Mother Narcissist

A typical mother: caring, loving, inspiring, supportive.

Sacrificing for her children and selflessly nurturing them,

A cheerleader of dreams, living with pride in her kids’ accomplishments.

My mother: controlling, shouting, fighting, manipulative.

Focusing on her agenda and selfishly hurting her children,

A sufferer of mental illness, living with narcissistic personality disorder.

Living with a mother who has narcissistic personality disorder is difficult to say the least. The most startling characteristic of her illness is her inability to sympathize, let alone empathize, with others. This causes my mother to habitually put herself before others, especially those closest to her. She has little to no interest in my personal pursuits and goals. Throughout my life she has tried to exert control over my decision making and has worked to mold me into the type of son that serves her own selfish needs. She has gone to great lengths to see her plans come to fruition, regularly dismissing my feelings and opinions. Disagreeing with my mother, no matter how trivial the subject may be, leads to her becoming extremely angry. Avoiding conflict and maintaining personal boundaries with her is nearly impossible due to her relentless drive to accumulate power over others.

In my mother’s narcissistic world, everything must be her way. She must retain control of my sister and me at all costs. This is how she derived her power as a narcissist. In the past, she would isolate the two of us from one another, frequently praising my sister for complying with her wishes and degrading me for deviating from them. Since I was not as willing to follow my mother’s orders, I was cast as the scapegoat of my family. I avoided confrontation and her selfish pleas, but nonetheless was always blamed for whatever needed blaming for. My mother’s illness made her incapable of claiming responsibility for any of her actions, thus prompting her to transfer responsibility to me. I felt lonely in my own home and grew tired of the constant blaming and the tumultuous environment. My home life was often chaotic due to my mother’s mental disorder and I wanted to escape. As means to cope, I comforted myself with creativity. I spent hours shut away in my bedroom drawing. Artistic expression was a place of refuge amidst the chaos. It was an enriching outlet, keeping me afloat in my hurricane household.

When my sister went away to college, she finally recognized that my mother was truly suffering from a mental disorder and that much of her own unhappiness was a result of years of manipulation by our mother. My sister understood that adherence to our mother’s every expectation served as an unhealthy mechanism for our mother to live vicariously through. She no longer wanted to be under our mother’s control and began to resist. Attending college across the country gave my sister the opportunity to finally take control of her own identity. The pressure to conform to our mother’s every wish was alleviated by the distance. At this point, my sister and I became allies against the often oppressive and destructive force of narcissistic personality disorder. My sister no longer reported everything I told her to our mother and began to defend me against her unfounded accusations. Although times were still difficult and my sister was rarely home as she was still in college, I was grateful to finally develop a real relationship with her and bridge the gap that our mother had created between us.

My mother’s disorder makes her extremely hostile when things do not go her way. She becomes childlike, throwing temper tantrums over trivial things. For example, once my mother asked my sister for her Amazon account password because she wanted to watch a movie. My mother had previously gained access to my sister’s social media profiles, violating her privacy and keeping tabs on her activity. My sister politely declined saying that since she paid for the service herself that our mother should only have access to the account if she was willing to pay part of the monthly fees. Also, my sister viewed the request as our mother’s desire to once again infringe upon her privacy. To not inflame the already tense exchange, my sister refrained from expressing this.

Despite my sister’s attempts to avoid confrontation, my mother quickly became enraged, yelling and cursing loudly. She claimed that we were ungrateful children and threatened to kill the both of us. We had a gun in the house that my mother had access to, making her statements even more terrifying. I barricaded myself in my bedroom that night. I moved all of my furniture against my door, hoping it would keep her from intruding if she attempted to barge in. Fearing for my own life, I called the police. I heard her muffled thrashing and shouting through my bedroom door. She continued to yell, growing increasingly angry at our lack of response. The police arrived and questioned her. A master of manipulation, my mother instantly composed herself. She acted as if I had completely exaggerated the situation, saying there was nothing to worry about and that she would never dare harm her own children. The police car drove away and my mother’s violent outburst ended. She thankfully did not physically harm my sister or me, but emotionally the damage was done.

Her outburst showed me just how volatile her mental disorder made her and it thoroughly frightened me. I had wanted to share with her my sexual orientation, but recognized that disclosing that information while still living under the same roof would be disastrous. My mother was vocal and adamant about her opposition to homosexuality, a view that stemmed from deep cultural and personal convictions. Her mental illness would only make her reaction to my sexual orientation that much worse. I resolved to refrain from coming out to my mother until I was completely independent from her. I felt a sense of loss as I realized I would never be able to have a real relationship with my mother, one that was transparent and honest. I felt that I should not have to hide parts of my identity from my own mother, but I have had to do just that. No one wants to fear or resent their own mother. Unfortunately, a mother ravaged by mental illness has at times led me to feel exactly this way.

I love my mother, but it is not an easy love. It is a difficult love. I must constantly work to separate my mother from her illness. This process is exhausting and I have felt emotionally drained many times. I resent this illness—this illness that has made a narcissist out of my mother. My mother is more than her mental illness. However, the enormity of her disorder often overshadows her better qualities, leaving me filled with resentment. I feel guilt when this occurs and always seek to find the positives rather than to dwell on the dilemmas that her mental illness has caused. My mother’s disorder has impacted my own identity for better and for worse. For the better, it aided me in pursuing art, which continues to play a large role in my life. Living with a parent with mental illness also taught me to be more sympathetic to others, especially those afflicted with conditions that are psychological in nature. I never want to display the sort of selfish and manipulative behavior that has become so characteristic of my mother as a result of her illness. I strive to always be selfless, encouraging, and even-tempered.

I have finally made peace with my mother and the disorder that she struggles with. I wish my mother all the best and I hope someday she will recognize her potential to benefit from professional help. I have accepted that I am not responsible for her or her disorder. I am only responsible for myself and my responses to her; I have purpose and dignity outside of her control. I acknowledge that my mother’s illness has caused my sister and me much grief. I also acknowledge that the toll of her disorder has been a source of immense personal growth. I have become strong and resilient as a result of the hardships mental illness has brought my way. Sometimes I wish my situation was different, that I had the typical mother described above. However, my mother and her struggle have made me who I am and I am proud of the person I have become.

#facingmentalhealth