Your Mother Was a Narcissist. Are You One Too?

Louisa001 The Hostile Environment, 004 Stopping the Cycle, The Adoptee Journey

My boyfriend sat down gingerly opposite me and said carefully,

"You've done a marvellous job renovating your therapy room. I'm really impressed."

"But..." I said. Because there's bound to a but after a phrase like that...isn't there?

"Two things you might want to consider for the next time." He said. "You don't need white spirit for water based paint. And you need to wash the rollers out before they dry." With that he took a deep breath and waited for my response.

"I didn't know that it wasn't oil based. But okay. As if there's going to be a next time." I said mischievously. "Are you expecting that I renovate your studio too?"

He smiled and said "Wow. Five years ago you would have been up in arms attacking me. I used to notice little things and think 'Oh I'm not gonna tell her because it will just cause more trouble.' But then it was such a little thing, so I did tell you. And afterwards I'd think 'That so wasn't worth it.'"

I've come a long way, baby. Five years ago I heard criticism everywhere, even in constructive feedback. Five years ago I felt belittled and incompetent. I heard judgement in compliments - because if one aspect of my appearance, home or personality was lauded, the others must have been lacking. And when I felt attacked, I barked hard, and bit even harder. But this is not a defect in my character. This is a result of being judged, and constantly criticized by my narcissistic adoptive mother.

The first question you might ask yourself then, is -

Is Maternal Narcissism Abuse?

There is little research to be had on maternal narcissism. It's not recognized as a separate pathology like Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) because it's considered that maternal narcissism stems from a parent who already suffers from NPD. But I've found in my own personal journey that the mother doesn't have to be diagnosed with anything at all to be a maternal narcissist, and indeed their brand of narcissism may not even be experienced by all their children. This makes for a very difficult, almost impossible diagnosis.

And yet the signs are there, in the behaviour of the affected child. Hypersensitivity to perceived criticism is one of them. The parental mirror held up to me as a child was that I was bad and unacceptable as I was. As a grown up, you can imagine that hypersensitivity makes it very difficult to be in any type of healthy relationship. It means a part of the individual, in this case me, is in a state of arrested development because they have been forced to conform as a matter of survival to the image of the self created by their mother. It means that they locked into a prison of someone else's idea of how they should be by guilt, shame, and conditional love. It is a form of abuse.

Still, I've wavered to and fro on using the word abuse. It's a mammoth accusation after all. Because my childhood, didn't seem on the surface to be very different to many others. I had a competitive mother and she tried hard to 'improve' me, usually via criticism. She constructed my identity brick by brick, out of the pieces she'd wanted for herself. I had singing lessons, because her thwarted passion was singing. Spoke french fluently because she was a French teacher. Won every school prize going until my rapid and distasteful rebellion. So what?

But that all changed when I watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

This is how Roald Dahl saw adults. Quentin Blake understood.

Roald Dahl was a highly disturbed yet gifted man. He wrote about abusive adults and children in pain. When I read his autobiography 'Boy' I finally understood why. He was traumatized. The children in his books often took revenge on adults in peculiar and horrific ways, from The Twits and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang to Matilda and The Witches. His adult fiction was dark and twisted, it wrote about murder and revenge. But as a child I realized none of this; his fiction was simply that. Even as I read them though I wondered why Quentin Blake, the main illustrator of his work, produced such scary drawings. They were unlike any other children's books and had jagged angles. Quentin Blake had you see, understood Roald Dahl's perspective. He got him. This was the way Roald saw the adults around him.

Then Tim Burton arrived. He also 'got' Roald Dahl. And in his 2005 version of Charlie and the Chocolate factory he developed back stories to how the children became such horrific caricatures, among them Violet Beauregarde - the insanely competitive offspring of an insanely competitive mother who lived vicariously through her only daughter's achievements. Violet would never be allowed to fail because in doing so she risked her mother's love. Same bobbed hair as her mother, same tracksuit as her mother, Violet had been fashioned into a veritable mini-me. In her I saw my own childhood.

"She's just a driven young woman...I don't know where she gets it." says her mother, aware of the irony.

And even during Violet's crowning achievement of winning the golden ticket, her mother can't resist showing off "Of course I've had my share of trophies...mostly baton." Then Charlie Bucket's grandparents respond with "What a beastly girl. Despicable."

Mummy bought me this pink tracksuit because she sees me as an extension of herself (but only when I win).

This is what the world would have you believe. But the world is wrong. The person who is truly despicable is Violet's mother who has warped her child into an object to satisfy her own inadequate self-esteem... and in doing so created a monster. Will Violet also grow up to be a narcissist (as well as a blueberry)? It seems likely. Mrs. Beauregarde is a maternal narcissist already. She is abusive. And worse, it's abuse which cannot be measured, criminalized or even counteracted.

Parenting After Maternal Narcisissm

Nowadays I'm not so concerned about me. I've worked hard on my self-esteem, can accept criticism and don't take it so personally anymore. Some people love me for who I really am. But there's a bigger issue. My children. I know that whether people love me or not, means nothing about any negative impact I might have on them.

After all my own mother is also loved by many. So I constantly question myself, am I also a narcissist? I was raised by one, and children follow by example.

I'm very careful not to judge my children. Careful not to criticize them. Careful of their self-esteem. But I'm too careful. I don't instinctively recognize the balance between encouraging their talents and making them stick to activities. So in the end, maybe they'll do nothing at all. I don't know what represents naughtiness as opposed to acting out of insecurity. Is any child really naughty? Or is it all a reaction to environmental influences?

So I try and give them free rein; I'm patient to a fault until I explode out of frustration and angst, leaving them wondering what on earth has happened. I'm unsure of the boundaries I need to set so that they grow up in a structured environment without feeling controlled as I did. I'm a stickler for the belief that there is no right or wrong, only perception. But they are too young to understand this point of view and get confused between what they see as a black and white reality and how I try to explain it.

When they fight with each other I'm torn - I don't see the 'fair' way to act, I only see bad repercussions of anything I might do to resolve the situation. Because I know, better than most, that with every action, there is a reaction.

I am a narcissist's daughter, who has learned unhealthy patterns. That is sure. Still, this doesn't necessarily mean I am not a narcissist because as I've learned through my research there are many different types. The articles say that narcissism is borne of childhood trauma, and I certainly had that. Still I strive to do the opposite of what my mother did and I'm afraid that my children will grow up in an chaotic, boundary-less world because I myself have experienced the disastrous repercussions of an overly-controlling competitive and critical mother. A mother who couldn't recognise or appreciate me, for me. And I don't want that for them.

Yet sometimes when I see their confusion and upset, I feel as if it would be better simply if I were not there. As if I am not fit to be a mother. As if I should leave the parenting to healthier adults. And just thinking these things is terrifying.

Because it's a terrible thing to think - even for a second - that your children would be better off without you. And it's something that I could never do, not in a million years. So in order to compensate for my own uncertainty, I choose instead to surround them with many different adults as well - extended family and friends - so that any potentially negative impacts from me on their development are diluted, whilst I continue to work on my own skills of parenting. My mother's impact on me was huge, because she was a single mother. She was my world, as well as my assumed identity. But I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't... because this leads me to ask an even more important question. With my strategy will they also feel that my love is diluted? Absent? Above all. Above all, I don't want this. Because surely - out of all the abuse I could ever inflict on them - this is the worst abuse of all. A lack of love. But right now, I don't even know that, since being erased your entire life, means never trusting your own instincts.

At least, though there's a lsiver lining. It is my uncertainty which convinces me I am not a narcissist. Narcissists are above all certain of their behaviours. It's their way and god help you if you go against them.