How to Tell If Your Parent Is Narcissistic

Chances are, you already know.

The proof is likely hiding in plain sight.

Be honest.

Have you ever asked yourself any variation of the following questions?

Why does it seem impossible to have an adult conversation with my mom about her behavior with her feeling attacked?

Why does my dad always need me to agree with him?

Why do I always feel nervous, shaky, or on edge around my parent? Like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop?

Let’s face it: Deep down, you always knew something was — how should I say it? — off with your parent.

Even if you didn’t possess the proper verbiage to characterize their bizarre (yet predictable) behavior, you probably felt in your bones that something was wrong. And this has caused great internal conflict, no doubt, because one of the symptoms of being the offspring of a narcissistic parent is an inability to often trust what our gut is telling us.

Well, as you read this, bells will likely be ringing all over the place.

And these clanking, deafening bells will likely be impossible to ignore.

After reading this, you will likely never look at your parent the same way again.

My objective in sharing this knowledge I have amassed as a 45-year-old ACoN (Adult Child of a Narcissist) is to prove to other ACoNs that it’s almost as if some sort of Narcissistic Parent Handbook exists somewhere.

I am to loathe generalize.

But many narcissistic parents — yours included — are likely guilty of what you’re about to read, in some way, shape, or form.

You are far from alone in your experience.

Now, to be clear, I am not a psychologist, counselor, or therapist.

But I do have credentials: My survival.

As the only child of a narcissistic mother, I have served as her golden child (the one who could do no wrong if I gave my mother what she wanted) as well as her scapegoat (the proverbial whipping post whenever my mother didn’t get her way.)

And I have the battle scars and therapy bills to prove it.

One last thing to note: Narcissism can be a bit complex. Not every person who’s selfish or attention-seeking is a narcissist. Furthermore, a person can have narcissistic tendencies and not be a full-blown narcissist. Lastly, narcissism exists on a spectrum. Therefore, those who have been properly diagnosed — which is rare because the very nature of narcissism often precludes these individuals from seeking professional help — can suffer from varying degrees of narcissism.

But the bottom line is this: If after reading this post, you walk away with many, most, or all the boxes checked, I think you’ll know your answer to whether your parent is a narcissist, or at the very least suffers from narcissistic tendencies.

Now, let’s get started.

Here are five tell-tale signs your parent is a narcissist:

In no uncertain terms, they’ve already told you they are.

My own mom did just that.

Growing up, my mother didn’t speak much about her own childhood. But what she did say was extremely telling.

She would say that she didn’t feel like she was loved by her father, that he was always very selfish, that it was not uncommon for both parents to mock her with the use of unpleasant nicknames, and that the punishments they doled out to her were infused with shame.

All off the above is consistent with how a narcissist treats their offspring…and it is precisely this kind of poor treatment that stunts a child’s emotional growth, thereby leading the child down the path of narcissism.

Furthermore, my mom never ceased to emphasize not only how hurtful this experience was, but also how it still stings — even after all these years.

So, follow me, here: If your aging parent is still reeling from trauma in their childhood…couldn’t it also be possible that you are still hurting from the trauma that the aging parent inflicted upon you?

The answer is of course.

But here’s the gross irony: While the aging parent will carry on and on about what they’ve endured as a child — which, to be clear, was indeed horrendous and unjustified, that same parent likely won’t acknowledge the trauma they’ve inflicted on you.

They are allergic to boundaries.

When we’re told no —, especially by those close to us, yeah, it sucks. But those with narcissistic tendencies have a complete and total cow over being denied something.

And they push back against boundaries. Like, big time.

They inherently don’t like boundaries and like to think the rules don’t apply to them.

Pay close attention to how your parent reacts to your boundaries.

Do they repeatedly come over unannounced after you’ve told them not to? If you told them not to share something on Facebook, would they listen? Do they whine, cry, and eventually plow through any boundary you’ve put up?

These are all signs of narcissism.

They’ve said “After everything I’ve done for you…”

This phrase usually comes on the heels of the establishment of your boundary or after the parent has been told no.

When narcs don’t get what they want, they don’t give up without a fight — and their first method of combat is usually guilting and shaming.

They will be the first to remind you that they did X, Y, and Z for you — as recent as yesterday or if it was way back when you were eight.

“How could you be so thoughtless?!?” your parent is likely to say to you, seething.

Apparently, any favor a narcissistic parent has done for their child has hidden strings of compliance attached.

Your parent is extremely sensitive to criticism.

Narcissistic parents abhor criticism from anyone, let alone from their own offspring. The fact that they bore us means that we owe them unyielding devotion and servitude.

Even when they are wrong, and even if we should have different preferences than them.

My mother went to great lengths to drill this into my head when I was a child, and I didn’t emerge from the fog until my early forties, which enabled me to see what was really happening here.

From the time I was little, my mother went through great pains to explain to me how sensitive she was, and that, because of this, her feelings should be handled with great care. Translation: One should weigh heavily whether to communicate certain things to her — lest any news should displease my mother or wound her emotionally.

I had been essentially trained to withhold any criticism of her — no matter how constructive or justified — or else my mother would melt into a fragile, defensive puddle of weepiness.

Of course, my mother was free to criticize and correct others as she saw fit, though.

I was on board with this during childhood and even young adulthood — back when I was reliant upon her for basic survival.

But when I hit adulthood — and gained independence — I could clearly see that the jig was up: My mother was ultimately manipulating me.

“I’m the worst parent!” is a refrain you’ll hear in place of an apology.

Culpability is a narcissistic parent’s kryptonite. Accountability is, too.

A parent with any narcissistic tendencies whatsoever cannot — and will not — admit when they’ve stepped in it.

And when the wrongdoing becomes impossible to ignore and the parent is backed into a corner and facing this realization, then — and only then — will they say something.

That something won’t be Hey, I’m sorry or, Geez, I really screwed up.

That something will be, “I’m just the worst parent in the world. Sue me! I tried.”

See what was just done there?

The parent has screwed up, yet you — the adult child, the victim — is then placed in a position to console the parent — the perpetrator.

We as adult children of narcissists are routinely placed in a position where we need to reassure our parents. And if and when we do this, our initial issue — the mistreatment at the hands of our parents, becomes secondary.

There’s no empathy to be found.

I can bet you’ve seen the good ones, and I’m pretty sure you know what I’m talking about.

They are the kind of mother and father that adult daughters and sons call their best friends. They are the parents who ask about your day and demonstrate a genuine interest in what you’ve got going on. They are the kind that silently swoops in to help you (without the expectation of indentured servitude in return).

I’m talking about the kind of mother we long to have when we’re brokenhearted or just feeling down in the dumps because to be embraced by her feels like home.

You see, these mothers — these parents — care.

These are the parents that adult children of narcissists never experienced but wished they had.

Instead, if we tell our mothers about our horrible day, our mothers interject to explain how theirs was worse.

Our mothers, although they’ll claim to know everything about us, likely know very little about our lives as adults.

Why?

Because they have long stopped asking, and their blatant disinterest has taught us better than to openly share.

I have a quick story that aptly characterizes this lack of empathy in a nutshell:

When my aunt’s 27-year-old daughter — her only daughter — died unexpectedly, the news was understandably like a gut punch to our entire family. I had just given birth to my daughter months prior and said to my mother how very sad it was that my aunt would never experience being told the news that her own daughter is pregnant.

My mother’s reply?

“Well,” she huffed dismissively. It’s not like she doesn’t have her son. She still has one child left.”

Enough said.

But wait. There’s more.

Here’s the kicker: These five nuggets are just scratching the surface.

There’s much more where all this came from.

As I stated earlier, narcissism exists on a (wide and quite varied) spectrum, and what I shared here is only the beginning.

But the crux is this: If dealing with your parent often feels as if you’re fumbling around in the dark looking for the light switch — meaning something doesn’t feel right, but you’re amiss about what it is, you are not wrong. You are not crazy. And you, for damn sure, aren’t alone.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

The act of seeking information helps us strategize about how to navigate a relationship with a narcissistic parent if you, like me, are not in a position to cut them out of your life altogether and go “NC” (no contact) as the phrase goes.

But there is hope for us.

We can find clarity.

And awareness of what we’re dealing with is the first step.