I grew up with an N-mom, and on the outside I suppose my family looked like something from "Leave It To Beaver." In public my mother fawned over my grades, my activities. But when we got home, she criticized everything I did, from my grades to my clothes. I was allowed no privacy. If she thought I was hiding something from her, she'd simply go through my things until she found my journals, stories or poetry, then she would get angry over their content. She didn't allow me to socialize the way my friends did, or anywhere without her approval. She tried to choose the college I went to, my career, she even tried to make me like the same things she did.
If I rebelled in anyway, she would then either get mad and throw things about or else she wouldn't speak to me for days at a time. Like someone else said, when you're a child the silent treatment is horrible. She and my dad fought all the time, and I don't think either of them have been truly happy in their entire lives.
I never had any sort of freedom until I went to college, and then when I'd come home, my mother would say that I was acting like I was above them because I developed an interest in things like art shows, ballet, and classical music. Those were all things my mother considered for "rich people." I wasnt allowed to enjoy my new interests at all, and when I'd come home on holiday, she would remind me how much she disliked what I was reading, watching or listening to.
I'm not a child anymore, but I find myself crippled about things like buying something I know my mother would hate--a new coat, a cd, a book. I made the decision in the last year to be myself and pursue my interests. So I bought the gaudy coat my mother hated so much and let me know was totally inappropriate, but that I loved. I bought the cd's that I like but she hates. I read the books I find interesting. I even bought colorful clothing that's no so conservative because I like it, and I didn't take it back when my mom saw what I'd bought.
Since I've been unresponsive to her, she now claims I hate her, than I want nothing to do with her, and that I'm doing everything to hurt her. I told her to stop yelling at my son one night when he was doing clean up, because she just kept going on and on about how lazy and irresponsible (he's 6) he is because he can't pick things up. She then proceeded to slam the door, walk out, screaming "I'm sick of all of you. You can all go to hell." She didn't speak to me for 2 weeks, or if she did, it was icy, cold and clipped sentences. Normally, I would try to make up for confronting her and apologize, but this time I didn't. I wasn't at fault, and I didn't try to win her love back. She's a master at withholding love, and I always find myself feeling guilty and ashamed when I take a stand and refuse to do what she wants.