I alone

 It's been a while since I had much connection with Poor Clares, so they may have changed their practice, but it certainly used to be the case that they avoided referring to anything in their houses as "mine", calling everything "ours" — "our habit", "our clogs", "our breviary", "our bed". 

It's a small thing, maybe, but part of the foundational practice of simplicity, a bell of mindfulness recalling the sisters to faithfulness in the way of Francis, the little poor man of Assisi, and Clare.

I have a visceral aversion to competitions, because their primary harvest is, it seems to me, a crop of losers — there's only one winner. I prefer the African concept of Ubuntu, where everybody advances and arrives together. That feels more constructive to my mind.

Because I have, not many but a few times in my life, had to do with narcissists and seen firsthand what destructive havoc they can wreak, I have become especially wary of the concept of "I alone".

If you have any narcissists in your family then I'm sure you'll be all too familiar with the pattern.

It starts with a charm offensive, as the narcissist woos an individual, giving them lots of affirmation and attention — compliments, invitations, gifts — that make the target feel special; crucially, more special than anyone else. They are the confidante, the best friend, the favoured one. If you are alert to it, you can't help noticing the facial expressions and body language are oddly exaggerated; there's an artificiality to the relationships of a narcissist. But (almost) all of us have a yearning tucked away somewhere to be the champion, the hero, the darling, the winner — to be special — and this works in the narcissist's favour because it dulls our sensibility to the trap.

The next stage in this dreary process is separation from allies; whoever falls for a narcissist's overtures quickly finds themselves out of step with others, cut off from their support group of family and friends, encouraged to take up a position of antagonism against them — either by explicit design of the narcissist or by a drip-drip-drip discreditation and contempt. The target drifts out to sea; and may be startled to look back and see themselves cut off from the people they used to belong to.

And then the game is over. The target is tossed aside like a used tissue, in favour of someone else. The one who felt proud that "I alone can cope with this person everyone else finds so difficult", "I alone have the skills and gifts and graces for this situation", "I alone am wanted and chosen", is simply reduced to "I alone". They are often specifically and explicitly rejected, spurned and humiliated, turned away. 

If they don't rumble the game at this point, they remain vulnerable to the moment the narcissist has discarded someone else in the pool of candidates, and returns to them again, starts the wooing all over, often with a veiled rebuke — "It would be better for everyone if you and I stay in contact"; "What would your father think of you for leaving me?" And so on.

Maintaining the good of the community, working for the inclusion of everybody, is also a way of protecting your own wellbeing. Be very, very wary of anyone who entices you towards the persona of "I alone"; it isn't good for you; it'll trip you up in the end.

There's a brilliant "I alone" moment in the first book of Kings, the story of Elijah in flight from the wrath of Queen Jezebel.

Exhausted, Elijah takes refuge in a cave, and when God seeks him out, asking, "What are you doing here, Elijah?", he says that of all the prophets of God, "I alone am left."

God doesn't polarise the situation by trying to argue with a stressed and overwhelmed man, but rather comes to him intimately and quietly as a still small voice, bringing the comfort of presence, and then of new direction — in the course of which God happens to mention that it's not "I alone", there are seven thousand others with the same spiritual orientation (so, cheer up).

And from there, Elijah finds his way to Elisha, a faithful companion, true spirit and steadfast friend; he is no longer alone.

If ever you find yourself annexed off from your friends by a narcissist, remember that question, "What are you doing here, Elijah?", and listen for the still small voice, and find the strength to leave that place and go to look for Elisha.