Thoughts on this post? Share them with me on Facebook, join the SPANily or Tweet me at @angieatkinson. ~Angie

My narcissistic mom was the kind of person who rationalized the decisions she made and the ones she forced on me with “if you don’t do this/if I do this, your father will kill him.”

She made me keep the secret of the neighbor who molested me at age 8. Truth was, I wanted my dad to kill him.

I remember when she told me she had an abortion, sometime after my younger brother was born in 1962 and before 1967 (that’s when they both got sober). She said she’d had the abortion because she became pregnant with a black man from the bar she hung out in and that she knew having a black baby would throw my dad over the edge.

I didn’t need to know that information and could have lived a lifetime without it.

I ended contact with my parents when my son was born in April of 2000. Their gambling addiction turned them into the same people they were when they were drinking and I had made a solemn vow to never live through that again.

Do you know how sometimes when someone gets sober, they start to see the light and start apologizing for their horrible treatment of the people around them?

Sadly, that wasn’t the case for her; sobriety didn’t cure my mom’s narcissism. She just chose to abandon us in a different way.

Grieving the Juiceman Juicer

And now, here I sit, grieving over the fact that I’m about to let go of a Juiceman juicer. I know, it’s weird – but I can’t seem to stop myself.

So why does letting go of the juicer cause me to grieve now? Because once upon a time in those 40 years of life, my mom actually rose to the occasion for eight weeks of my life and was a mom to me.

In hindsight, I realize that my dad most likely paid her to spend a 40 hour week to be my caregiver. But still, that is an unknown and she did help save my life administering the fairly grueling task of the Gerson Therapy. All I was able to do during those initial weeks of the treatment was lay on the couch and walk to the bathroom and do my own coffee treatments.

So the juicer that has been moved with me since 1991 and lived in eight different homes and garages was some sort of representation of having a real mom.

Today I am letting go of the juicer, and facing the reality of how very toxic my mother truly was.

Are you struggling with a narcissistic mother? Join our free support group for adult children of narcissists, right here.

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