Daughter of Narcissus — A Story of Manipulation, Control and Deceit

The damage a narcissistic mother can cause her children is limitless. But all it takes is a single friend who refuses to be manipulated to help the person through.

This story tells the tale of a narcissistic mother and underscores the power of friendship in overcoming the abuse a narcissist dishes out. Narcissism is currently a popular topic. I think part of the reason is that children raised by narcissists are finally understanding that they aren’t alone, and coming forward to provide a first hand account of their experiences.

These accounts have established a clearer view of the damage that can be done by these parents. When our initial attachment with a parent is shaped by psychological violence, it sets us up for a lifetime of problems and pain. This can lead to the tendency to be drawn to those who are similar to the parent, constantly putting us in harm’s way. By the time we realize we have done it, the damage has been done.

The Narcissistic Mother

A narcissistic mother has the need to exercise complete control over her child. She has an extraordinary sense of entitlement and justification for how she treats her child and a shocking lack of empathy. Her exploitation of her child for her own needs and constant need for attention is put before her child’s welfare. Not only does a narcissistic mother not protect her child from pain while they are growing up, she actually purposely causes some of this pain by emotionally punishing her child for not doing what she says and not being what she wants.

A narcissistic parent doesn’t just fail to protect her child from what is frightening in the world, she becomes the source of their fear. The lack of affection, constant manipulation of not just them but of potentially anyone they are in contact with, enmeshment, lack of boundaries and chronic rage makes the child’s world a collection of people they expect to abuse them.

A narcissistic parent will distort the child’s self image and self-perception. A good parent gives their child the building blocks of a healthy life and the ability to become independent. A narcissistic parent gives her child self-doubt, a lack of self-worth and an internal critic that makes sure these characteristics are maintained.

This story tells the tale of one such a parent. It doesn’t represent any single individual or situation but is a combination of various people I’ve come into contact with over the years. While the story is intended to underscore the harm that such a parent can do to their child and how they do it, it is also meant to be a beacon of hope.

While many people might be able to be manipulated by a narcissistic mother to help her control and punish her child, all it takes is one person who won’t allow her to use them in this way and who refuses to betray the child. All it takes is one true friend. The power of friendship can go a long way to counteract some of the damage a narcissistic mother has done by helping to plant the idea that the child is believable and is a person of worth. If you have a friend who was raised by such a parent, be that beacon. You have no idea what a difference you can make.

Daughter of Narcissus

When Becca asked me to go home with her to visit her mother, I hesitated. I have known her for a while and she has told me at length of the grief she has experienced because of her mother over her lifetime. Although she says she loves her daughter it is clear to Becca these are just words as everything she does says quite the opposite.

According to Becca, her mother is obsessed with her own image and will stop at nothing to make sure she appears they way she wants to in other people’s eyes. My friend does not remember a time when this wasn’t the case. Her mother insults and demeans her and makes sure the rest of her family sees her as weak and psychologically damaged.

At first it was difficult to believe everything my friend was saying. I wrote it off to her being angry and only seeing the negative things her mother had said and done. I mean we all have issues with our parents at some point in our lives. While I accepted that her mother was doing hurtful things, I figured it was something that was episodic and not as extreme as what I was hearing.

But then my friend took me home to meet her. She seemed a bit apprehensive about doing this saying her mother always found a way to turn her friends against her. I assure her this wouldn’t happen.

At the beginning, her mother appeared charming. She seemed genuinely happy to meet me and insisted on putting out a lavish spread for us even though we’d eaten before we came. She asked how I had met Becca and I told her. I felt my friend tense beside me. She asked about my family and where I was from. She asked if I lived close to her daughter. Then Becca excused herself to take a work related call. Her mother immediately came and sat next to me on the couch.

“Becca and work. She works so hard you know. I just don’t know why she’s never been able to make anything of herself, with all that work. She comes to visit after months and then has to spend all her time on the phone. I worry about her. Do you think she’s okay? I mean, what does she do that’s fun? Does she even have other friends? I’m a mother, I worry. Who are some of her other friends? Would you mind giving me your phone number, just for emergencies? I’d never use it unless it was really an emergency but sometimes Becca just won’t answer my calls and she doesn’t call back for at least an hour.

Whatever you do, don’t tell Becca. She’s so strange about her privacy. But she just won’t let me into her life. I just want to know my daughter. But if she finds out I said anything to you she’ll take it the wrong way. She’ll probably end up thinking that it was you who tried to tell me things about her behind her back and she won’t want to be friends with you anymore. It’s happened so many times before. Just don’t say anything.”

Pow! It had taken less than 15 minutes to get here. Luckily Becca returned before I had I time to reply. I don’t know what I would have said.

At this point her mother wanted to show off her garden. She linked her arm in mine and leaned towards me, talking in a low voice, while walking ahead of Becca as if she wasn’t even there.

“Uh, mom. Hello? I’m actually here also. Maybe you want to include me in your little secretive conversation?”

Uh oh. I winced. She had fed right into her mother’s actions. I noticed a small smile on her mother’s face. “Really Becca, I don’t know why you are so paranoid. It’s really a problem I hoped you’d get over with all that therapy of yours.”

Here she turned to me. “She’s been in therapy since she was a child, but I’m sure you know all about that.” It seemed more like she didn’t think I’d known about it. “But I guess not even all those therapists could do anything with her either.” She laughed.

“Nice, mom,” Becca said.

“Oh, stop being so serious. You’re so serious all the time. I was just joking. Elizabeth, knows I was joking, don’t you?”

Bam! Obviously, I couldn’t say what I really thought which was, “No, actually I think you said that to make me think Becca has problems that are big enough that she’s needed therapy her whole life.”

I smiled before I knew what I was doing and was horrified to hear a small laugh come from me as well. What the heck? How had that happened?

“See? She thinks you’re being ridiculous.”

“No, mom, she doesn’t. What do you expect her to say? She’s obviously not going to tell you off! And she actually does know I’m in therapy, so how about knocking it off?”

I winced again. She was right but she’d just basically given her mom another opening.

“There’s no reason to lose your temper, Becca. I swear, all that therapy has done you no good. Of course, I don’t know why it would have, given you picked all the therapists. If you’d let me pick them, you’d have been cured by now. But you just don’t change. You still have the same problems you had as a girl but now they are only worse.”

She addressed me again. “Do you know she has never let us talk with any of her therapists? She won’t even let us know who they are? Her family cares about her and if she’d let us talk with whoever she’s seeing it would only help her. We could tell them what was really going on with her. Don’t you think that would be a wise idea?”

Okay, here I had a response. “Well, therapy is a very private thing. In fact, privacy is one of the most important things that makes it work.”

“Oh, so she is in therapy. You know we thought so.”

“Mom! You know I’m in therapy! Don’t make it seem like you managed to learn something you didn’t already know! I just said it a second ago.”

“If Elizabeth wants to confide in me there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Oh my God! She’s not confiding in you. . .”

It was as if Becca hadn’t said anything. “You know, my children’s friends have always come over to see me. The children may think otherwise, but whenever their friends come over, they always want to be around me.” Another one of those disarming laughs. This time I just smiled. She had a way of getting the response she wanted by making any other one impossible. “Not that Becca really had many friends growing up. One or two. She’s never kept up with people. I don’t know why. There’s no reason for them not to like her mother, right?”

“Because they aren’t your friends! You act like they are, friend them all on Facebook, constantly comment on their pages and anything I say to them. Send them birthday cards and gifts, which by the way, you don’t even send me . . . “

Ouch. I had forgotten that part.

“Oh stop it, Becca. You’re so jealous of everyone. I can’t believe you think I shouldn’t wish someone a happy birthday. If you knew how to be a friend, you wouldn’t want them not to have a good birthday. Just because you don’t send anyone a card or bother to remember their birthdays doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t.” Turning back to me. “Her friends have been so good to me. They call and come over to spend time with me. They really care about me.”

This went on all afternoon. It became clear that everything Becca’s mother said was calculated. Every comment was aimed at doing one of two things. It was either intended to elicit a certain reaction from Becca which her mother could then use to prove a point about how terrible she was or it was intended to make her mother look good.

And she was a master at this. Had Becca not told me about her relationship with her mother, while I may not have believed everything, I would have come away from it seeing Becca a little differently. With continued contact with her mother, I might have found myself swayed to telling her little things about Becca which wouldn’t have seemed like I was betraying her especially since her mother just wanted to do what was best for her.

On the way out, her mother was just as charming as on the way in. I thought I’d avoided the whole phone number thing but I was wrong. Right as I stepped out the door, her mother said as if just remembering, “Oh, you were going to give me your phone number. Let me get something to write on.”

“No!” from Becca. “You do not need her phone number, or her address or her email or her facebook name! She’s not your friend, mom!”

“There you go again. It’s just for emergencies, for goodness sakes. What’s the big deal? You’re so possessive. Why can’t she be friends with me if she wants to? Just because your friends always turned to me for advice and . . . “

“No they didn’t! You need to just stop . . . “

“You just don’t know about it. There’s a lot of things you don’t know.” Her mother got this odd look on her face. Something like satisfaction or the bird that ate the canary. Whatever it was it clearly said, I know things that you don’t and you’ll never find out about them.

Becca hustled me out the door before her mother could get me to give her my number.

Later, thinking about that look Becca’s mother gave her at the end, it suddenly struck me as to what it was. It was clear as day. It said, I win. And that summed it all up. Her relationship with her daughter was nothing but a competition that she had found extraordinary ways to win at for Becca’s whole life. She’d made sure that no one else would come to Becca’s defense and she controlled every aspect of her daughter’s existence before she’d moved out, and probably for a while afterwards. The only way Becca could carve out some portion of her life that her mother couldn’t touch was to keep it completely secret.

At this point tears came to my eyes. She’d trusted me enough to reveal me to her mother, even knowing that in the past her mother had not just turned friends against her but had enlisted them in finding things out about her and reporting back. In that moment, I knew I’d protect Becca and make sure her mother didn’t use me in the same way.

Becca hadn’t said anything in the few minutes we’d been in the car. I hadn’t known what to say either. Looking over at her I expected to see anger. She had every right to be furious. Heck, I was furious. But what I saw was something else. She looked defeated. She may not have thought I’d believed it all, but she thought her mother had scored another point against her in a game she didn’t realize her daughter wasn’t playing. Well, I for one wasn’t going to be her mother’s pawn. I reached over and took Becca’s hand.

“I believe you,” I said.

We both cried. She, for the fact she’d never had a real mother and I, for fact that so many people would never have the chance to experience how amazing she was. Her mother had harmed not just her, but she’d harmed everyone who she had deprived of her daughter’s friendship. It wasn’t right but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Nothing except make sure Becca knew I wouldn’t be one of those people.

“And that’s not going to change.”

We drove home in silence and when I unlocked my door and went into my house I became even more committed that Becca would know she had someone she could rely on. She’d know she had someone who would have her back no matter what. I would make sure she never worried that I might be just one more person who served her mother’s narcissistic, abusive need to win against a daughter that had never done anything to deserve it. I’d been manipulated before and it was something I hated more than anything. Her mother was not going control me or my relationship with her daughter. I sat on my couch and a cold smile formed.

“Bring it, Bitch.”

Natalie Frank has a Ph.D. in Clinical Psychology. She specializes in Pediatrics and Behavioral Medicine.

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