Hi all. It’s a long one, bear with…
My mother (53f) and I (30f) have always had a pretty poor relationship. When I was growing up, she was generally mean and harsh, strict to the point of cruelty, developing strange psychological punishments that involved frightening or humiliating me, using threats and fear to control my behaviour, and spoiling me with gifts and money but withholding warmth and affection. She had impossible expectations of my behaviour well beyond that of any normal child and I was gaslit into thinking that I was horrible and badly-behaved, when on reflection I was actually a pretty normal kid who occasionally gave a bit of backchat.
She never had a nice word to say about me, was judgemental and vicious about my choices, even making comments about my appearance, my weight, later on my jobs. She made it abundantly clear that she didn’t like me and that I was “weird” and “crazy”.
She only lashed out physically a handful of times when she lost her temper, and has flatly denied it when confronted in later years. Mostly it was mental and emotional stuff.
She wasn’t affectionate, playful or patient with me, though I’ve seen her be like this with my brother (29m), who still lives at home. There is a strong Scapegoat / Golden Child dynamic at play with me and my brother, who has taken the side of our mother in any confrontation and tells me that I am “crazy” and “cruel” for having any boundaries around my life and family.
I moved out quite young and managed to maintain a civil, even sometimes friendly relationship with my mother (it was easier once I didn’t have to see her every day), but have always kept her at arm’s length. I don’t trust her, don’t consider her a friend, don’t tell her things about my life, and honestly don’t like her as a person — but I figured it’s easier to have her in my life in some capacity than cut her off altogether, especially since she has intertwined herself so co-dependently with the rest of my Family Of Origin that I’m unable to have a relationship with my dad, brother or last remaining grandparent without also having a relationship with my mother (the centre of the universe).
If this is sounding like all the trappings of a narcissist… yeah, I agree. Majorly. But if you asked my mother or one of her flying monkeys, they’d say that she’s a nice, normal woman and a wonderful mother and that I’m the narcissist.
I never felt that I had a good enough reason to cut her off altogether, as nothing she’s done could be characterised as serious abuse. She’s just… kind of a bitch.
However, since the birth of my daughter, three years ago, my relationship with my mother has unravelled even further. I never let my mother see my kids unsupervised (I have a newborn son now, as well as my three-year-old), never ask for her parenting advice, don’t send pictures or updates frequently, don’t encourage a relationship between her and my kids, don’t take them to visit often and don’t invite her to see them. She lives ten minutes away and doesn’t work, but sees my kids maybe every 6-8 weeks, and would never be allowed to babysit.
I think the low level of contact that she has with my children is reflective of the relationship that she and I had before the kids were born. There will be people here who feel that grandparents should be allowed as much access and whatever type of access they want to their grandchildren, regardless of their pre-existing relationships with the parents — but I’m not one of those people. These are my young, small, vulnerable babies and nobody is getting near them unless I trust that person 100% with my life.
My mother, in classic narcissist fashion, is furious about this arrangement. She feels that me having boundaries around my kids, my life and my home is my way of “punishing” her for “not being the perfect parent”. She feels that I am being cruel to her, that I am being unfair and unkind, that I have spent too much time on the internet and have been “brainwashed” into thinking that I had a horrible childhood (not something I’ve ever said), that she was a great mother and that I am choosing to only remember the handful of times that I was told off as a child. That’s what she boils it all down to.
For years, I’ve maintained my boundaries but kept grinning and bearing her for… whose sake? I’m not sure.
Anyway, things haven’t improved, and in fact, since my son was born, have gotten worse. My mother has kicked off about all of the following:
That I had a home birth (after a safe, low-risk, second pregnancy, with a team of experienced professionals present, the hospital on standby just in case, in a home that is a three-minute ambulance ride away).
That she wasn’t told my son’s name immediately or given any details about the birth (we hadn’t decided on a name until several days after he was born, which was explained when we announced the birth, and the birth details that she requested were extremely personal and/or no one else’s business, e.g. did I need stitches, did I use pain relief, how long did I push for, did I make any noise, etc.)
That she was not invited to visit until my son was two weeks old (we were focusing on settling in as a family of four, making sure that our three-year-old was comfortable and being given plenty of one-on-one time and attention by both of us, as well as prioritising my recovery).
At this point, I feel like any decisions I make about my own life and my own family is met with scrutiny, criticism and my mother’s constant victimhood. And I’m over it. I’m too busy for this.
The idea of cutting off my mother altogether and never having to see or speak to her again both feels like an immense relief and also scares me, and seems impossible, as she knows where I live and our home town is so small that she could make it so that we were bumping into each other all the time.
My three-year-old wouldn’t care if she never saw anyone from that side of the family again; she never asks about them, never wants to visit them, and doesn’t have a relationship with any of them. She was terrified of my mother until she was at least two and is still wary of her, and still doesn’t like my dad or my brother. My son is a newborn and wouldn’t have any memory of them.
If my mother were hit by a bus and died tomorrow, I’d be so relieved that it was over. But choosing to step away feels impossible.
When is enough, enough?