Estrangement Diaries: A Recovery Journal: The emancipation of No Contact

No Contact is one option for survivors of narcissistic abuse. It is the most final, non-negotiable and unequivocal way of bringing closure (or the closest you'll ever get to closure) to a relationship which has no mutuality (and thus no realistically healthy future). In many cases, it is the only option in order for full recovery to happen. For me, it was my way of saying "I'm done. Enough is enough. It ends HERE." I had a few psychotherapy sessions during mid-2015, which helped a little, but the main thing I got out of them was the (belated) realisation that I was quite literally killing myself merely by continuing to have hope. I was still, even after all those years of crushing futility, pouring so much of my energy into a relationship that was so clearly doomed (indeed long-dead), and loving someone so desperately who had no intention of ever reciprocating in the way I needed.

It was time to let go. It was time for No Contact.

(In another post, I will examine other ways of dealing with narcissists, depending on the nature of the relationship - e.g. low or limited contact and 'grey rock'.)

My 'No Contact' start date was 25th May 2015. Officially, that's not quite correct, because I had resolved to do it a while before then (it's a very, very difficult and painful decision to make, especially as I am such a ridiculously forgiving person); and I did 'lapse' once by (very tersely) replying to an email from my mother just a few weeks after that (one that announced the birth of my estranged sister's baby).

My mother then sent me a letter by airmail a couple of months later (we live a bearable 14,500 km away from each other since I moved to Australia in 2013), which remains unopened in my drawer and which I should probably burn. (I will certainly never read it.) Apart from that, I haven't heard from her at all since I explained to her, via email in May 2015, that I have to cease all communication with her in order to heal from her "abusive, atrocious mothering". (No, I didn't hold back.)

The placable part of me would like to think she's simply respecting my wishes, but I know that's not the case. She knows I've sussed her out, and that I am absolutely not prepared to take any more of her heinous bullshit and poisonous mind games. (What she's telling her friends, of course, and I can almost hear her saying the words in that haughty, hectoring voice, is that "I have no intention of getting in touch with my daughter while she is being so irrational and unreasonable and disrespectful of my feelings". Because, as always, as with everything, it's about her. SHE is the important one in all this, and only HER feelings matter. Every time I have tried to talk to her about the stuff that really matters, it's been like howling into an arctic abyss.)

What my mother maybe doesn't know is the lengths to which I am prepared to go in order to expose her for what she is. Although anger is not an emotion I've ever been entirely comfortable with (I tend to get upset and tearful rather than angry), I do believe that "anger is a gift" when it's a wholly warranted and appropriate response, and used wisely in order to learn the lesson to its fullest. So while I do still feel rage burning in spasms like hellfire in my belly (although it's naturally, and mercifully, dissipating by the day), I am damn well going to use it. Not in a vengeful, vindictive way but in a constructive, dignified way.

This is the post I put on Facebook on 9th May 2015 (note: the "Happiness" bit is somewhat hyperbolic, as even now, almost a year later, I cannot say I am yet entirely happy - but I'm certainly getting there):

It's Mother's Day in Australia tomorrow. I will not be feeling bitter and disappointed about the heartless narcissistic abomination who gave birth to me, but blessed and thankful for the two amazing little boys who enrich my life beyond words, and for my small but close and loving family and the happy harmonious home we share together. It is, thank God, a million miles from the fractured, dysfunctional, unbearable hell of a 'family' I had for much of my childhood.

"How can you say such things about your own mother?"

"You only get one mother, you must treat her with respect"...

"You have to forgive your mum, whatever she's done, she won't be around forever"

...I've heard it all, invariably from people with normal mothers, mothers who LOVE them, and who therefore haven't got the first bloody clue about what incessant, grinding torture it is to live in the oppressive shadow of a mother who actively DESPISES you, who has nothing but the utmost contempt and resentment for you, and for your life choices, for your achievements as well as your mistakes, even for your own kids... A mother who finds sick solace in your pain and unhappiness. Try spending three decades being abused (physically, verbally, psychologically, emotionally), mostly using subtle but tried-and-tested and thus devastatingly effective methods, by a volatile, capricious, cunning, manipulative borderline-psychotic woman who is so terrifyingly adept at posturing, provoking, criticising, mind-fucking, guilt-tripping, denying and pretending, that for most of those three decades you are paralysed with fear, by the certainty that YOU are the one who is a crazy fuck-up, that your feelings and opinions really ARE unimportant, invalid even. That you're ugly, unloveable, insignificant, ludicrous, an embarrassment. That your birth is your mother's biggest regret. Your very existence appals her.

And through it all, that same monstrous 'mother' puts on a sickeningly convincing facade to the rest of the world, strenuously keeps up appearances so that everyone - including her close friends, people who assume they know her well - think that she is a wonderful, devoted mum, a lovely human being, indeed some kind of sainted martyr who deserves unwavering adoration and respect from her churlish, "ungrateful" children. Those 'friends of the narcissist' are TOTALLY oblivious to the fact that this 'wonderful, devoted mum' has actually made it her life's mission to tyrannise and ultimately systematically destroy those "ungrateful" children, chipping away at their self-worth bit by bit, day by day, year after year. The lie is so colossal, malicious and despicable I have no words to describe my disdain for it, and for anyone who is blinkered enough to believe it.

This is the reality of having a narcissistic mother. It is, without doubt, the worst thing a mother can be. A narcissist never changes, never apologises. They are essentially empty shells, ice-cold actors driven by ego and spite, dressed up as something misleadingly charming and endearing. The mask is so good that it can even fool the poor beleaguered child who has to live with her. Narcissistic mothers dole out pseudo 'affection' and ersatz token maternal niceties to their offspring on random occasions, which are eagerly seized upon and devoured by those emotionally ravenous children, to make them wonder, for a few precious moments, if they actually have it all wrong: maybe, just maybe, their mothers DO love them really, despite the frequent beatings (referred to, unforgivably, as 'discipline') and the insults, the snide insinuations and put-downs, the consistent invalidation and the cold shoulders. But there is no love - not a scrap of it. Only a fragile mirage of it. They don't even love themselves (despite the term 'narcissism'), and obviously that's the crux of the problem. If you can give birth to a child and yet fail to instinctively, whole-heartedly and unquestioningly put that child before yourself, to love and accept them unconditionally and with every fibre of your being, to be prepared to lay down your life for them in a heartbeat, then you are a failure not only as a mother but as a human being.

My "gift" for my "mother" this year is my Happiness, something she has tried - and ultimately failed - to sabotage, in hundreds of cruel and devious ways, for 30 years. So stick that in your 'peace pipe', mother, you insufferable hypocrite. I'm happy, I'm free of you FOREVER and you cannot hurt me any more. You are missing out on sharing in my happiness, in delighting in it as any normal mother would and SHOULD, because you are irredeemably withered up with hate; worse than that, hate masquerading as righteousness and spirituality. I truly pity you for that, and I pity your deluded clueless enablers who believe in your pathetic fabrications, and I pity the person I loved and trusted for nearly all my life, who is so caught up in your tangled web of malevolent lies and distortions that they, too, have abandoned and betrayed me.

What am I left with? A lot of hurt, confusion and unresolved anger, yes. But I also have wisdom, kindness, resilience, honesty, loyalty and the best, most supportive and beautiful family anyone could wish for.

I win, mother. You lose.