Maternal Narcissism:
“Narcissistic mothers teach their daughters that love is not unconditional, that is given only when they behave with maternal expectations and whims. As adults, these daughters have difficulty overcoming feelings of inadequacy, disappointment, emotional emptiness and sadness. They also have a fear of abandonment that leads them to form unhealthy romantic relationships, as well as a tendency to perfectionism and unrelenting self-criticism or to self-sabotage and frustration.”
Dr. McBride, author of Will I ever be good enough.
Autumn
Chapter One.
The family table. The fucking family table.
“So Jamie, your Dad and I know you’ve been trying to find your father, we checked your browsing history,”. Annabella looks up at me, confusion crossing flicking across her face. “Is your life here so bad that you feel you have to go behind our backs and look up the sperm-donor?”.
I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. The silence can be cut with a knife. Everyone has stopped eating. My mind races and my palms turn clammy, Dad and Annabella look to me, expecting an answer. Shrinking into an ever-growing abyss I get no such chance since the question was rhetorical.
The Mother comes in with another glancing blow, “I can’t believe you have the audacity to throw away everything your Dad has done for you. What are you crying for?” A pause in silence for dramatic effect.
Fuck it! I swore the last time she’d never make me cry again. Dad doesn’t say anything but brief glance from him has The Mother change her tone. “You should have told us you were wanting to find him, we could have helped!” I’m taken aback by this offer and ease with which she offers it, but then she continues, “Not that he’s bothered in the 15 years he hasn’t seen you or paid a cent towards your upkeep. I sent him a letter a few years ago, didn’t I David?, telling him you’d been asking questions and he never bothered to write back”. Thats right, there it is, the knife to the chest. The Mother’s voice is rising, “And by the way, why do you have a picture of him stuck beside your bed? You can go and take that shit down!”.
My sweet, sweet little Annabella is finally enlightened, her voice almost giddy “You’re not my real sister?!”.
The knife twists some more. Not one of us wants to sit and finish the meal, but we don’t have a choice. Annabella wattles on asking questions and now refers to Dad with great emphasis as ‘My Daddy” to which he answers to every single time - without correction. The illusion of our little nuclear family has shattered and before me a canyon erupts with my little Annabella getting further and further away.
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