at an event in the city. He hesitantly agreed to have met her.

Her call was those SOS-types. Her BF was threatening to publish her nudity, after a bitter split. A sort of blackmail. Musembi in his convalescence and work-pressure state, wasn’t in the right state of mind to help.

He quickly linked her to his security-friend for further assistance. He disconnected from the call and reverted back to his earlier thoughts. Unwittingly, he dozed off on his office desk. Drifting into desperation about his ill health and work woes.

In his distress, he sympathized and self-soothed himself to sleep.

He woke up an hour later, with a drool. Wondering what had happened in between. He had three missed calls from Mumbua. He called back asking if she had been assisted. She didn’t answer the question, but requested they meet that evening, after work.

Lots of thoughts ran on his mind about this strange-lady who’s pestering calls were uninhibited. Being a man and an empath at that, he hesitantly agreed to a 6:00pm meet up. An empath is relatively higher on ’emotions’ than ‘logic’. In his drowsiness, he forgot the meeting venue and time. Left the office, heading home.

Quickly, he fixed some porridge and jumped into bed.

At 6:30pm he was woken up by her umpteenth call. Asking if they were still meeting. He was taking the hook, line and sinker into her trap. Adamantly, he asked they meet at Java restaurant at Thika Road Mall, in 30 minutes. Musembi, a great time keeper was at Java at exactly, 7:00pm. Locating this stranger-lady.

She looked distraught. Like a ghostly sight from a horror movie.

He couldn’t immediately place her face to any past event. But for reasons he couldn’t explain, he lent a listening ear to her emotional trauma stories. She narrated an incoherent drama of how her relationship was blossoming, until a chick-pea showed up, more ‘hot and fly’ than her.

She lost the appeal of her BF and was deserted for ‘gold’.

Before that, Mumbua and her BF fought about anything and everything, including phone and ATM passwords. With battles escalating from verbal to emotional, then physical abuse. Although an active listener, in this conversation Musembi gravitated towards marginal listening. He couldn’t piece together her stories .

He was fairly drowsy to notice the red flags with their conversation.

Let alone the fact that Mumbua was dressed in a red hippy outfit.

They had the dawa concoction at Java. Twenty minutes later, they walked out. Heading to his one-bedroom apartment. Musembi has no recollection how that happened. He was hypnotized. He rationalized, I will make a meal for this girl and let her bounce out!

Food is good medicine, isn’t that what the sages say? So he thought.

While in his apartment, Mumbua quickly scanned the bachelor’s crib. She noticed no sign of a woman. This was an unmarked territory. He was up for grabs. While cooking, he gave her sidelong glances, keeping his head still. What more than a lone-man, does a scorned woman need?

She did not bounce. But stubbornly stuck at his apartment. Gazing at her arrival, Musembi felt like time was slowing down.

“The earth trembles when a contemptible woman gets married”, said Solomon.

Fast forward, that is the story of how Musembi and Mumbua got married. Living together (un)happily ever after. She lurched on his empath-inclinations, till death do them part.

Her narcissistic-side dug in. Initially living out of the sitting room. She used the reclining sofa to nurse her emotional bruises. This was before she creeped into his bedroom, one awkward month later.

Musembi’s social circle was zero. He was a workaholic. He didn’t bother his single mum and sister with Mumbua’s incoherent entry into his life. He was the prime catch for her tiger-power mantra!

He hadn’t seriously dated anyone. Mumbua, was two years older than him. She bragged herself as wife material. Her entry into his life was grand. Her stay would be grandiose. Typical of the honeymoon phase, she freely shifted positions of a few things in the house. Including the coffee table and TV cabinet.

She stripped off all the wall-hangings that came before her time.

Her manipulative and exploitative personality reared its ugly head. Soon enough, she demanded Musembi’s phone and ATM password. A re-invention of the past battles with her former BF. Besides, she wanted to manage his social media pages.

Musembi was too caught up with work pressure. His three-month grace period ended with his summary dismissal from the agency.

In the first two months that Mumbua welcomed herself into his life, he had been hospitalized thrice. None of these hospitalizations were disclosed to his family or colleagues. Such a woeful and easy target for narcissists.

Musembi was constantly planning and obsessing on work and health matters. Mumbua was the least of his worries. Though he ought to have alleviated Mumbua, like poverty.

She took advantage of his disorientation and got comfortable. It was just a matter of time before she brought in all her personal stuff.

She started cooking for her captive man. Like an abattoir worker, fattening a cow for slaughter. Musembi admits that she was a great cook. She searched online for great recipes and culinary skills. For his special diet, she bought fresh and organic supplies.

Her tentacles were all over him. He was confined and screaming for freedom.

Two children later and at the brink of losing his third job, he roused himself to sanity.

Before Mumbua showed up and re-ordered his life, he was confidently pursuing MBA. Also, he had just acquired an 1/8th of an acre in Kitengela. Not only did he drop out of his MBA, but sold off his only earthly possession. All to finance Mumbua’s undergraduate studies, executive salon & spa lounge and her flashy lifestyle.

It took four convoluted years for Musembi to realize he was in the hands of a materialistic, entitled and aggressive spouse. She had no farce insulting and attacking his masculinity. Uninterested in any emotional closeness with him.

He wasn’t just losing jobs, but his bravado and ego.

In between, he went for talk therapy. His psychiatric medicine was highly addictive and prescribed for life. His therapist noticed his vanquished look. She was regularly helping him identify and resolve irrational and suicidal thoughts.

His self-esteem was precarious. Recalibrating his coping mechanism was hopeless.

To balance the narrative, the therapist once asked him to tag along Mumbua. Albeit, she regarded therapy sessions, as time- and money- wasting ventures of the middle class.

Notwithstanding, she dragged herself into therapy with Brazilian hairdo. Dressed for a fight.

The therapist introduced herself. Mumbua was restless. She interrupted. Calling Musembi all sorts of unprintable words. Her voice got louder, accusing him of cheating with her friends, sister and the therapist.

She was rowdy and unbearable. Her ‘low blow’ comments hurting, not just Musembi but the therapist as well. She was a rowdy crowd of one. With narrowed eyes, she ranted for what seemed like eternity. There was no way to close the session with dignity.

Musembi muttered to himself, ‘How could I let this happen?’

She was frog marched out of the therapy room by security. Musembi was shaking, trembling and shivering. His shoulders hunched and face cusped in his hand. He couldn’t say anything.

Her barrage of belittling comments in front of the therapist and others, consistently reminded him who had the upper hand. He had been dressed down to the bare. She had an insatiable desire to put him in his place. Leading their home was a two-horse race!

The therapist asked him to come ALONE for subsequent sessions. Clearly, Mumbua was at her zenith with control, manipulation and domineering. Despite the fact that she fully depended on Musembi’s income for survival.

She didn’t care that she was cutting the hand that was feeding their children.

In her mind, the Federation of Women Lawyers and Children’s Department were at her beck and call, should Musembi snap out of his hypnotic trance, in their marriage. For security, she had dragged him to the Attorney General to register their marital union.

The straw that broke the camel’s back.

One random morning, while leaving for work he felt nudged to pick and carry his academic and professional documents. While stepping out of the door, he looked back, heading to the bedroom where they were safely locked.

Unexpectedly, Mumbua was standing at the kitchen entrance brandishing a knife on one hand and scissors on the other. Painfully and emotionally tearing each other apart had become the norm rather than the exception in their marriage.

She was fond of picking fights with him and forcing him into circumstances where he was sure to fail. While she was charged to kill, Musembi was partially sedated by drugs. He had become less verbal over time.

Pushed to a corner, he phoned his mum to say goodbye.

He had stared at death numerous times. This one looked like his final call to God.

He stuttered, “Mum, if you don’t hear from me in thirty minutes, please know that I am dead, having been killed by Mumbua.” Mumbua listened to the conversation with an ugly twist in her mouth. He dropped the phone, dashed into the bedroom slamming the door behind him.

After collecting his documents, he stomped through the bedroom and front doors. Punching, kicking and throwing things in manic frenzy! His mum didn’t live too far off. This was 2019, when spouses brutally dying in the hands of their ex-lovers was rife.

No sane mother could receive such a call and continue with life as normal.

They met on the road, running-cum-flying to each other. His mum wanted to return with him to his apartment, to pick her grandchildren. Musembi restrained her. His ego wasn’t fully extinguished. He asked her to take his documents home. He returned to Mumbua with no clear strategy on their irreconcilable situation-ship.

Promising that he was going fight to be a man. And not a coward of the county.

The rest, as they say is history. That is the story of how Musembi was humiliated out of his marriage. Clutching only his academic certificates. Mumbua didn’t let him pick anything else, even the remote control or toothpick.

Sadly, Musembi didn’t know when to fold up and walk away. His masculinity and life were pushed past the limits. His walking away earned him the disreputable ‘divorcee’ title.

Mumbua didn’t care losing her second prey. She was on to her next catch. Her clueless children tagged alone, because narcissists don’t let go. Regrettably, she was either passing on the narcissistic trait to them or conditioning them towards narcissistic spouses. It’s a broken world.

Clinically, Mumbua is yet to be diagnosed with Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

Can she be helped? Is narcissism nurtured or a product of nature? Psychologists say there is no cure for narcissism other than cutting them out of society, like lepers.

Has our society been seduced by the increasing emphasis on material wealth, physical appearance, celebrity worship and attention seeking? Are we the proud and uncaring middle class generation that wants to be in control?

Is narcissism the sister pandemic to COVID? An elites’ problem?

Mumbua’s parents raised her to be self-confident. But along the way, the scales tipped to corrosive egocentrism. Her perception of self-admiration was mooted. Sadly, it opened up to a narcissistic nightmare. Spinning her from reality to fantasy.

Some cultures emphasize self-criticism and working on one’s weaknesses as the route to success. Unfortunately, self-admiration has been promoted as the wrong ‘wonder drug’ to success, despite its serious side effects, of arrogance and self-centeredness.

She was no longer a confident woman with a healthy self-worth. But an abusive monster, with little value for emotional intimacy. A sort of predator who leaves behind a trail of intimidated, scared, hopeless and broke people.

Her behavior was destructive. Not just to herself, but to other people as well.

Was she a by-product of indulgent parenting? She has all the good traits any well-meaning parent wants in a child. Confident, assertive and entitled. Not miserable, arrogant or self-centered.

Unknowingly, parents might be nurturing narcissists by pampering their children with ‘feeling good about yourself’ ideologies. Arguing that if a teenage has high self-esteem they are unlikely to be self-centered.

This is like suggesting that an obese person would feel much better if s/he just ate more doughnuts (sic). The mad competition for praise, status, and ‘friends’ on social media is driving humanity to insanity. What we see as a result is aggression, materialism, lack of caring for others and shallow values.

Narcissists embody the little emperor syndrome in China.

This is an offshoot of China’s one-child policy, where children of the modern upper class and wealthier Chinese families gain seemingly excessive amounts of attention from their parents and grandparents.

Mumbua’s Instagram page sustains the ‘look at me’ mentality.

She is obsessed with social media likes and comments, products of internet and new media. She loves to be worshipped and won’t submit to a husband, by any iota!

She openly bragged about her meagre life achievements while blaming Musembi for any shortfalls. Her propensity was constantly turning online and offline conversations back to herself. Manipulating and cheating to get ahead.

She gathered around herself people who looked up to her.

Musembi was her ‘trophy spouse’. His role was to make her look good, while she jumped at opportunities to garner (more) attention and fame. A grand game of deception. With Musembi scampering for life, their semblance of marriage was effectively terminated.

Co-parenting opened up. A fairly nascent and unchartered concept.

At the very bare minimum, he now finances the estranged Mumbua. Every alternating weekend, he goes out with the kids for baby-daddy time. His quality of life took a nose-dive.

Regardless, divorce or death of a spouse is recipe for depression.

Musembi has lost weight. He is battling alcoholism, post-traumatic stress disorder, a damaged self-esteem and dimmed future. While Mumbua is adjusting to her new normal and scouting for her next prey.

Maybe he should have stayed to avoid losing his sanity. His few and far between friends are openly staring at his resilience to bounce back. He now avoids crowds and social situations. It was a hard tackle, having to chose between divorce and death.

At the urging of his ghosts, he moved back with Mumbua twice. Armed with the resolve not to show or express emotion, even at the slightest provocation. Both times, it backfired on him. He is a helpless empath.

His single mother having her own life story that is sadly replaying in Musembi’s.

Some have said, the antidote for narcissism is relational revolution. The narcissist must climb down from her citadel of power, platform and fame. Learn how to relate with and value people. Get with a dose of wise counsel. But unlearn aggression and arrogance.

Asking for a friend, where did narcissism originate from?

A Greek myth tells of Narcissus, an attractive young man who set out looking for someone to love. He fell in love with a beautiful nymph, Echo, who repeats everything Narcissuss says. He eventually rejected her and she faded away.

Narcissuss kept looking for the perfect mate until one day he saw his own reflection in the water. He fell in love with his own image and gazed at it until he died. The myth of Narcissus became frozen by his self-admiration and unable to connect with anyone outside himself. His narcissism harmed other people, in this case Echo.

The legend reflects real life, with the most serious consequences of narcissism falling upon others and society.

Enough said. Which way now, divorce or death in marriage? Either way, it is the mystery of God working in broken places and with broken people.

This is a true story. Names and details have been changed to protect family privacy. Views expressed on this article are my own.

Joseph N. Mungai is inspired by people’s life experiences. Do you have an intriguing life story and need a ghost writer? Email: j.mungai@hotmail.co.uk