When you realise your narcissistic mother had no redeeming qualities…
…you must remember it’s not YOUR problem. It’s HER problem.
Some narcissists are somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, I believe. I even wrote an article about that. But I think, unconsciously, I was still wishing to find out that mine fit into that “mild” category; that it wasn’t as bad as it could have been; that she had redeeming qualities.
…Because I’m a masochist and like excusing the villains in my life? Lol, no. It’s not that. First of all, I don’t think I’m a masochist at all. Secondly, I don’t excuse bad people. But unconsciously, I was giving her too much grace because it hurts to realise I never had a mother figure. So, I didn’t want to accept this fact. I held on to a fantasy that I had it. “No, it cannot be”, I told myself, trying to reassure that inner child. “She must have been there, I just didn’t notice” [and insert here a long string of lies I know are just a coping mechanism].
It hurts to realise I was born basically an orphan. She was there physically, she provided for my physical needs; but her soul? Her humanity? Her empathy? I’ve never seen it. All I see is her self-centeredness through the echoes of “you must be a nice child, I can’t cope with the stress of motherhood” (EXCUSE ME lady? YOU CHOSE motherhood); the fake facade she’s so proud of. The fake “tough woman who has no patience for whining” (except her own whining, because of course she deserves all the pity. All the attention. Oh, what a martyr. Typical double standards. Others can’t but she can. The rules never apply to her).
I had the kind of mother who bingoes every narcissist checklist out there — so glaringly obvious that every therapist I see says “she was probably narcissistic” and lists them again to me. All I ever say to that is “I know. I’ve been told the same before”.
Not only that, but she also has a history of defending the oppressors and dismissing the oppressed in every scenario. It doesn’t matter what period of History or place in time she’s talking about, she’s always supporting the colonisers and conquerors and slave masters and every sort of coward man in power. That’s probably a reflection of her unconscious need to be “on top”, to be “in command” and “in control of things”. Couple that with lack of empathy for others — she’d even go as far as mocking people who talk about human rights. “Oh, hUmAn RiGhTs”, she would say in a childishly mocking voice, “human rights are a pathetic weakness”. Yes, of course, let’s just keep criticising people, hating, oppressing and destroying. It’s all good, because after that you can go to church and pray or go to your chosen newage place and apply reiki on people. No contradiction at all. #sarcasm
Narcissists are not psychopaths — they’re not lacking in the “guilt” department. In fact, they’re full of guilt. And if your parent(s) was(were) narcissistic, you know what I’m talking about: they’ll be the most rotten people ever and vomit all their prejudice, hate, and vitriol in vile words and actions… But never admit or stand behind those words and actions; which is why they only do it in private. If they were psychopaths, they’d do it in public too. Oh, but they feel guilty deep down, so they don’t want the general public to hear or see anything — only their family.
That’s why, no matter how overt the narcissist, they’ll always have “little secrets”, like maybe they stalk people instead of asking questions… But won’t admit it because they know it’s wrong, they DO feel guilt. Maybe they pay people to sabotage their children, but again won’t admit it because they DO feel guilt. Maybe they’ll even work witchcraft against the people they scapegoated… But again, won’t admit it, even to fellow witches, because they DO feel guilt. The list goes on and on. Nothing is ever straightforward with them. “Vulnerability” is not in their vocabulary. They enjoy seeing others vulnerable. But getting vulnerable with others? Oh, no, never! Always putting up walls, and walls, and more walls.
…And they wonder why they can’t find genuine connections.
…But even knowing all that, I still couldn’t let go of the hope that she had redeeming qualities.
Like, sure, she makes nice food? “But so do restaurants”, replies my voice of reason.
Surely she’s smart, I mean she did well in school? “So do bad people”, replies my voice of reason.
She’s creative. She makes good jokes sometimes and has good ideas about practical solutions and stuff. “So do serial killers”, replies my voice of reason.
The things above are all good, but are they redeeming? Considering all of the bad things she chose for herself? No. The bad far outweighs the good.
Ya know… I didn’t use to listen to my voice of reason much. And I couldn’t put a finger on why. At some point in my healing process, some years after cutting contact with my mother, I decided to start listening to it even though I didn’t understand why I stopped.
Gradually, some of my work opportunities improved. I found love. And now, friendships are also slowly improving. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll find a spiritual teacher who isn’t a narcissist too. Here’s to hoping. But now I see why some whom I felt I should consult were bad too — it was my higher self trying to show me, “look, Lucy, you won’t like what this person does. Who do they remind you of? Exactly. Her. Let her go”.
Anyway, it was AFTER deciding to listen to my own voice of reason again — this intuitive advice — that I ended up discovering why I had stopped in the first place: I didn’t want to accept that I never had a mother figure.
Because in order to listen to my own intuition, I’d have to admit that she wouldn’t ever have allowed that. She wanted me to follow her script. No questions, none of my own reasoning, nothing. Only obey, obey, obey. That’s the only thing she wanted out of me. Blind obedience like a lobotomised idiot.
I can’t NOT remember that whenever I listen to my intuitive voice. It often says the opposite of what she said. And when I imagine a scenario where I would, in the past, listen to my intuition, all I can come up with is “mother would punish me”.
Therefore, mother didn’t want what is good for me.
Therefore, she wasn’t EFFECTIVELY a mother for me. She was an enemy, a competitor, a merciless puppet master disguising in the social role of a mother. Something entirely different!
You see, I didn’t want to admit that. It hurts to admit that. It hurts to see that. It feels unfair, and desperate, and horrible. I don’t know yet how to recover emotionally from that realisation. But I know I will, because if everything around me is improving with that realisation, it must mean…
…I’m doing the right thing.
