Hi. I am new here. I have never posted on a message board before. I am afraid to have a voice, I think. I am afraid you all won’t like what I say. Maybe you will ignore me; maybe I will make you mad, you will think I’m an idiot. I think my username is stupid and self-absorbed.
I think to myeslf– I am an idiot, I am self-absorbed. I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m not going to be able to do it right. My perceived problems are miniscule compared to many other people’s problems. I use “I” too much. etc. etc.
But my therapist says I should indulge in myself for a while, that I will feel that I am being selfish, but that I am not.
I am impressed by how you all (people on this board) are so brave in expressing yourselves. Your posts have already helped me a lot. Even with conflict on this board, I can tell that you are all working hard, trying to be kind to yourselves and others. You inspire me. So here I am.
I have been in therapy for a few months now. I went in with a long list of things I wanted to work on:
relationships with other people
a lack of self confidence
trouble completing certain life goals, etc.
This was the short version of the list. Even my therapist seemed a little overwhelmed at what I wanted to accomplish. Or maybe I just imagined it.
I knew I needed to work on myself a lot, but all the issues seemed unrelated. Then two weeks ago, my therapist suggested my mom might be a Narcissist. I started searching online, read a couple books on it, felt overwhelmed. Every interaction with my mom and every childhood memory suddenly made sense.
She never hit me or called me bad names. Sometimes she said she loved me. So, I thought I was crazy for feeling abused and unloved. She even claimed to be proud of me at times, but she gritted her teeth when she said it. I knew it was a lie. My brother was the Golden Child, and I was only mediocre at best.
She was a model mother around other people. I enjoyed it when she got a new boyfriend (which she did often), because she would coo and smile at my brother and me when the boyfriend was looking. She would praise our accomplishments, but I think it was only aggrandize herself.
Behind closed doors, she really didn’t give much physical affection. I asked her once if I could cuddle in her lap in the rocking chair. “No,” she said, “It’s too hot”. [she lets our an aggravated sigh]. “Well, ok, just for a minute, though, cause it’s too hot.” And I thought to myself “Yes, it is hot in here, I shouldn’t have asked, I am selfish”. She held me for a minute and then told me to get off her lap, that was enough cuddling. As I crawled down, I was ashamed.
She liked to show me off. She didn’t think I was particularly intelligent (not like my brother), but she thought I was cute. She encouraged me to wear clothes a little bit tighter, a little more see-through. Now I am afraid to wear anything but oversized clothes.
She bragged about her own sexual conquests and still does. I was her audience and her best friend (her friends seem to come and go). I ate with her, and dieted with her as her weight went up and down. She got mad at me for having food around when she was on a diet. We were great friends when she broke with her diet; she laughed at how naughty we were together, eating ice cream. She loved me with food and gifts, but not with unconditional love.
She never told me what she wanted. I had to guess, pay close attention to her moods, her sighs, her knit eyebrows. It seems she never looked at me in the eye, and when she did, she was angry. I learned not to look anyone in the eye.
I was very empathetic. I took care of her needs. I felt guilty if I didn’t. She worked two jobs; she claimed that she did it for my brother and me, so we could have nice things, live in a nice neighborhood, go to a good school district. How dare I complain? I felt ungrateful and selfish.
She was always tired, and needed me to take care of her. I fixed her drinks.
She said, “Fix me a drink, bourbon on the rocks” (she never said please).
One time I risked her anger and joked, “What am I, your servant?”
Much to my relief, she merely laughed nastily and said,
“Yes, of course, why do you think I had kids in the first place?”
I was (and still am) ashamed that I did not have more compassion for her. She must be so unhappy to be like this. Instead of hating her, I should love her more. I have never done or been enough. I can't. I am inadequate.
After she got home from work, she made me massage her legs. It was disgusting and degrading and I hated it. I hated myself for hating it. I was so ungrateful and selfish. She never said these things, but it was implied. I believed it then, and sometimes I believe it now.
I never got to express my emotions. I never remember expressing anger – that was not allowed at all. I did cry a lot, which she usually just ignored. But sometimes she would get aggravated, and say, “Stop that crying! Stop it right now!” She looked disgusted with me. I was disgusted with myself.
I took on her emotions, because she wouldn’t let me have my own. Even now I joke with my husband that I am like emotional tofu. I just absorb the emotions of everyone around me, especially sadness. I can’t watch the news or see sad movies, or witness parents treating their child with anything less than 100% kindness and love. These things set me off. I cry and cry. I read the postings on this board; I feel your pain and I cry for you.
Having said this, I have to clarify that I don’t really cry all the time. I have tried to find a balance between expressing my emotions and getting completely enmeshed. I avoid sad movies and sensationalized new stories, but I want to participate in this board if I can.
I try to focus on the good things in my life. Some of these are: my husband and daughter, my in-laws, a few close friends, finding a good therapist and finding validation reading about others’ struggles with finding their voices. I am trying to learn how to look people in the eye. I am not sure if people want to hear what I say, but I hope I can be ok with it either way.
I now realize than I can distance myself from my narcissistic mother and that I don’t have to feel guilty about it. I can get back the things she stole from me. I hope I can quiet the nasty voices (both hers and mine) inside my head and start saying some nice things to myself. Even though I feel like an empty shell, I know there must be a person in here somewhere.
Sorry this is so long, but I had to get it out of my head.
Thanks for reading.
