Before the pandemic, I had only a vague idea of what a narcissist was. Like many other uninformed individuals, I assumed that narcissists were just people who were unbelievably obsessed with their own self-image. I was interested in Greek mythology as a child so of course, I had read the original myth about Narcissus. Narcissus was fabled to be a very handsome man, the son of a nymph and river god who was destined to live a long and happy life if he chose to never look at his own reflection. Well…after having his heart broken not only did he look he became so enamored with his reflection in a nearby pool of water that he ended up drowning himself. A flower is said to have bloomed beside the water bed bearing the same name as its predecessor, the Narcissus plant. I find this myth apt in my situation as my mother does indeed love flowers. Adores them even. Ever since I was a child I can remember her constant trips to and fro from Home Depot and the florist. Tulips, violets, roses, lilies, all types of flowers. Flowers are a perfect gift for any Nparent as they do not talk back and can be cut down and primed and placed in any way you please.
Growing up I always had a feeling that my mother disliked me greatly. I did not live up to her ultra-feminine standards of what a woman should be. I had no interest in the color pink, I did not want to wear jewelry, I didn’t like my relaxed hair, I didn’t jump at the chance to play Casita (house), I absolutely loathed dolls (I found their faces creepy and I suspected that their eyes followed you around the room.) To sum it up in layman’s terms in the eyes of my socially conservative-leaning Central American mother I was a failure. To remedy such a failure she made sure to insult and demean me at any possible opportunity. I was constantly reminded throughout my youth that not only was I fat and ugly but I was also unloveable. She would constantly go on and on about how no man would ever love me or on the other end of the spectrum how I most likely would find a wonderful husband since “men love them lazy good for nothing women!” I grew to dislike my mother greatly for she disliked me first. It was also apparent to me that for some strange reason she believed the two of us to be in constant competition with each other. It was one I could never win. I can recall her talking on the phone about how my father allegedly “spoiled” me by allowing me to nap in their bed for an extra 5 mins before my brother and I woke up every morning at 6 am to get ready to go to elementary school. She would make constant comparisons between my weight and her own and admonish me for putting on weight as I aged because she was never “that big” until she became pregnant. Never mind the fact that she’s still “that big” decades later because as we (maybe only me and a handful of other chubby people tbh as diet culture in the States shows no sign of ever stopping, unfortunately) know now weight loss cannot solely occur or be sustained via fad diets. Oh, and the fits of rage and constant beatings can’t forget about those. I am often envious of other people’s relationships with their mothers. I long for the love and acceptance I know my mother (both parents really) is incapable of giving. I used to think kind, loving, gentle parenting was just stuff they put on Disney Channel. A fantasy. Make-believe.
However, it is not fantasy or a flight of fiction. It is the reality of having a Black narcissistic mother.
