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I’ve never taken a job because of the money. Not even once.

That came as a shock to me when I realized it the other day. The entire assumption behind the labor market is that we take increasingly difficult roles or maybe jobs that require longer hours because we make more money by taking them. So it confused me when I first realized that financial incentives have never motivated a job change for me.

I don’t mean I haven’t wanted more money when it was available. Each time I changed jobs — back when I worked full-time for others — each promotion meant more money than the last job. But did I take the promotions because they came with more money?

No. I wanted the excitement of doing something new. I wanted a new challenge. I wanted the enjoyment of moving up in the pecking order. I wanted the feeling of achieving something.

I was having fun.

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When I was young, I saw myself as a Golden Child who could do no wrong. I was going to be fabulously successful and wealthy and powerful.

I started achieving early in life and I expected great things ahead of me. But when my newspaper company failed just before I turned 30, I was crushed. I didn’t handle the loss well. It turned out that after my facade of success and perfection was stripped away, there wasn’t much that was healthy underneath.

It was a painful lesson, but I learned that we are all broken in some way. Until you finally fail — and learn the lessons you need to learn — you have no hope of becoming the person you need to be. And you’re not going to find healthy and lasting love until you get vulnerable enough to be broken with the right partner.

It’s not an easy lesson, but the alternative is miserable.

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The first time anyone suggested to me that my father had been abusive to us, I was angry. I was about 26 or 27 when my youngest sister brought up the possibility that he hadn’t been the wonderful father I imagined. I was very angry with her and refused to even consider the idea.

It took me years to break through my denial about what our family had been like. It was difficult to give up my delusions about my father and look at the damage he had done to me.

The old cliche says that “hurt people hurt people.” By the time I realized what he had done to me, I was forced to face the fact that I was perilously close to becoming exactly what he was. Was I hurting people?

The narcissist who had spent my entire life shaping me taught me more than I realized. Could I turn into a malignant narcissist, too?

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