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May 2025

Healing Journey Relationships

When Your Mother is the Source of Your Pain

May 10, 2025

I used to think I was the only one.

The only daughter who walked on eggshells in her own home. The only child who flinched at compliments, because they always came with a catch. The only woman who reached adulthood still waiting for her mother’s approval—only to realize it would never come.

But I’ve learned that daughters of narcissistic, emotionally abusive mothers are everywhere. We’re the ones who were told we were too sensitive. Too dramatic. Too much. Or not enough.

Some people talk about mother wounds like they’re metaphors. I talk about them the way I remember them: as facts. As scars. As quiet rooms filled with loud silence. As teenage memories of being insulted in public, gaslit in private, and shamed into obedience with a smile on her face for the neighbors to see.

Let me be clear:
This isn’t about revenge.
It’s about release.

For years, I thought I had to keep the peace—even if it meant keeping my pain a secret. I thought being a good daughter meant staying quiet, showing up, and swallowing the disrespect as long as she needed me. But the truth is, keeping peace with someone who thrives on control is not peace. It’s submission.

And daughters like us?
We’ve submitted long enough.

So how do you deal with a narcissistic mother?

You don’t try to change her.
You stop letting her change you.

You start setting boundaries—not as punishments, but as acts of self-respect. You stop explaining yourself to someone committed to misunderstanding you. You stop shrinking, fawning, and second-guessing your worth. And when she says, “After everything I’ve done for you…” you remind yourself that love is not a transaction, and obligation is not affection.

If you’re tired, I see you.
If you’re healing, I stand with you.
If you’ve lost family for telling your truth—welcome. You’re not alone here.

This is the kind of honesty I’ve poured into my memoir, We’re Not Monsters.
Not because I’m bitter.
But because I’m done pretending I’m fine when I’m not.

We were never the problem.
We were just the ones brave enough to name it.

Healing Journey Relationships Well-Being

5 Painful Truths I Learned From My Toxic Mother

May 7, 2025
An image of a black woman looking out a window

I didn’t learn to grieve my mother until I stopped expecting her to change.

Growing up, I spent years twisting myself into someone more acceptable. Quieter. More helpful. Less emotional. More obedient. I thought if I could just make myself small enough, easy enough, invisible enough—she might finally love me without hurting me.

But narcissistic mothers don’t need you to be good.
They need you to be dependent.
They need you to reflect their image—not become your own.

Here’s what I’ve learned after years of healing:

1. She was always the loudest voice in the room—until I found mine.

My childhood was filled with her opinions, her needs, her chaos. There wasn’t much space for me to become anyone separate. When I started speaking up, setting boundaries, or simply saying no—she took it as betrayal. But that voice I found? It saved me.

2. Criticism was her love language.

Nothing was ever quite right. There was always something to fix: my body, my tone, my choices, my face. Compliments were rare, and when they came, they were booby-trapped with backhanded digs. I stopped trying to earn approval and started building self-respect instead.

3. She never said sorry—so I had to stop expecting it.

There was always an excuse, always someone else to blame. Apologies never came. I wasted years waiting for closure that would never arrive. Learning to live without it has been one of my deepest griefs—and one of my greatest freedoms.

4. She called me too sensitive—but I wasn’t. I was unprotected.

I used to think something was wrong with me for feeling things so deeply. But now I see that my empathy, my softness, my intuition—they were all signs of strength, not weakness. What I needed was safety, not shame.

5. Her love came with terms and conditions. Mine doesn’t.

With her, love was earned. With my own child, it is given freely. I mother differently now—softly, intentionally, with presence instead of power. And that, in itself, is a revolution.

I wrote my memoir, We’re Not Monsters, for women like me—daughters of mothers who never really saw them, who turned their pain inward, and who are finally learning how to stop apologizing for surviving.

If you’re walking this path too, know this:
You’re not ungrateful.
You’re not broken.
You’re becoming whole—on your own terms.

📚 Ready to go deeper?
My memoir We’re Not Monsters is available here.
You can also follow my journey on Instagram at @ZenTenkamenin.