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.
