Re: Introduction Post - My story with my BP mother (long!)

[Guest guest]

Dear Annie-

Thank you for your response. I have had similar feeling toward my Dad,

sometimes I would feel sad for him, pity him, and other times I would get mad at

him.

What makes me mad is how he chose to " take care " of my Mom, but not us. I mean

he loves my brother and I and has provided for my family, but he never took our

defense.

And by setting such a poor example, and letting my Mom get away with everything,

it was impossible to have sanity at home.

Like you, most of the physical abuse happend when my Dad was away. Only one time

he said something to my mother. I was around 9/10 years old, she wanted to

" teach " me how to fold sweaters. Every single sweater I tried to fold wasn't

good enough. So she started slapping me, over and over and over again. It seems

to have lasted forever.

After many attempts of trying to fold a sweater, and failing to meet my crazy

mother's standards, I was more and more of a mess, and ran out of my bedroom. My

Dad must have come early from work and I ran into him on the way out. He asked

me what happend and I said I couldn't fold sweaters.

He talked to my Mom and she later came to me and said something like " sorry I

was tired " .

A few times though he seemed to become the catalyst of my Mom's anger. Now I

think it was his own anger toward my Mom that he redirected toward me. He abused

me verbally and physically. The physical abuse happend only once. My Mom was

going through some crazy stuff, she was so freakin' mad at me, because I asked

if I could go on a week vacation with my friends in the summer. I was like 19

years old. I think he hit me because he just wanted the crazyness to end.

When I write this now, it is like it is someone else's story. I feel like I go

numb sometimes, or like it wasn't real, it never happend. It's just too crazy.

Coralie

[Guest guest]

I've found that it has helped me to create a " retro-journal " , a kind of diary of

every memory I can recall of my childhood. I write down the good memories as

well as the bad ones, even just memory fragments too, as they occur to me. I

just jot them down and don't worry about putting them in order at the moment, I

do that later. Sometimes a certain smell, or a scene in a movie or something

will trigger a memory fragment, and I keep a little notebook with me to jot

things down as soon as I can.

This has helped me to see patterns in my nada's behaviors and in my own

behaviors, and its helped anchor me in reality when I have felt that maybe I'm

being too sensitive or maybe I'm being cynical or something. Then I read my

retro-diary and remind myself that no, I'm not just making this stuff up, this

behavior has happened before, over and over again.

It also helps to start keeping a current journal of interactions with the

parents, for the same reasons. It allows you to act as your own witness and

validate your own experiences instead of drifting into denial or into

unrealistic expectations.

-Annie

>

>

> Dear Annie-

> Thank you for your response. I have had similar feeling toward my Dad,

> sometimes I would feel sad for him, pity him, and other times I would get mad

at him.

>

> What makes me mad is how he chose to " take care " of my Mom, but not us. I mean

he loves my brother and I and has provided for my family, but he never took our

defense.

> And by setting such a poor example, and letting my Mom get away with

everything, it was impossible to have sanity at home.

>

> Like you, most of the physical abuse happend when my Dad was away. Only one

time he said something to my mother. I was around 9/10 years old, she wanted to

" teach " me how to fold sweaters. Every single sweater I tried to fold wasn't

good enough. So she started slapping me, over and over and over again. It seems

to have lasted forever.

>

> After many attempts of trying to fold a sweater, and failing to meet my crazy

mother's standards, I was more and more of a mess, and ran out of my bedroom. My

Dad must have come early from work and I ran into him on the way out. He asked

me what happend and I said I couldn't fold sweaters.

> He talked to my Mom and she later came to me and said something like " sorry I

was tired " .

>

> A few times though he seemed to become the catalyst of my Mom's anger. Now I

think it was his own anger toward my Mom that he redirected toward me. He abused

me verbally and physically. The physical abuse happend only once. My Mom was

going through some crazy stuff, she was so freakin' mad at me, because I asked

if I could go on a week vacation with my friends in the summer. I was like 19

years old. I think he hit me because he just wanted the crazyness to end.

>

> When I write this now, it is like it is someone else's story. I feel like I go

numb sometimes, or like it wasn't real, it never happend. It's just too crazy.

>

> Coralie

>

[Guest guest]

coralie...your story is my story to a T

amy

Introduction Post - My story with my BP mother

(long!)

Hey Everyone!

I cannot tell you all how happy I am to have found you. I have been going to

therapy for the last 3 years for acute anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and what was

later diagnosed as PTSD by my therapist.

It has been a long journey, but I now know that my mother has a problem. My

therapist believes she has BP or NPD, or both of them mixed together.

She definitely fits the NPD portrait, because I feel like it's " all about her "

pretty much all the time. She is the queen of the house, her mood dictates

everything else.

It is still a struggle for me to incorporate the fact that my Mom has BP / NPD

to my life story; even though BP/NPD explain a LOT of things I have been through

with my mother.

I have always been afraid of her. She acts and feels like a child, screams a

lot, gets angry so easily about the smallest things. She has been abusive with

me, my brother, and my father, verbally and physically.

I don't know what hurts the most.

I remember the feeling that my mother wanted to destroy me, like I could feel

her deep hatred. I know it wasn't about me though.

At home she calls my Dad an " idiot " on a regular basis, and treats him like

crap. My Dad almost never stands up for himself, let alone protects us. My

brother is also in complete denial. This is definitely something that makes it

hard for me to accept the BP diagnosis.

Many times I have thought, " if she is not crazy, then surely I must be the crazy

one " .

My father and brother say that my Mom is " tired " , or " sick " or they pretend it's

just normal family life. NOT. As a kid, I remember thinking " Why is everyone

else's parent so calm and collected? Are they just putting on a show? "

I would almost never have friends over, because I was ashamed of her behavior,

and I knew she would scare them away.

She would either turn on the charm, and it would be fake and make me wanna puke,

or just be herself, screaming whenever she'd feel like it, because we did

" something wrong " .

She doesn't seem to think about the consequences of her behavior, she treats you

like shit one minute, and expect a hug the next.

One HUGE thing for me, that helped me realize that my Mom has BP is the

splitting behavior. You're either all good, or all bad.

She does this ALL THE TIME. With almost EVERYBODY.

You're the seventh wonder on earth one week, and the next week everything about

you is despicable.

It happens to me all the time too. It makes me sick.

And she goes through that with almost all her friends and acquaintances.

She doesn't understand nuances in people.

So it's often that she's met someone who is " so wonderful " , she will give this

person gifts, and time, and then when they end up disappointing her, and they're

worthless.

I have learnt to always always watch her, to be able to predict her crazy moods

swings and protect myself.

As a child she would slap me in the face on a regular basis, and would get angry

on a daily basis. Being around her is exhausting. I was always afraid of doing

something wrong, that would set her off, and definitely grew up with a " not good

enough " feeling inside of me. Oh and the shame. Big time.

As a kid though, I had strength, I knew deep down that there was no reason to be

so miserable in life, because my mother always seemed so scared and anxious

about the world. People were " out there to get you " , people were " two faced "

etc. My experience with strangers has taught me the exact opposite. That there

is a LOT of love out there.

I moved far way from her, she still is in France, and I am now living in New

York, working on my PhD thesis. Life is wonderful here, and so peaceful. I

cannot believe that there isn't the kind of crisis I had to go through

frequently: raging, blaming, and screaming.

I think a part of me is still worried I will have to go back to that shameful

place where I was terrorized regularly. That I will wake up from a dream.

One of the hardest things for me with BP is that my mother isn't always crazy.

She can be normal, for a few weeks. Sometimes even a couple months. In these

times, I want to forget all the horrors. And then it hits again.

Because of this, the NADA term is hard for me to use. Because she can be a

decent Mom, and she can ask about me, only it never lasts.

I remember reading in a post here " I wish she was crazy all the time, it would

make it easier " , and it sums up my thought exactly.

I told the exact same thing to my therapist numerous times. It is the switching

mode that is the hardest, from the time when you almost forget that she is

crazy, to the time where she goes nuts again. I can cry so much over this.

Since I left France, it seems that my mother has had one physical issue after

the next. She is sick with jaw bone inflammation, tooth infection, GI problems,

cold, sciatica, skin decease, fibromyalgia, depression, someone's doing black

magic on her, you name it.

The last few weeks, I have had her on the phone and of course it's all about

her. She barely asks me anything about my life. She is sick and feels like hell,

is so pissed off at everything, people are trying to take advantage of her and

she is the poor victim, she doesn't have any friends… same old, same old.

Sometimes she even ends up yelling at me as if I had become the person she is

mad at, it's ridiculous.

I have learnt to NOT give her what she wants anymore, to shorten conversations.

I realize that I have been afraid losing a sense of connection with her, but I

understand now it is better to have zero connection when she is that way, than

meeting her in crazy land.

It's all just so painful though. I will never have the mother I wanted. It

breaks my heart.

I know a lot of you are way beyond that point of realization, but for me it is

still so painful.

I am trying to change the role. You see I was granted the role of emotional

caretaker for my mother. I had to be there for her, be strong for her. She calls

me whenever she feels like crap, and she wants me to feel what feels, be an

extension of her almost. USED TO.

I have started to change this behavior about 2 years ago. It's a process, but I

am much much better at setting boundaries now. I am so sick and tired of being

used.

My therapist has advised me to not be in contact with her for at least a week,

and she called twice. She sounds nice again, " normal " again –yikes!- , asks

about me on the answering machine. I am thinking things will change only if *I*

make a change. But God it's hard. I'm putting myself first.

It is funny to me to read the terms " queen " , " hermit " , " witch " being associated

your NADAS, because they all apply so perfectly to her, she just seems to switch

roles at different times of her life.

I hope this post isn't too damn long for you guys. This is very emotional for

me.

Again, I am grateful I found this place of sharing and compassion.

I wish you all the best in your journey to recovery,

Love,

Coralie

[Guest guest]

Dear Annie-

It is funny that you mention writing in a diary because the act of writing has

been such a help throughout my life. I started writing when I was about 11 years

old. I remember the first thought on the first page of my diary, it was a

feeling of deep confusion.

I had to try and make sense of things, and by writing, I thought I could

understand human behavior better.

It has made me a very analytical person, always trying to figure things out,

especially when it comes to psychology.

I suspected my Mother of having looked into my diaries, she was never too good

with boundaries I guess, so when I moved out of my parents, around 18, to go to

College, I threw away all my diaries.

I didn't want to leave anything behind. Anything that would make me vulnerable.

About 4 years ago, a little bit before starting therapy, I started writing in my

diary again.

I like the idea of a retro diary very very much though. Why is it so easy for

KOs to doubt our own perceptions and memories so much?

I do it so often. And it's a problem with my work, where I have to remember a

lot of things, and feel " secure " about my point of view.

[Guest guest]

Coralie

 

One of the hardest things for me with BP is that my mother isn't always crazy.

She can be normal, for a few weeks. Sometimes even a couple months. In these

times, I want to forget all the horrors. And then it hits again.

Because of this, the NADA term is hard for me to use. Because she can be a

decent Mom, and she can ask about me, only it never lasts.

I remember reading in a post here " I wish she was crazy all the time, it would

make it easier " , and it sums up my thought exactly.

I told the exact same thing to my therapist numerous times. It is the switching

mode that is the hardest, from the time when you almost forget that she is

crazy, to the time where she goes nuts again. I can cry so much over this.

This switching mode is what took me so long to realize that anything was wrong

with her. I actually thought that she was the greatest mother in the world

because she was such a " martyr " . It does hurt and my disbelief relates to this

being a mental illness and not just that she is an adult child of an alcoholic.

I know I have the stigma about mental illness that I received from her as a

child. Suggesting that she was not " normal " of " crazy " would drive her over the

edge.

 

What I wanted to tell you to maybe provide some comfort is that you have come to

terms with this before you had children. I am assuming you don't kids. My

biggest regret and guilt come from knowing that I passed this on as codependent

behavior and thinking to my children who are almost grown.

Felicia Ward CPA

 

 

Subject: Re: Introduction Post - My story with my BP mother

(long!)

To: WTOAdultChildren1

Date: Wednesday, November 3, 2010, 8:19 PM

 

coralie...your story is my story to a T

amy

Introduction Post - My story with my BP mother

(long!)

Hey Everyone!

I cannot tell you all how happy I am to have found you. I have been going to

therapy for the last 3 years for acute anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and what was

later diagnosed as PTSD by my therapist.

It has been a long journey, but I now know that my mother has a problem. My

therapist believes she has BP or NPD, or both of them mixed together.

She definitely fits the NPD portrait, because I feel like it's " all about her "

pretty much all the time. She is the queen of the house, her mood dictates

everything else.

It is still a struggle for me to incorporate the fact that my Mom has BP / NPD

to my life story; even though BP/NPD explain a LOT of things I have been through

with my mother.

I have always been afraid of her. She acts and feels like a child, screams a

lot, gets angry so easily about the smallest things. She has been abusive with

me, my brother, and my father, verbally and physically.

I don't know what hurts the most.

I remember the feeling that my mother wanted to destroy me, like I could feel

her deep hatred. I know it wasn't about me though.

At home she calls my Dad an " idiot " on a regular basis, and treats him like

crap. My Dad almost never stands up for himself, let alone protects us. My

brother is also in complete denial. This is definitely something that makes it

hard for me to accept the BP diagnosis.

Many times I have thought, " if she is not crazy, then surely I must be the crazy

one " .

My father and brother say that my Mom is " tired " , or " sick " or they pretend it's

just normal family life. NOT. As a kid, I remember thinking " Why is everyone

else's parent so calm and collected? Are they just putting on a show? "

I would almost never have friends over, because I was ashamed of her behavior,

and I knew she would scare them away.

She would either turn on the charm, and it would be fake and make me wanna puke,

or just be herself, screaming whenever she'd feel like it, because we did

" something wrong " .

She doesn't seem to think about the consequences of her behavior, she treats you

like shit one minute, and expect a hug the next.

One HUGE thing for me, that helped me realize that my Mom has BP is the

splitting behavior. You're either all good, or all bad.

She does this ALL THE TIME. With almost EVERYBODY.

You're the seventh wonder on earth one week, and the next week everything about

you is despicable.

It happens to me all the time too. It makes me sick.

And she goes through that with almost all her friends and acquaintances.

She doesn't understand nuances in people.

So it's often that she's met someone who is " so wonderful " , she will give this

person gifts, and time, and then when they end up disappointing her, and they're

worthless.

I have learnt to always always watch her, to be able to predict her crazy moods

swings and protect myself.

As a child she would slap me in the face on a regular basis, and would get angry

on a daily basis. Being around her is exhausting. I was always afraid of doing

something wrong, that would set her off, and definitely grew up with a " not good

enough " feeling inside of me. Oh and the shame. Big time.

As a kid though, I had strength, I knew deep down that there was no reason to be

so miserable in life, because my mother always seemed so scared and anxious

about the world. People were " out there to get you " , people were " two faced "

etc. My experience with strangers has taught me the exact opposite. That there

is a LOT of love out there.

I moved far way from her, she still is in France, and I am now living in New

York, working on my PhD thesis. Life is wonderful here, and so peaceful. I

cannot believe that there isn't the kind of crisis I had to go through

frequently: raging, blaming, and screaming.

I think a part of me is still worried I will have to go back to that shameful

place where I was terrorized regularly. That I will wake up from a dream.

One of the hardest things for me with BP is that my mother isn't always crazy.

She can be normal, for a few weeks. Sometimes even a couple months. In these

times, I want to forget all the horrors. And then it hits again.

Because of this, the NADA term is hard for me to use. Because she can be a

decent Mom, and she can ask about me, only it never lasts.

I remember reading in a post here " I wish she was crazy all the time, it would

make it easier " , and it sums up my thought exactly.

I told the exact same thing to my therapist numerous times. It is the switching

mode that is the hardest, from the time when you almost forget that she is

crazy, to the time where she goes nuts again. I can cry so much over this.

Since I left France, it seems that my mother has had one physical issue after

the next. She is sick with jaw bone inflammation, tooth infection, GI problems,

cold, sciatica, skin decease, fibromyalgia, depression, someone's doing black

magic on her, you name it.

The last few weeks, I have had her on the phone and of course it's all about

her. She barely asks me anything about my life. She is sick and feels like hell,

is so pissed off at everything, people are trying to take advantage of her and

she is the poor victim, she doesn't have any friends… same old, same old.

Sometimes she even ends up yelling at me as if I had become the person she is

mad at, it's ridiculous.

I have learnt to NOT give her what she wants anymore, to shorten conversations.

I realize that I have been afraid losing a sense of connection with her, but I

understand now it is better to have zero connection when she is that way, than

meeting her in crazy land.

It's all just so painful though. I will never have the mother I wanted. It

breaks my heart.

I know a lot of you are way beyond that point of realization, but for me it is

still so painful.

I am trying to change the role. You see I was granted the role of emotional

caretaker for my mother. I had to be there for her, be strong for her. She calls

me whenever she feels like crap, and she wants me to feel what feels, be an

extension of her almost. USED TO.

I have started to change this behavior about 2 years ago. It's a process, but I

am much much better at setting boundaries now. I am so sick and tired of being

used.

My therapist has advised me to not be in contact with her for at least a week,

and she called twice. She sounds nice again, " normal " again –yikes!- , asks

about me on the answering machine. I am thinking things will change only if *I*

make a change. But God it's hard. I'm putting myself first.

It is funny to me to read the terms " queen " , " hermit " , " witch " being associated

your NADAS, because they all apply so perfectly to her, she just seems to switch

roles at different times of her life.

I hope this post isn't too damn long for you guys. This is very emotional for

me.

Again, I am grateful I found this place of sharing and compassion.

I wish you all the best in your journey to recovery,

Love,

Coralie

[Guest guest]

Coralie,

Welcome to the 'club'!

The part about my NADA that has driven me CRAZY over the years is the fact she

can go long stretches (years even) maintaining a healthy attitude toward people.

This was especially true during the periods she was on tranquilizers or booze.

Who knows what sets them off--but something sure does.

For a long time I thought she might be bipolar, but that didn't fit. Neither did

garden-variety alcoholism or substance addiction. It was only when I tripped

across BDP that I finally pegged her.

Even during her 'normal' periods she always aimed the guns at my dad and usually

a cat/dog that was out of favor. The verbal abuse against my dad is

astonishing--I would have belted her a long time ago if she was that direct with

me.

If your father stayed in the relationship, that provided your mother with enough

stability that perhaps some of the crazier things a BPD mom could do to you

never presented themselves.

Take heart, though: the fact that she had periods of normalcy are what is now

saving you. The fact she was able to be a nurturing mother at a certain period

in your infantcy is the only reason you are healthy enough today to be able to

do this process work. You can nurture yourself through this. If she hadn't, you

would probably be BPD yourself.

We so identify with our mothers as girls. The world around us likes to compare

mothers and daughters, too. How sick, really, when we have a mentally ill parent

whom we are trying to separate ourselves from copying. I even suspect my

grandmother was BPD/NPD. I never really conversed with her after childhood

because she disliked me intensely, but looking back on her behaviors this seems

like a fit.

>

> Hey Everyone!

>

> I cannot tell you all how happy I am to have found you. I have been going to

therapy for the last 3 years for acute anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and what was

later diagnosed as PTSD by my therapist.

>

> It has been a long journey, but I now know that my mother has a problem. My

therapist believes she has BP or NPD, or both of them mixed together.

> She definitely fits the NPD portrait, because I feel like it's " all about her "

pretty much all the time. She is the queen of the house, her mood dictates

everything else.

> It is still a struggle for me to incorporate the fact that my Mom has BP / NPD

to my life story; even though BP/NPD explain a LOT of things I have been through

with my mother.

>

>

> I have always been afraid of her. She acts and feels like a child, screams a

lot, gets angry so easily about the smallest things. She has been abusive with

me, my brother, and my father, verbally and physically.

> I don't know what hurts the most.

> I remember the feeling that my mother wanted to destroy me, like I could feel

her deep hatred. I know it wasn't about me though.

>

> At home she calls my Dad an " idiot " on a regular basis, and treats him like

crap. My Dad almost never stands up for himself, let alone protects us. My

brother is also in complete denial. This is definitely something that makes it

hard for me to accept the BP diagnosis.

> Many times I have thought, " if she is not crazy, then surely I must be the

crazy one " .

>

> My father and brother say that my Mom is " tired " , or " sick " or they pretend

it's just normal family life. NOT. As a kid, I remember thinking " Why is

everyone else's parent so calm and collected? Are they just putting on a show? "

> I would almost never have friends over, because I was ashamed of her behavior,

and I knew she would scare them away.

> She would either turn on the charm, and it would be fake and make me wanna

puke, or just be herself, screaming whenever she'd feel like it, because we did

" something wrong " .

> She doesn't seem to think about the consequences of her behavior, she treats

you like shit one minute, and expect a hug the next.

>

> One HUGE thing for me, that helped me realize that my Mom has BP is the

splitting behavior. You're either all good, or all bad.

> She does this ALL THE TIME. With almost EVERYBODY.

> You're the seventh wonder on earth one week, and the next week everything

about you is despicable.

> It happens to me all the time too. It makes me sick.

> And she goes through that with almost all her friends and acquaintances.

> She doesn't understand nuances in people.

> So it's often that she's met someone who is " so wonderful " , she will give this

person gifts, and time, and then when they end up disappointing her, and they're

worthless.

>

> I have learnt to always always watch her, to be able to predict her crazy

moods swings and protect myself.

> As a child she would slap me in the face on a regular basis, and would get

angry on a daily basis. Being around her is exhausting. I was always afraid of

doing something wrong, that would set her off, and definitely grew up with a

" not good enough " feeling inside of me. Oh and the shame. Big time.

>

> As a kid though, I had strength, I knew deep down that there was no reason to

be so miserable in life, because my mother always seemed so scared and anxious

about the world. People were " out there to get you " , people were " two faced "

etc. My experience with strangers has taught me the exact opposite. That there

is a LOT of love out there.

>

> I moved far way from her, she still is in France, and I am now living in New

York, working on my PhD thesis. Life is wonderful here, and so peaceful. I

cannot believe that there isn't the kind of crisis I had to go through

frequently: raging, blaming, and screaming.

> I think a part of me is still worried I will have to go back to that shameful

place where I was terrorized regularly. That I will wake up from a dream.

>

> One of the hardest things for me with BP is that my mother isn't always crazy.

She can be normal, for a few weeks. Sometimes even a couple months. In these

times, I want to forget all the horrors. And then it hits again.

> Because of this, the NADA term is hard for me to use. Because she can be a

decent Mom, and she can ask about me, only it never lasts.

> I remember reading in a post here " I wish she was crazy all the time, it would

make it easier " , and it sums up my thought exactly.

> I told the exact same thing to my therapist numerous times. It is the

switching mode that is the hardest, from the time when you almost forget that

she is crazy, to the time where she goes nuts again. I can cry so much over

this.

>

> Since I left France, it seems that my mother has had one physical issue after

the next. She is sick with jaw bone inflammation, tooth infection, GI problems,

cold, sciatica, skin decease, fibromyalgia, depression, someone's doing black

magic on her, you name it.

>

> The last few weeks, I have had her on the phone and of course it's all about

her. She barely asks me anything about my life. She is sick and feels like hell,

is so pissed off at everything, people are trying to take advantage of her and

she is the poor victim, she doesn't have any friends… same old, same old.

> Sometimes she even ends up yelling at me as if I had become the person she is

mad at, it's ridiculous.

> I have learnt to NOT give her what she wants anymore, to shorten

conversations.

>

> I realize that I have been afraid losing a sense of connection with her, but I

understand now it is better to have zero connection when she is that way, than

meeting her in crazy land.

>

> It's all just so painful though. I will never have the mother I wanted. It

breaks my heart.

> I know a lot of you are way beyond that point of realization, but for me it is

still so painful.

>

> I am trying to change the role. You see I was granted the role of emotional

caretaker for my mother. I had to be there for her, be strong for her. She calls

me whenever she feels like crap, and she wants me to feel what feels, be an

extension of her almost. USED TO.

>

> I have started to change this behavior about 2 years ago. It's a process, but

I am much much better at setting boundaries now. I am so sick and tired of being

used.

> My therapist has advised me to not be in contact with her for at least a week,

and she called twice. She sounds nice again, " normal " again –yikes!- , asks

about me on the answering machine. I am thinking things will change only if *I*

make a change. But God it's hard. I'm putting myself first.

>

> It is funny to me to read the terms " queen " , " hermit " , " witch " being

associated your NADAS, because they all apply so perfectly to her, she just

seems to switch roles at different times of her life.

>

> I hope this post isn't too damn long for you guys. This is very emotional for

me.

> Again, I am grateful I found this place of sharing and compassion.

>

> I wish you all the best in your journey to recovery,

> Love,

>

> Coralie

>

[Guest guest]

Coralie,

Your post was not too long. I think many of us can relate to that need to " get

it all out, however long it takes. " I know I do. It can feel embarrassing at

first, as it all spills out onto the page -- but one of the reasons it feels so

embarrassing is that we were brought up to stay silent, so anything we say tends

to feel like too much.

My mother always gave me mixed messages on this front. She would urge me to

talk, ask me questions constantly, from my earliest childhood so that I would

launch off into these long narratives in answers to her questions. Like most

kids, I was so happy to get attention that I did not realize she had an agenda:

Sometimes she made me talk so that she could prove to herself and others that

she had produced a smart and articulate child. And sometimes she made me talk so

that she could pluck information out of me -- what had happened that day at

school, who said what to whom. Then she could later use this information to make

me feel ridiculous and/or to say awful things about me or my friends. "

said THAT to you? That little bitch! Your friends are making fun of you right

this minute, as we speak. " ... Or " What? You only got a C on the test? Weren't

you paying attention? Or were you sitting there looking at Jaaaaaaaaames? " (In a

creepy mocking voice, because she had asked me if I liked any boys in seventh

grade, and I foolishly told her.)

So I got really good at talking, but also really afraid of talking, because my

own words would come back to taunt me and punish me. Now I say very little to my

nada because (a) she isn't listening and ( she takes offense at everything and

( I know better, but it took me fifty years.

So yeah. It's okay to spill, and spill and spill and spill. It won't feel like

this forever, but for a while, for however long it takes, there's a LOT in there

that has every right to come out.

[Guest guest]

Amy and Felicia, thank you both for your answers.

Amy, there is something strangely comforting about knowing that someone went

through the same hell as you.

Felicia, thank you for your response. It is probably never too late for you to

talk to your children and tell them about your upbringing and challenges?

My therapist thinks that I have trouble being at peace with the BP " diagnosis "

because it was strictly forbidden to criticize my Mother at home. She was and

still is the Queen. You don't criticize the Queen. There is NOTHING wrong with

her. So it is very threatening for me to be at peace with a BP diagnosis.

But if you ask me, and I take a deep breath, I will tell you that I know she

does have it.

It takes time though. Being able to talk about the abuse that went on at home

with my therapist took a long time. I felt horrible, like I was betraying her by

sharing family secrets that had to be kept secret.

But the secrecy is part of the bullshit. Part of the abuse.

So talk about it, write about it, get it out of you is my advice to you.

I do not have kids yet, no, but I always feared deep down having kids

-especially a daughter- and reproducing the model.

Only recently have I felt a cloud was lifted, and like it would be ok for me to

be a mother, I would be a good mother.

Unlike you, I have never thought my Mother was the greatest, ever. I was just

too scared of her. She was just too scary and brutal.

I think I fooled myself into thinking that " now, maybe things would be ok " , and

this belief was ingrained in me by my BP mother too. She would say things like

" once we move there, we'll be happy " , " once we build our own home we'll be

happy " etc etc.

I have read somewhere than when you have a positive role model in your life

aside from your BP parent, it determines whether you will be an overachiever or

self sabotage in your adult life.

I had the most wonderful grandparents, on both sides. I still have my maternal

grandmother, she is the kindest most generous person ever. I love her to death.

Every time I reach out to her, or she calls me, it is the same person, the same

kind normal person.

It is like my BP Mom is a child, emotionally, and my Grandmother is like the

rock, the protective parental figure.

But the switching, " going back to crazy- mode " is exhausting. It's like I am

upset at myself, for having believed once more, that things could maybe change

and be ok.

The awereness about my BP mother is a process though. I don't expect to change

from one day to the next, but I know I am " training myself " to find ways to

protect myself.

I take steps to get stronger. I refuse to let BP win.

Coralie

[Guest guest]

Wow. Yes. I learned pretty early on to keep what was close to my heart private

and not speak of things that really mattered to me to my mother. Like yours,

mine would use things I'd shared with her to mock me and humiliate me with at

some later point when she was pissed off at me and wanted to hurt me.

It never ceases to amaze me how similar a lot of our bpd/npd mothers' behaviors

are.

-Annie

>

> Coralie,

>

> Your post was not too long. I think many of us can relate to that need to " get

it all out, however long it takes. " I know I do. It can feel embarrassing at

first, as it all spills out onto the page -- but one of the reasons it feels so

embarrassing is that we were brought up to stay silent, so anything we say tends

to feel like too much.

>

> My mother always gave me mixed messages on this front. She would urge me to

talk, ask me questions constantly, from my earliest childhood so that I would

launch off into these long narratives in answers to her questions. Like most

kids, I was so happy to get attention that I did not realize she had an agenda:

Sometimes she made me talk so that she could prove to herself and others that

she had produced a smart and articulate child. And sometimes she made me talk so

that she could pluck information out of me -- what had happened that day at

school, who said what to whom. Then she could later use this information to make

me feel ridiculous and/or to say awful things about me or my friends. "

said THAT to you? That little bitch! Your friends are making fun of you right

this minute, as we speak. " ... Or " What? You only got a C on the test? Weren't

you paying attention? Or were you sitting there looking at Jaaaaaaaaames? " (In a

creepy mocking voice, because she had asked me if I liked any boys in seventh

grade, and I foolishly told her.)

>

> So I got really good at talking, but also really afraid of talking, because my

own words would come back to taunt me and punish me. Now I say very little to my

nada because (a) she isn't listening and ( she takes offense at everything and

( I know better, but it took me fifty years.

>

> So yeah. It's okay to spill, and spill and spill and spill. It won't feel like

this forever, but for a while, for however long it takes, there's a LOT in there

that has every right to come out.

>

[Guest guest]

" It can feel embarrassing at first, as it all spills out onto the page -- but

one of the reasons it feels so embarrassing is that we were brought up to stay

silent, so anything we say tends to feel like too much. "

Thank you very much!

Yep, the silence, the secrets... such important things in the BP world. At least

the one I was brought up in.

One of the last times I was in France, my BP Mom lashed out on me while I was on

the phone, and I don't think she realized that I was on the phone. She gave me

no occasion to say so, just knocked on my bedroom door and started yelling at

me. After a few minutes, I showed her the phone I was holding against my chest,

and she realized my BF probably heard the whole incident.

She was so mad afterwards, out of control, started crying telling me I should

have told her that my BF was on the phone, and went straight to my Father and

Brother, crying, feeling all victimy that someone heard her, and was comforted

by my Father and Brother for that.

My BF, who is american and doesn't understand french much, said he didn't know

what she was saying but was surprised at how " vicious " she sounded.

I will never forget that.

[Guest guest]

wow, that is like EXACTLY my situation.

NEVER NEVER NEVER share problems with her, anything she could use up against me

later.

If I shared problems I had with a Boyfriend, she couldnt handle it.

And she would paint him " all bad " later, distorting what I had said and making

it sound worse.

SO I can only share the easy stuff with her. I'm always on my guard.

> >

> > Coralie,

> >

> > Your post was not too long. I think many of us can relate to that need to

" get it all out, however long it takes. " I know I do. It can feel embarrassing

at first, as it all spills out onto the page -- but one of the reasons it feels

so embarrassing is that we were brought up to stay silent, so anything we say

tends to feel like too much.

> >

> > My mother always gave me mixed messages on this front. She would urge me to

talk, ask me questions constantly, from my earliest childhood so that I would

launch off into these long narratives in answers to her questions. Like most

kids, I was so happy to get attention that I did not realize she had an agenda:

Sometimes she made me talk so that she could prove to herself and others that

she had produced a smart and articulate child. And sometimes she made me talk so

that she could pluck information out of me -- what had happened that day at

school, who said what to whom. Then she could later use this information to make

me feel ridiculous and/or to say awful things about me or my friends. "

said THAT to you? That little bitch! Your friends are making fun of you right

this minute, as we speak. " ... Or " What? You only got a C on the test? Weren't

you paying attention? Or were you sitting there looking at Jaaaaaaaaames? " (In a

creepy mocking voice, because she had asked me if I liked any boys in seventh

grade, and I foolishly told her.)

> >

> > So I got really good at talking, but also really afraid of talking, because

my own words would come back to taunt me and punish me. Now I say very little to

my nada because (a) she isn't listening and ( she takes offense at everything

and ( I know better, but it took me fifty years.

> >

> > So yeah. It's okay to spill, and spill and spill and spill. It won't feel

like this forever, but for a while, for however long it takes, there's a LOT in

there that has every right to come out.

> >

>