I was abused in many ways, and neither psychological nor physical is better nor worse. I wrote ‘Four Decades of Research to Unfold The Truth’ (click here) which basically covered how I wrote the first chapter of my book ‘Victim of Circumstance’. In those few years of my life I underwent physical and psychological abuse of many kinds. The abuse went on until I was sixteen years of age which made me a ‘Victim of Circumstance’. Then I became a Victim of Self, due to not seeking appropriate help.
What I didn’t realise then was that my failure not to seek help hindered my healing. I thought I had escaped danger by leaving home but I hadn’t worked out that I too needed healing. I thought healing was leaving behind the traumatic events. In a way it was, I was away from it in a sense but what I hadn’t realised was that I was still exposed to those treatments and hence, I jumped out of the frying pan into the fire.
Seeking peace took decades because I continuously went back to those who mistreated because I was brought up that you need to respect your parents no matter what. I adored my mother and I did not see it for years that she too caused me harm. Psychological harm, she never accepted me for whom I was but continuously expressed how I should be. I was so desperate for her love that I yielded to her whims for years.
When I was thrown out, I was so happy, I thought that I had fled her persecutions and when I was asked to be fostered, I jumped to the chance. I had been fostered many times and I thought once more couldn’t hurt. I was fostered and things didn’t go to plan. I mocked it up. I mistook the Foster’s dad affection for that of love and not for the family love that I was actually shown. Once again, I found myself out on my ear, sort of speak. Luckily the social services did find me some lodging.
Throughout all this, I began dieting, to a point that I was hospitalised and diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa. Due to dieting I had Pleurisy and Pneumonia. I avoided the help through one reason and another. Made out I was eating okay and so forth. As the years unfolded, I carried on my friendship with my mother and why not, I loved her with all my heart, she was my idol. However, we did have disagreements.
She expressed how we should have utter and total respect for her and I agreed with that but unfortunately for us we asked if we could also have respect in return. She flipped at the suggestion and for many years she repeated her statement and concluded that children are not owed any respect and nor would she give us any. Every time we approached the topic, I thought that she was not well and left it.
Then, she also treated grandma and granddad as such too and as time elapsed she began treating her brother and sisters with such disdain too. Although, we asked her as to why she did so, her reply was, “Well it is different for me”. None of us could work out as to why we needed to show her respect and she didn’t need to give us any. However, when she began treating my grandparents likewise, she just simply could not see how her statement applied to her. They owed her respect and she didn’t owe them any. To mum, it was as simple as that.
I must admit, I was the thickest of my family. Anthony and Roseanne would just read something and remember it and hence, they excelled in school. Me, however, I would read and read and read and nothing seemed to sink in and so was intellectually thick. Worse than being thick was that I was continuously reminded at how thick I was by both my father and mother. So, I tried to make them proud by returning to college and then going on to university. I was the first one to graduate in the family and at the age of forty. Not bad, some would say.
All my life, all I heard from my mother was how a friend or another friend’s child had graduated. She always made out that those parents were lucky to have graduate as their children and how she wished she was one of those parents. Well, I finally reached it and graduated, the story had changed. It changed to what is the point of being a graduate, it is nothing to be proud of. I was proud, I was a single mother of six children. I had worked hard to get to that point. All I got was, “hope you don’t think that because you are a single mother of six means that you worked harder than I have”. What had I missed. I never for one minute thought I had worked harder than anyone else as my God I watched my friends struggle just as much as I did but being a single mother of six working and studying did qualify for a pat on my back. Well, I gave my own patting on my back and so did my aunty Vera and aunty Anna, my grandparents and most of all my loving children.
Then one day, I tried to speak to someone about my current boyfriend who thought he was holier than though and how I thought that he ought to be courting my mother not me. Their characteristics were so similar and also analogous to that of my first husband. Differences was that this current boyfriend did not beat me up like my first husband. He gave psychological abuse just as my mother was doing. My friend directed me for some help.
Receiving this help changed my life. At the time spoken of, I didn’t finish the relationship with him nor with my mother but I was able to recognise that they were both Narcissists the symptoms were unmistakable. My life took a turn when I had cancer and then a stroke. Having cancer just compelled my mother to dictate that all can’t be too bad as she suffered worse with having had her bowel resection thirty years prior. No visits, nothing, myself and my children worked through it ourselves whilst she and my sister went around saying I had had a hysterectomy. Seriously, how can they justify those lies just so that they could still be in the lime light.
Myself and my children just figured that if people could be so small minded to believe that kind of trash, well leave them to it. I was too ill to care and my children too busy looking after to care. My mother’s erratic behaviours were prominent throughout our lives. It never left us. When my psychiatric nurse mentioned that I should stay away from my mother because she was harming my children’s welfare as well as mine, I thought she had gone mad herself. I reflected hard on my mother’s attitudes.
She didn’t like one of my sons because he looked like his dad. She showed it too. Right from my son turning three, she treated him as someone who was not worthy of her attention and when his birthday came up, she failed to remember it. After the death of my son, my third child went through shear hell and displayed pure anguish, I persisted in trying to get him help when my mother believed he was possessed by the devil. My loss was not accepted and I recall that after three months of him passing away, she grabbed my arm and asked as to why I was still mourning.
After my reflection, I realised my nurse was right, and I stepped away from my mother’s grip. Still it took years to not return to her and of course being my mother, I would still bump into her at family events. I learned to become partial to her abuse and stand back and still give her respect. She was my mother by name only. Looking back if I had continued with the correct help back then, then perhaps I would have healed much sooner but all is in divine purpose. I have learned to empathise with others and learn how to see it from other’s point of views, whether I agree or not.
If you have suffered abuse from a Narcissist please, please, do seek help yourself. I will eventually discuss the Post-Traumatic Disorder and how if you do not seek self help or professional help, you could possibly prolong your reach to a healthy lifestyle if not hurt others in the process and continue finding the same violent and abusive partner over and over again. I hope you have enjoyed this topic. Let me know what you thought by leaving a comment. Have a good day and stay safe.
2 thoughts on “My Narcissist Abuse”
Whoa, Gemma. I was really blown away by this. So much so, I actually feel kind of shaky… my heart goes out to you.
My Mother sounds very much like yours and although I finally sought help in my thirties, I still couldn’t push myself talk about it. I found it hard to explain how emotionally draining it is to have a narcissist parent.
After my Mother died in December 2013, I became a student of Qi Gong which, more than anything, has really helped me with the emotional healing process, together with writing about it. Writing has always been an emotional release for me, I started writing poetry at 11, which evolved into song lyrics, then short stories and blogs.
I started writing my first novel six months before my Mother’s death. It was originally intended as a coming of middle age story, but it evolved into a bittersweet story about my MC’s relationship with her narcissist mother… very loosely based on my own experience.
Thank you for writing My Narcissist Abuse. 🙏
Thank you for reaching out. I hope to hear from you soon.
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