Mummy dearest? No, I never want to see her again
She was obsessed with money and status but didn’t show her children a shred of affection. Now, in this devastating account, one damaged daughter tells why she’s cut off her mother for ever
both lies about the other, keeping us at loggerheads.
I don’t know how my life would have turned out if I hadn’t met my lovely English husband Iain when I was 37, and later, moved to England to be with him and retrain as a psychologist.
After being so sure that I didn’t want children, I gave birth to my son James in 1999 and his brother Ollie three years later. The love I felt for them was overwhelming although I was glad that they were both boys. After my dreadful relationship with my mother, I was terrified of having a daughter.
With Iain’s love and support, I slowly conquered the bulimia and with therapy, I managed to work through the complicated feelings I had about my childhood.
I also faced my fears about becoming a narcissist myself. I was terrified that I’d subconsciously learned to be in some ways like my mother.
But although I’ve inherited her temper, I can now see we’re not at all alike. My children are the centre of my world and always have been. I’m happy when they’re happy and that’s the way it should be.
It was important to me that my parents got to know their only grandchildren, and I made regular trips back to Holland. Not that there was much of a rapport. Papa was sweet enough with them, I guess, but Mummy soon grew bored with running around after little boys.
Over the years, I grew closer to my sister, Anneke, who revealed how much she hated our mother. She died of lung cancer five years ago. She was only 52 and her life hadn’t been a happy one. I lost my brother Janjo too, in 2008 when a heart condition he’d had since birth got the better of him.
Without the anchors to my family, I felt it was time to set myself free. ‘I can’t be part of your lives any more,’ I told my parents over the phone one night.
They tried to reason with me, my mother’s voice rising with rage, but after a lifetime of doubt, I was suddenly sure.
The last time I saw my parents was at my brother’s funeral in 2008. Papa died last year, and although I didn’t get to say goodbye, I definitely felt some grief. I even called my mother to check how she was — but that was it. I’ve had no contact with her since.
I haven’t been tempted to call her during the pandemic either — I don’t care how she is.
If that sounds harsh, I make no apologies, because until you’ve dealt with a narcissist, it’s impossible to describe the relief of finally breaking away.
From Victim To Victor by Dr mariette Jansen is available on Amazon for £12.95 (paperback) and £7.26 (Kindle).