Illumination

A few days ago, someone sent me an article about my mother that is saved somewhere on the Internet. It was a piece I had not seen before. This person wanted my opinion on the article—whether I had remembered events in the same way.

It was a tough piece to read, but also strangely empowering. I say that because, after all the years of gaslighting and denial, I was able to see two things more clearly than ever before.

One, I had always considered my mother a covert narcissist, but reading this piece, I saw something very different.

Two, my dismissal from her life—the way I became a nonentity once I was no longer useful as a source of narcissistic supply—was more glaringly obvious to me than ever.

The article is based on an interview with my mother, and is primarily about her work. She was a trailblazer in her field. There is no denying that, and no one can take that from her. And yet, many people around her wondered what her ultimate motivation was for doing what she did. She seemed almost manic. I recall a relative, someone quite close to her, shaking his head in incomprehension at my mother’s persistence in sinking all her energy, and all her savings, into something that gave so little in return, “when she could be spending her time travelling and enjoying life”. It seemed so irrational.

It was only when I read through the article that a realization dawned. It is a 6,000-word essay detailing my mother’s awesomeness with excessive reverence and adoration. Indeed, the title refers to her as “queen”. And then it came to me: in my mother’s line of work, she was practically a demigod. She was an authority. She received all the attention.

That was her motivation.

What seemed so incomprehensible before, now made perfect sense. It fed her narcissism. Simple as that.

Photo by Anton Darius on Unsplash

Then there is my own discard, something I have wrestled with my entire life, because for the longest time I could not see it clearly. I write about it in my book in some detail, but the short version is this: as a child I lived in a constant state of upheaval, the only consistent person in my life being my mother. I became an extension of her, and was in her good graces only as long as I provided her with the support she needed.

At the age of fifteen, faced with the prospect of my life being turned on its head again my another move, I dug in my heels and refused to go. I had been living in one location for three years (long, for me) and had begun to make friends.

Rather than adjust her life to fit my developmental needs, something that had never been a priority with my mother, she did a metaphorical shrug and left me behind. Sure, she set me up in a situation that might be construed as something dreamlike—at the age of seventeen I had my own house, part of which I rented out to tenants, and a car—but make no mistake, I had been discarded. Because I had refused to follow her, because I was no longer providing supply, I was sidelined, and no longer important.

And I was replaced. My mother decided at that point she would have another child. That child, my half-sister, became my replacement, and stepped into the role that I had so wantonly rejected. She became the Golden Child, and I was the scapegoat: the “difficult” one, the ungrateful one, the one with the mental problems.

All this appears to me through the lines of the article. The singular mention that my mother had another child is a passing reference to “her older daughter” and a trip we supposedly made together. Ironically, even that is incorrect—I did not go on that trip.

At the same time there are copious mentions of my mother’s other daughter, who each time is referred to by name—“her daughter L”, “tiny L”, “toddler L” etc., and finally just “L”.

My mention does not even award me a name. I’m “the older daughter”. The shadow child. The discarded daughter.

There it is. The narcissistic discard. Perhaps not noticeable to an outside observer reading that article and applauding my mother’s fantastic achievements. But to me it’s there, plain as day—and perhaps also to those others who have experienced the objectification and the dehumanization of being sourced for narcissistic supply.

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Dear readers, in my last post I thanked all of those who had commented, and given me feedback and encouragement on this writing journey. In so doing I completely failed to mention those of you who have my most ardent thanks: those of you who have pledged your financial support for this newsletter, and my writing. I am deeply touched. I have received notification of your pledges, but I don’t see a way to write to you personally to thank you—just know that I have received them, and that I am deeply grateful. 💓

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