My mum was/is extremely narcisisstic.
I want to tell stories about her - true ones. To expose her cruelty and the amazing things she has said and done. But somehow.... I feel that its not good to do, not healthy.
There could well be several tensions within, causing this troubled feeling in response to telling. First of all, we are not supposed to wash our families dirty linen in public. Which means however nasty the secret, you have to not tell, because that is a betrayal of the whole family. That is what we were taught. That is not what any loving parent would want for their child; there are good secrets, which can be kept, and bad secrets, which must be told. These are bad secrets.
The next problem, even if you decide to tell, is to decide what is real and what is not. Again this is a problem when you have been brought up in a family which lives by denial of truth, and by suppression of emotion (the two have to be connected). So even when you are writing 'Mum did this' part of your head may well be saying 'perhaps I am wrong and she is innocent after all; perhaps it is me.' This is where having a support group who is not possessed by the ghost of your (or my) mother is so useful. We can say 'this happened, and this happened' and we can allow our friends to say, as I have often heard, that is terrible, that is inhuman, that is so cruel. Then we can read their words and think, yes, that is true. I had to live through this event, but I was treated with cruelty. That is what is true. Other people help me to connect to my own, real, emotional reactions by sharing theirs with me.
Then there is the problem of finding the right words. What is the word for the kind of love we were given? What is the word for the kind of cruelty? What does love now mean, if our parents can neglect us and call it love?
All of which is why I have not been able to write my story, although I have tried many times. The words lose their meaning once written down, like lemonade losing its sparkle, and they become meaningless. So I write bits of the story here instead, and that helps. One day I might write it all, or I might not. I want to write how it happened. What made us as we were. What bits were good, and what bits were appallingly bad, but denied.
Sorry, not sure if that helps or not. I encourage you to speak out and tell your story. There are plenty of people here to listen and understand.