The Effects of Being Raised by a Narcissistic Mother

What we go through in childhood doesn’t just stay in childhood. It sticks with us, whether we want it to or not. Sometimes the problems we face as adults are tied to things that happened when we were little, even if at first glance they seem completely unrelated.

I didn’t realize it for the longest time, but so much of who I am today is shaped by the fact that I was raised by a narcissistic mother. And the effects? They run deep.

Like many others who grew up with abusive or toxic parents, I still carry scars. Some are obvious. Some are quiet and hidden, but they’re there.

I didn’t even recognize it as abuse until high school. That was when I stumbled across the term “narcissistic abuse.” I remember the shock of reading about it. The words matched my mother’s behavior almost perfectly. And it was terrifying but also validating at the same time.

Suddenly, my struggles made sense. All the puzzle pieces started to come together.

I’ve been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and even PTSD by different therapists over the years. But I personally believe I live with Complex PTSD. It’s not officially recognized in the DSM, but it fits me to a T. On top of that, I deal with eating issues, weight struggles, and health problems that I know trace back to the way I was raised.

Let me take you through it. Maybe you’ll see yourself in some of this. Or maybe it’ll help you understand someone you love.

Depression

Depression showed up early for me. By middle school, I was drowning in it. By my teenage years, it was at its absolute worst.

Suicidal thoughts weren’t occasional. They were daily. I would picture myself dying wherever I happened to be. Sitting in class. Walking home. Even lying in bed. The image of me disappearing or not existing anymore was always in my mind.

I cried nearly every day. I shut myself off from everyone. I spent hours locked away in my room. Except it wasn’t really my room. My mother took mine, so I shared one with my dad and sibling. I escaped into anime, video games, and daydreams where I imagined being someone else living a better life.

Things got a little better as I got older. The depression is still there, though. It sneaks up on me. Some mornings I don’t even want to get out of bed. Other days, the motivation is gone completely. And sometimes I just cry, and I don’t even know why.

There are moments when I flat out hate living. And I can’t explain it. It just happens.

Anxiety

Anxiety crept in during my teenage years too.

My social anxiety was brutal. Ordering food was a nightmare. Talking to strangers? Impossible. The older I got, the more self-conscious I became, and the worse it got.

It only started improving when life forced me into situations where I couldn’t avoid speaking. I had to testify in court. I had to talk to lawyers, social workers, and all sorts of people I never imagined I’d be able to. Slowly, I learned how to manage it better.

But still, I dodge phone calls when I can. I won’t answer the door if I don’t have to.

General anxiety though? That’s stronger than ever. My mind never stops running. I overthink everything. I stress about things way outside my control.

I worry about big things every single day. Should we have a child? Will my health ever get better? Will we be able to keep making ends meet?

And then when those thoughts quiet down, the little worries rush in. We’re out of milk. I haven’t finished my next blog post. Did I say something dumb yesterday?

It’s like a constant storm. My brain hops from one worry to another until my chest feels tight and heavy. Nothing gets solved. Just endless panic.

Sleeping Problems

Sleep is a stranger to me. My brain won’t shut off long enough for me to rest. I only fall asleep when I’m so exhausted I can’t fight it anymore.

And even then, nightmares take over. Not silly, forgettable dreams. I mean nightmares that feel so real I wake up shaking. I can taste, feel, and sometimes even experience pain in these dreams.

To make matters worse, I’m a light sleeper. The smallest sound or movement jolts me awake. And I wake up in panic.

One time, my brother-in-law’s dog jumped on the bed while I was asleep. I woke up crying and freaking out before I even realized what was happening. I think it goes back to how often I was jolted awake by my mother’s screaming or her beating me.

Even when the panic passes, the exhaustion lingers. I honestly can’t remember what a good night’s sleep feels like.

Emotional Flashbacks and Triggers

Depression and anxiety are tough, but these days my triggers feel worse.

Sometimes I’ll hear a tone of voice, or see a facial expression, and suddenly I’m spiraling. My body reacts before my brain can even make sense of it. Tears. Panic. Memories rushing back. These are called emotional flashbacks, and they hit hard.

One time, my husband yelled at an object as a joke. For a split second, I thought it was directed at me. My heart raced, my stomach sank, and tears welled up before I could even register what was happening.

On some days, I’m more sensitive than others. But the reactions still happen. And I hate that I can’t control them.

People-Pleasing

Here’s another big one. Whenever someone around me is upset, angry, or even just moody, I feel it in my chest. Heavy. Uncomfortable. Terrifying.

It doesn’t matter who it is. Even if it’s my husband, who has never hurt me. Even if it’s a character on TV. My body braces as if I’m about to get yelled at or hit.

If I think I caused someone’s bad mood? That’s even worse. I’ll avoid asking for help. I’ll hesitate to say no. I don’t want to risk upsetting anyone. I just want to be liked.

And yes, I know it’s impossible to make everyone like you. But my brain doesn’t care about logic in those moments.

Hypersensitivity to Criticism

Criticism wrecks me. Even small, random comments haunt me for days.

A store employee once yelled at me for cutting in line. I apologized, laughed it off, and moved. On the outside, I looked fine. Inside? I was shattered.

I replayed that moment over and over for days. I didn’t even realize I had done anything wrong. And every time I walked back into that store, I felt uneasy, scared I’d see him again.

That’s what it’s like. Tiny things feel huge. My brain won’t let it go. I replay them, magnify them, and torture myself with them.

The worst example? A post I made online once got a bunch of dislikes and rude replies. It shouldn’t matter. But I obsessed over it for over a year. Even now, it pops into my head. Random internet strangers haunted me more than they ever should have.

Perfectionism

Perfectionism is another beast I’ve carried since childhood.

It took me forever to get the courage to set up my blog. Even this post was hard to write. I keep thinking, “What if people hate it? What if I get negative comments?”

I reread everything I write a million times. I change it. Then I change it again. Even if it’s “good enough” today, tomorrow it might feel awful.

That voice in my head never stops telling me I could do better. No matter how many times I try to convince myself perfection doesn’t exist.

Eating Issues

Food was one of my mother’s favorite weapons. She used it to control me. If I behaved, I got food. If not, she starved me. And sometimes she deliberately gave me junk food just so she could call me fat later.

I didn’t even realize how twisted it was until I saw her do the same to my little sister.

Because of this, I developed a habit of overeating whenever I had food. I never wanted to feel hungry again. Even now, as an adult, I panic if the pantry looks empty.

And I still feel guilty when I say I’m hungry around other people. Like I’m asking for permission to eat.

Weight and Health Issues

Of course, those eating habits led to weight struggles. And with that came health problems like high cholesterol, insulin resistance, and hormonal issues.

I’ve been on diets that worked short-term but never lasted. I’ve always had irregular, painful periods. At 13, I bled so heavily for three months that I became severely anemic.

Later, I was diagnosed with PCOS. That explained the irregular cycles, difficulty losing weight, hair growth, infertility struggles, and more.

For years, it felt hopeless. But through consistent effort, I eventually lost weight and became healthier. For the first time in my life, I reached a healthy weight.

Still, it’s a lifelong battle. I know one slip into depression could drag me back into old habits. That fear never fully leaves.

Self-Consciousness and Insecurities

I grew up being called fat. By my mom. By her family. At school. It stuck with me.

Even after losing weight, I still struggle. I look in the mirror and see flaws. I walk outside and feel like people are staring.

My husband makes me feel beautiful, but I can’t always accept it. Sometimes, I feel unworthy of him. The comments from others don’t help. People assume he’s younger than me or that he’s “out of my league.”

The truth is, my self-image is so damaged that even real improvements don’t erase the insecurities.

Lack of Confidence and Self-Loathing

When you grow up being insulted constantly, you start to believe it.

I became extremely insecure. I apologized for everything. Even things that weren’t my fault. Compliments made me squirm. Mistakes made me feel like a failure.

Even now, I sometimes feel like writing about my struggles is just me seeking pity. But deep down, I know it’s not. I know I’m sharing my truth.

Self-Blame

This one is hard to admit. Sometimes, I wonder if it was my fault.

If I had been a better child, would she have treated me differently? If I wasn’t overweight, would I have been less depressed?

My mother used to say I was depressed because I was fat. And for a while, I believed her.

Even now, there are moments I feel guilty about cutting her out. Or about calling CPS. But then I look at my siblings. They’re safer. They’re happier. And I remind myself it wasn’t my fault. I was the child. She was the adult.

Lack of Purpose or Direction

For the longest time, I had no direction in life.

Dreams I had as a kid faded as I got older. I told myself I wasn’t good enough. I’d fail anyway, so why bother?

Eventually, my life revolved around taking care of my siblings. A therapist once told me that wasn’t healthy, but I didn’t know any other way to live.

My husband encouraged me to find something for myself. That’s when I started this blog. It became my small purpose.

Journey Toward Healing

All of this shaped who I am. Even now, years after cutting ties with my mother, the effects are still here. They probably always will be.

But I’m also healing. Slowly. Imperfectly.

There are good days and bad days. There are relapses. But there’s also growth. I’m healthier, happier, and more hopeful than before.

I don’t expect to ever “fully” heal. But I don’t need to. Life isn’t about being perfect. It’s about learning to live, to enjoy the good moments, and to keep going when it’s hard.

Conclusion

If you’ve read this far, thank you. Really. I wrote all this to show how deeply childhood abuse can impact someone’s life. But also to remind you that you are not alone.

We may have different experiences, but the feelings are real. The struggles are real. And healing is possible.

It won’t be easy. There will be setbacks. But every small step counts. Every tiny improvement is worth celebrating.

Your feelings are valid. What happened to you was not your fault.

Take it one day at a time. Be gentle with yourself. And never forget that you deserve healing and happiness.