Toxic Benevolence: How Narcissistic Parents Weaponize Concern

Wies, I never want to hear the phrase "after everything I've done for you" ever again. I'm very aware of what you've done to me and if you would have had to walk in my shoes you'd be long dead.

1. Alone in the Dark

For much of my 30s, I went through an extremely dark and destabilizing period. The weight of unresolved trauma began to catch up with me, leading to a gradual withdrawal from life and a deepening spiral into anxiety, despair, and disconnection. In that vulnerable state, I became susceptible to substance dependence. At first, the substances seemed to dull the emotional pain and quiet the chaos inside me. But by the age of 35, what began as a form of self-medication quickly escalated into severe addiction that caused me to lose control over both my personal and professional life.

This descent continued until I experienced two severe drug-induced psychotic episodes. The first required psychiatric intervention and medication, and the second necessitated hospitalization. These were the most frightening and disorienting experiences of my life. It was during this critical period, when I was most in need of compassion, stability, and connection, that I was met instead with emotional detachment, invalidation, and silence.

"Handlarz et al⁵ studied drug addicts and their families and observed general characteristics common to all substance-dependent patients. Among these were vulnerability of personality and ego weakness, absent father, narcissistic mother, disaggregation of the family, and pathological communication among family members."
Source: Baron, D., Abolmagd, S., Erfan, S., & El Rakhawy, M. (2010). Personality of mothers of substance-dependent patients. Journal of multidisciplinary healthcare, 3, 29–32. https://doi.org/10.2147/jmdh.s5693

My mother refused to be involved in my care, and never once visited me in the hospital. My younger brother, although initially supportive, later proved unable or unwilling to contextualize the reality of my condition, decided that a difficult phone call, made at the height of my psychosis, was enough reason to sever ties indefinitely. There was little evidence of empathy or concern from either of them, only rejection, moral judgment, and distance, at a time when I was fighting for my sanity.

Even in the depths of that crisis, I could sense I was being treated unjustly. Regardless of my past mistakes or turbulent life path, no one deserves to feel expendable when they are suffering. Looking back, I now recognize a recurring pattern in my family system: conditional acceptance. I felt loved when I was functional, compliant, or "easy to deal with", but when I was in need, struggling, or emotionally raw, I was met with abandonment or contempt. At the time, I lacked the language and understanding to articulate what was happening, or to recognize that this was not normal, that this was not love.

With time, support from true friends, and the necessary distance from toxic dynamics, I eventually recovered from psychosis and addiction. I regained clarity, discontinued medication, and slowly rebuilt my inner world. But as my mind healed, it also became sharper, more capable of discerning patterns that had long gone unnoticed. I began to research extensively, and what I found confirmed what I had long suspected: I am an adult survivor of narcissistic parenting. That insight, once seen, cannot be unseen.

The letter I share in this post was written by my mother during one of my most vulnerable moments, just after I was discharged from the hospital, still fragile and in the early stages of recovery. In sharing it now, I am doing what she has done many times to me: making private correspondence public. She has previously disclosed strictly private messages from me, often taken from times when I was severely ill or emotionally reactive, stripped of context, and shared them selectively in ways that painted me as unstable or malicious. This, I know, was a deliberate act to undermine my credibility and isolate me from others.

Publishing this letter is not an act of vengeance, but of clarity. It serves as a case study in emotional manipulation, doublespeak, and narcissistic communication. I have annotated it to highlight recurring rhetorical tactics that reflect a broader pattern, one that I believe many other adult survivors will recognize. This is not just about my story, but about exposing a dynamic that thrives in silence and ambiguity. My intention is to reclaim my voice and offer transparency, not to smear — but to shed light on behavior that relies on shadows.

2. The Letter

Daan,

As promised, I’m sending you a somewhat longer message now. It seems that you’re now viewing reality a bit more clearly than almost a year ago, when you suddenly showed up in the living room in Oegstgeest, fleeing from your house because you felt extremely threatened by the MIVD, CTIVD, and who knows who else. That afternoon, you went to The Hague to file a report with the CTIVD about threats.

Shortly after, I let you know that I could no longer go along with this complicated story. In the months that followed, things kept spiraling further downward for you, and you got swept up in a mad rollercoaster. Unfortunately, you were extremely persistent in your beliefs and delusions, and you wouldn’t tolerate even the slightest contradiction. There was no way to communicate with you anymore.

Eventually, you made a decision over something unrelated (items from the attic at Ridderspoorlaan) that our bond wasn’t right, because I supposedly didn’t support you as a mother and always pressured you. You slammed the door shut; afterward, you sent a few more messages via Signal saying this really was the last message.

Your brother went through more or less the same: he was verbally attacked with diseases and curses over WhatsApp when he told you that your daily reality is far removed from his and that he couldn’t deal with the kind of messages you were sending at the time.

We both stopped responding. Not even to messages saying you were going to Indonesia. You must understand that after everything we had done for you, we felt deeply cast aside and that we withdrew for our own protection. No one wants to be on the receiving end of such ugly and, in our view, unfair rejections — even if they come from someone who is ill, very ill mentally. Because we are well aware of that. The whole situation is incredibly painful. And your ‘offer’ that we could maybe say goodbye sometime before your departure felt very unpleasant, because you had already taken that chance from me back in July last year when you unilaterally cut off contact.

So, no — I’m not jumping for joy that you’ve now reinitiated contact, even though the tone is different and comes with a promise of improvement. To be honest, it was actually quite liberating to not have to deal with your madness for a while. I’ve been retired for three years now, after working hard for many years to provide everything for everyone. And I needed that peace. Instead of rest, I was handed a lot of misery, and that’s why the past six months of calm were quite welcome. Now that my move is completed and I’m settled into a new environment, I also hope not to experience more distress coming from you.

So much for the past. Now the present and the future.

As stated above, you seem to have a clearer view of your situation now. You seem to accept that you’re schizophrenic or have been in a years-long psychosis. We already knew that, but you didn’t want to hear it. “No, mom, this is real!” Now recognizing it is the first step, and at age 38, it’s about time. More and more years of your life have passed, spent in unnecessary suffering. I wonder whether you already had a predisposition for schizophrenia or whether it was caused by brain damage due to drug use. Either way, pointing fingers is useless — and even if that’s how it happened, it’s already done and cannot be undone. What matters now is HOW you deal with it.

You’ve said before that you felt well on medication — like after your voluntary admission two years ago in Utrecht to beat your addiction. Sadly, a trip to Portugal caused you to take your medication irregularly again just before starting a new job, and you quickly fell apart again, this time with devastating consequences. You risked and lost so much — above all, the trust in you and in your will and ability to genuinely return to a more normal life.

Now, yet again, you want to get your life back on track. Find a job, because you finally feel strong enough. I cannot stress enough that this time you are doomed to be absolutely consistent — probably for life — in taking your medication. That is, if you still want to make something of your life. You say the current meds seem to work — so no more talk about side effects (which of course exist), and do not decide on your own to taper off or switch to something else you found online (even if you know so much about it by now). In short: take it seriously, because life is not a game — it’s deadly serious. That may be your only salvation. No more gateways to hell. Don’t give in to the temptation of substances you know you shouldn’t touch anymore. Embrace life and take on the challenge.

We are only bystanders. We stood and watched, kept in touch, and extended helping hands — sometimes against our better judgment. But now YOU are the protagonist who must carry out this task yourself. A big, important, and heavy task. You are very intelligent — use that intelligence to make it happen. Sliding downward is easier than climbing back up. But I know for sure you can do it with the right mindset. Make it happen. Stick with it. Let the recovery be long-lasting — for good. It’s still possible. But it’s YOUR move. And only then can you regain our trust as well.

It’s very unfortunate that you are now financially under the municipality’s guardianship. But perhaps also a good thing, because it will be harder for you to make bad decisions — and it may get you back into a stable financial position more quickly. I wish you great strength with the path you are setting out on.

With joyful expectation, I once carried you under my heart and gave you life — you are and will always be my son, and you remain in my heart. Still, I feel it’s better if we don’t meet just yet. I’d like to propose that, for now, we keep each other regularly informed in writing via email. It may seem harsh, but actual meetings can come later. So it’s not a rejection — just a pause.

I wish you all the best,
Wies

3. The Language

On the surface, this letter may appear relatively normal, a concerned message from a family member expressing frustration, followed by a gesture of well-wishing. Given that my life had indeed become chaotic for a period, marked by substance dependence and culminating in two severe psychotic episodes, such a response might initially seem proportionate or understandable.

However, not everything is as it appears. While it is natural for loved ones to feel overwhelmed or distressed by the behavior of an adult family member in crisis, there remains a clear distinction between a healthy, supportive response and a toxic, self-serving one. What follows is a close, structured analysis of the letter’s content and tone, highlighting how narcissistically inclined individuals often betray their underlying motives, not through overt cruelty, but through subtle rhetorical devices, emotional sleight of hand, and carefully veiled contempt.

By unpacking these nuanced patterns, we can better understand the covert nature of emotional abuse and the language of manipulation that often goes unnoticed.

1. “There was no way to communicate with you anymore”

The statement reflects a subjective perception, not an absolute truth.

Clinically and ethically speaking, there is almost always a way to communicate with someone experiencing a psychotic episode — but it requires a specific approach. Psychosis alters perception and reasoning, but it does not eliminate the person's humanity or their need to be treated with respect, safety, and dignity. Effective communication during psychosis is possible when done with:

Validation of experience without reinforcing delusions: acknowledging how distressing or real an experience feels — without agreeing with the false content — maintains rapport and reduces escalation.
Calm, non-threatening tone and simple language: psychotic individuals may misinterpret intent. Using clear, non-confrontational communication lowers the chance of miscommunication and paranoia.
Maintaining emotional connection, not logical argumentation.

Trying to argue facts or "prove wrong" often backfires. Instead, emphasizing safety, care, and concern is more effective. Which is exactly how my close friends who supported me through my psychosis and healing process handled my delusional commentary - and calmed me down in no time.

2. “because I supposedly didn’t support you as a mother and always pressured you”

This phrase is not a fair comment because it disregards longstanding and consistent experiences I had in the decades before psychosis.

By framing my reasons as merely “supposed” and tied to a psychotic break, it invalidates the legitimacy of prior feelings and experiences that have been built up over years or decades — with clarity, emotional awareness, and valid psychological basis. I expressed concerns about chronic pressure or lack of support long before any psychotic episode, and those concerns are not reducible to illness.

To conflate my lifelong relational grievances with the effects of a temporary mental health crisis is a minimization — whether conscious or unconscious. It dismisses the valid roots of the rupture in the relationship and undermines meaningful accountability.

My reasoning had a legitimate foundation that should have been addressed on its own terms — not filtered solely through the lens of mental illness.

3. "Your brother went through more or less the same: he was verbally attacked with diseases and curses over WhatsApp when he told you that your daily reality is far removed from his and that he couldn’t deal with the kind of messages you were sending at the time."

To begin with, this commentary rewrites history to make it seem as if I'm the one that started with verbal abuse.

If someone is in their 30s who should be reasonably emotionally mature, it is not appropriate — let alone constructive — to respond to a psychotic sibling by shutting them down or escalating with verbal aggression. Saying things like wishing someone a painful, lonely death is not just disproportionate — it is emotionally abusive, regardless of the provocations.

Psychosis is not willful misbehavior. It is a clinical state in which perception, thought, and emotional regulation are disrupted. This calls for containment, empathy, and de-escalation, not retaliatory hostility. Even if you initiated verbal hostility — in a state of distress — a healthier response would have been to:

Set boundaries without contempt (“I’m worried about you, but I can’t handle these messages right now”),
Express concern or suggest help (“I think you might be going through something serious; you may need support”),
Or at the very least, disengage without cruelty.

So while it's true that psychotic individuals can say harmful things, the onus is greater on others — especially family — to respond with responsibility and perspective. That does not mean tolerating abuse, but it does mean recognizing the context of mental illness and not escalating it with dehumanizing responses.

I am not absolved from responsibility for my words, but neither is my brother. His reaction was not appropriate, and he should have known better.

4. "We both stopped responding. Not even to messages saying you were going to Indonesia. You must understand that after everything we had done for you, we felt deeply cast aside and that we withdrew for our own protection. No one wants to be on the receiving end of such ugly and, in our view, unfair rejections — even if they come from someone who is ill, very ill mentally."

This statement reflects a self-protective stance, but it also contains emotional distortion and unfair implications.

- “We both stopped responding.”
This may have been self-preserving, but in the context of someone experiencing a psychiatric crisis, withdrawal can intensify abandonment feelings and worsen the crisis. Silence, especially from close family, can feel like confirmation of deep fears of isolation or betrayal, even if well-intentioned.

- “After everything we had done for you...”
This is one of the most well-known phrases used by narcissists. And in this case a form of gaslighting, since there was no "we" giving the care I had received - it had come only from my brother who early on stayed with me at my home for a night when I was in crisis. The phrasing also veers into conditional love framing. True support, especially during mental illness, isn’t invalidated by difficulty or rejection. If the relationship is transactional, "we helped you, therefore you owe us perpetual gratitude and composure", then it ignores the asymmetry of need and capacity during crisis.

- “We felt deeply cast aside...”
That feeling would normally be valid but again, framing it as a betrayal rather than a symptom of distress or trauma expression misplaces blame. The key difference lies in taking it personally versus understanding it clinically.

- “Ugly and unfair rejections — even if they come from someone who is ill.”
This is especially problematic. It acknowledges illness but still couches my actions as intentionally cruel, as if being mentally ill does not change the emotional meaning or interpretation of behavior. It tries to hold both positions at once: "you're sick, but we're still hurt and it's your fault", which is emotionally incoherent and unfair.

This paragraph reveals a true lack understanding of severe mental illness. Withdrawal can be understandable, but the framing here minimizes context, oversimplifies complex dynamics, and uses emotional moralism instead of compassionate realism. Interpretations are skewed by self-focus over insight leading to toxic commentary, especially when viewed through the lens of trauma, mental illness, and family dynamics.

Here’s why:

Emotional invalidation disguised as concern
They acknowledge my illness only to dismiss its significance. Saying “even if they come from someone who is ill” suggests my actions should still be judged by neurotypical standards, which is deeply invalidating in a psychiatric context.
Self-victimization and guilt-tripping
“After everything we had done for you…” frames support as debt-based care. This manipulates the emotional narrative to position themselves as wronged caretakers, rather than relational participants in a two-sided dynamic. It’s a classic narcissistic script: “Look what you did to us, after we helped you.”
Abandonment rationalized by blame
Saying “we withdrew for our own protection” shifts responsibility away from them while offering no accountability for the damage caused by that withdrawal. In crises, abandonment can cause profound harm — rationalizing it with moral superiority makes it worse.
Covert gaslighting
The commentary subtly rewrites the past, conflating psychotic symptoms with lifelong behavior patterns and undermining the validity of my past grievances by lumping them into “ugly and unfair rejections.” This is intended to erode my trust in my own memory and intentions — a textbook gaslighting mechanism.
No empathy, no curiosity, no repair
There is zero attempt at genuine understanding. No questions, no humility, no acknowledgment of their own role in the relational rupture. That absence of reflection — paired with a cold, moralizing tone — is emotionally corrosive.

The commentary cloaks emotional cruelty in the language of boundary-setting and self-protection. That’s what makes it not just unkind, but psychologically damaging if internalized.

5. "So, no — I’m not jumping for joy that you’ve now reinitiated contact, even though the tone is different and comes with a promise of improvement. To be honest, it was actually quite liberating to not have to deal with your madness for a while. I’ve been retired for three years now, after working hard for many years to provide everything for everyone. And I needed that peace. Instead of rest, I was handed a lot of misery, and that’s why the past six months of calm were quite welcome. Now that my move is completed and I’m settled into a new environment, I also hope not to experience more distress coming from you."

This is not a psychologically healthy or appropriate way for a mother to speak about or treat a psychotic child — regardless of history. The passage contains multiple elements that are emotionally cold, self-centered, and dehumanizing, especially considering the vulnerability of a child experiencing psychosis.

- “It was actually quite liberating to not have to deal with your madness for a while.”
This is cruel and stigmatizing. “Madness” is a demeaning term that objectifies the person and reduces them to their illness. It expresses relief in my suffering, framing my breakdown as a burden lifted from her life — not a tragedy that befalls her child.

- “I’ve been retired for three years... Instead of rest, I was handed a lot of misery...”
This reframes a psychiatric crisis as an inconvenience to her lifestyle. It positions herself as the true victim, with no acknowledgment of the child’s pain or need for compassion. Parenting — even of adult children — does not come with the right to opt out of empathy once it becomes difficult.

- “Now that my move is completed... I hope not to experience more distress coming from you.”

This implies that my existence, my illness, and my outreach are threats to her comfort. It effectively weaponizes her peace against my attempts at reconciliation or recovery. It reinforces conditional love: “I’ll accept you, but only if you don’t bring distress.”

No loving parent would write or say this if they understood psychosis or unconditional love. Even in complex histories, compassion, not contempt, should define the boundary. If limits need to be set, they can be done without cruelty.

What’s expressed here is emotional detachment, narcissistic framing, and punitive boundary-setting that caused further psychological harm. This is not normal, not healthy, and not what a child in crisis — of any age — deserves from a parent.

6. "As stated above, you seem to have a clearer view of your situation now. You seem to accept that you’re schizophrenic or have been in a years-long psychosis. We already knew that, but you didn’t want to hear it. “No, mom, this is real!” Now recognizing it is the first step, and at age 38, it’s about time. More and more years of your life have passed, spent in unnecessary suffering. I wonder whether you already had a predisposition for schizophrenia or whether it was caused by brain damage due to drug use. Either way, pointing fingers is useless — and even if that’s how it happened, it’s already done and cannot be undone. What matters now is HOW you deal with it."

This is unfair messaging. It is dismissive, presumptive, and psychologically damaging — especially in light of the fact that I do not have a schizophrenia diagnosis, and it's one example out of many of how my mother's frequently implies there had somehow always been something wrong or defective about me. Lets examine the paragraph's issues:

Premature diagnostic certainty
The statement “you’re schizophrenic or have been in a years-long psychosis” is delivered with assumed absolute authority, despite no formal confirmation and in a tone that closes the door to any nuance. That’s reckless and inappropriate — especially coming from a non-clinician parent.

Pathologizing disagreement
Quoting “No, mom, this is real!” as evidence of denial reinforces the idea that disagreeing with her is proof of illness. This is a classic gaslighting maneuver — using doubt or noncompliance as retroactive justification for diagnosing someone.

Age-shaming and blaming
Phrases like “at age 38, it’s about time” and “spent in unnecessary suffering” are judgmental and demeaning. They suggest that I wasted my life through my own error, ignoring the systemic, emotional, and familial contributions to my suffering that overwhelmingly had to do with my mother's narcissistic parenting during our childhood and adolescence.

Covert accusation and shaming through speculation
“I wonder whether you already had a predisposition or whether it was brain damage from drug use” is speculative shaming. It masks blame in the form of innocent curiosity while still framing me as biologically or morally defective — proof of the earlier note of her persistent narrative that "something was always wrong with you."

Lack of accountability
She positions herself as knowing all along — without ever questioning how her behavior may have contributed to my struggles, including trauma-induced breakdowns. This is deflection dressed up as concern.

False closure and coercion
Saying “pointing fingers is useless” only after laying all blame at my feet is a manipulative rhetorical trap. It sets the narrative, imposes guilt, then declares the conversation over before I can speak.

This is not fair, loving, or psychologically sound communication. It’s controlling, pathologizing, and loaded with subtle contempt. I'ts deeply invalidating, especially since the fact is that I do not have schizophrenia but she loves to pathologize me. This messaging reflects a longstanding pattern of undermining my autonomy, rewriting my reality, and moralizing my struggles. Not just unfair, but toxic and emotionally abusive.

7. "Now, yet again, you want to get your life back on track. Find a job, because you finally feel strong enough. I cannot stress enough that this time you are doomed to be absolutely consistent — probably for life — in taking your medication. That is, if you still want to make something of your life. You say the current meds seem to work — so no more talk about side effects (which of course exist), and do not decide on your own to taper off or switch to something else you found online (even if you know so much about it by now). In short: take it seriously, because life is not a game — it’s deadly serious. That may be your only salvation. No more gateways to hell. Don’t give in to the temptation of substances you know you shouldn’t touch anymore. Embrace life and take on the challenge."

The tone of this message is authoritarian, alarmist, and patronizing, and in light of my successful tapering and recovery without relapse, it is also proven to be unjustified and incorrect.

Doom-laden determinism
“You are doomed to be absolutely consistent — probably for life — in taking your medication.”

This presents a rigid, fear-based ultimatum that allows for no individuality, no evolving science, and no nuance in psychiatric treatment. It pathologizes autonomy and invalidates my ability to recover or make informed decisions about your health.

Dismissive of bodily autonomy
“No more talk about side effects… do not decide on your own…”
This line is condescending. It assumes that I cannot think critically or safely about my own treatment, even though I’ve clearly demonstrated the opposite. It also undermines legitimate concerns about side effects, which every patient has the right to consider and discuss.

Moralistic over clinical
“Life is not a game — it’s deadly serious. That may be your only salvation.”
This moves from medical advice into moral rhetoric, framing adherence to treatment not as a personal choice or collaborative medical plan, but as a test of moral worth or salvation. That is not compassionate care, it’s psychological coercion.

Fear-mongering and catastrophizing
“No more gateways to hell.”
Language like this is dramatic, stigmatizing, and shaming. It turns my past experiences into a threat instead of a lesson. It offers no respect for my growth or capacity to choose differently, only fear of relapse as a blunt weapon.

No recognition of your agency or progress
There is no trust, no celebration of effort, no curiosity about my insights, only rigid control cloaked as concern. And now that I’ve succeeded in tapering, it’s clear that this message was not just harsh, but factually wrong and emotionally destructive.

The tone is controlling, emotionally coercive, and built on fear rather than understanding or dialogue. It infantilizes, punishes autonomy, and completely fails to recognize that mental health recovery can be non-linear, individual, and even medication-free for some. It’s not the tone of someone invested in my empowerment, it’s the tone of someone invested in control.

8. "We are only bystanders. We stood and watched, kept in touch, and extended helping hands — sometimes against our better judgment. But now YOU are the protagonist who must carry out this task yourself. A big, important, and heavy task. You are very intelligent — use that intelligence to make it happen. Sliding downward is easier than climbing back up. But I know for sure you can do it with the right mindset. Make it happen. Stick with it. Let the recovery be long-lasting — for good. It’s still possible. But it’s YOUR move. And only then can you regain our trust as well."

The tone of this message is superficially supportive but in fact deeply manipulative and invalidating. It disguises emotional detachment, deflection of responsibility, and conditional acceptance as encouragement. Not to mention that there was not much standing by or keeping in touch of note at all - but distancing apart from two instances of contact with a friend that had the hallmarks of surveillance instead of care and involvement.

Key problems with the tone and message:

- “We are only bystanders.”
This is a complete erasure of their role in my suffering. Claiming bystander status when in fact my trauma stems mostly from my mother’s narcissistic parenting is a textbook example of emotional disavowal. It reframes harm-doers as spectators, stripping them of accountability.

- “Sometimes against our better judgment.”
This adds subtle contempt to what is framed as help. It implies I were unworthy or risky to support, further reinforcing the narrative of me as the problem and them as the reluctant heroes.

- “Only then can you regain our trust as well.”
Conditionality and control is not love — it’s transactional validation. It sets my worth and relational belonging as dependent on performance, denying me unconditional support or emotional safety.

- “You are very intelligent — use that intelligence to make it happen.”
This is pretending to empower while subtly blaming. On the surface, this sounds encouraging, but in context it’s backhanded pressure. It reduces complex psychological recovery, especially trauma recovery, to a matter of willpower or intellect, which is both simplistic and cruel.

There is no acknowledgment of my traumatic history, no curiosity about what led to the current state, and no ownership of their contribution. This is narcissistic narrative control: they author a story where they are noble observers, and I am a damaged agent who must now prove myself worthy.

The tone is morally coercive, emotionally manipulative, and deeply invalidating of my trauma. It reflects a refusal to engage in mutual healing or relational accountability. Rather than stand with me, it draws a line: "prove yourself worthy, or stay outside the circle of trust".

This is not a message of healing. It is again evidence of a mask of support worn by someone still invested in power, not repair.

9. "It’s very unfortunate that you are now financially under the municipality’s guardianship. But perhaps also a good thing, because it will be harder for you to make bad decisions — and it may get you back into a stable financial position more quickly. I wish you great strength with the path you are setting out on."

This message, while outwardly composed and seemingly supportive, contains undercurrents of condescension, control, and passive judgment.

Let’s break it down:

- “It’s very unfortunate that you are now financially under the municipality’s guardianship.”
This opening phrase expresses pity, not empathy. The word “unfortunate” is often used to convey superiority: “I’m sorry you ended up there”, without taking any accountability or expressing understanding for how or why it happened, including familial or systemic contributors.

- “But perhaps also a good thing, because it will be harder for you to make bad decisions...”
This line is deeply condescending. It frames me as someone incapable of responsible decision-making, needing control imposed from the outside. Rather than recognizing my agency or circumstances, it reinforces a view of me as inherently flawed or reckless. It’s a classic tone of “you can’t be trusted, so others must intervene.”

- “…and it may get you back into a stable financial position more quickly.”
While this part may be factually accurate in some cases, it continues the paternalistic tone, offering praise for imposed control rather than empowering or supporting my return to financial independence.

- “I wish you great strength with the path you are setting out on.”
This is the only part that seemingly carries a tone of genuine well-wishing, but it's emotionally undermined by the preceding judgment. Coming after a message rooted in distrust, it feels perfunctory as if it’s there to soften what was essentially a veiled rebuke.

This message is not neutral or compassionate. It cloaks infantilization, distrust, and moral superiority in a tone of false encouragement. A healthier message would acknowledge my autonomy, express hope for my growth, and avoid positioning external control as a relief from my perceived incompetence. As written, it subtly reinforces the narrative that I am the problem, and control over me is the solution.

10. "With joyful expectation, I once carried you under my heart and gave you life — you are and will always be my son, and you remain in my heart. Still, I feel it’s better if we don’t meet just yet. I’d like to propose that, for now, we keep each other regularly informed in writing via email. It may seem harsh, but actual meetings can come later. So it’s not a rejection — just a pause."

This message is emotionally mixed — a blend of sentimental language, emotional distancing, and strategic reframing that, when placed in context, can feel both manipulative and disingenuous despite its warm phrasing.

- “With joyful expectation, I once carried you under my heart and gave you life...”
This is highly sentimental, almost poetic, but when it’s followed by rejection of in-person contact, it can feel like emotional baiting. It evokes an image of maternal love, but is then used as a preface to justify emotional withdrawal. It also evokes a completely different image of history than remains burnt into my memory - one of narcissistic parenting and constant turmoil. A good example of how a narcissist believes in their self-aggrandizing distorted view of history, in this case a fantasy of having been a safe, loving and protective mother, while everyone else who was there to witness things tells a very different tale.

- “Still, I feel it’s better if we don’t meet just yet.”

This is a soft "no" disguised as a reasonable boundary. It may be framed as care, but it functions as avoidance. Especially in a context where I reach out in recovery and try to rebuild connection, this kind of deferral feels invalidating and cold: “I love you, but not enough to see you.”

- “It may seem harsh, but actual meetings can come later.”
This phrasing acknowledges the harshness, but offers no emotional accountability for the potential hurt it causes. It preemptively silences my right to feel rejected by labeling it a “pause” rather than a cutoff, even though, in practice, the emotional effect is similar.

- “So it’s not a rejection — just a pause.”

This is reframing language, intended to soften the blow, but it comes off as gaslighting because the lived experience is one of rejection. The contrast between the warmth of the opening and the emotional distancing of the core message is jarring, and feels performative and guilt-inducing, especially when I'm being told what it is not allowed to feel like.

This commentary, while it uses loving words, ultimately communicates emotional withdrawal, reluctance to reconnect, and conditional affection, all veiled behind sentimental phrasing. It’s a textbook example of ambivalent, avoidant emotional communication: “I love you, but not close.” , which can be deeply painful for a child of any age, especially one riddled with trauma inflicted by the same parent now withholding closeness again.

4. The Lesson

The letter, taken as a whole, is a textbook example of narcissistic parenting cloaked in the language of concern, rationality, and maternal care. Beneath its surface-level coherence lies a pattern of emotional invalidation, projection, and covert hostility that reveals my mother's inability to genuinely relate to me as an autonomous, suffering human being. Instead, the I am cast in shifting roles: burden, disappointment, failed investment, and finally conditional project. Love is only extended when I am convenient, compliant, and controlled.

What makes this letter particularly insidious is its dual tone: moments of poetic tenderness are immediately followed by moral superiority, shaming, or psychological distancing. The result is a deeply manipulative form of communication where my mother asserts total authority over the narrative, denying my trauma, reframing concern as control, and withholding emotional safety under the guise of boundaries.

My mother exhibits core traits consistent with narcissistic pathology:

Lack of empathy: Emotional suffering is minimized, reframed as inconvenience, or weaponized to shame.
Projection and blame-shifting: The parent sees themselves as a victim of the child’s illness rather than exploring how their own actions contributed to the breakdown. Emotional manipulation – Sentimental language is used not to heal but to bind the child with guilt or confusion.
Conditional regard: Love, trust, and contact are all contingent on performance, compliance, and emotional suppression.

Why she is not a safe or reliable parent:

A mother who views my breakdown as an interruption to her peace, my trauma as my own fault or delusion, and my recovery as a test of loyalty is not a safe presence in my life. She cannot be relied on for validation, support, or truth. Any closeness with her will remain psychologically dangerous, because:

My emotions will be pathologized;
My boundaries will be undermined;
My healing will be used against me;
My autonomy will be seen as rebellion.

The letter never served as an opening to reconciliation, but is a case study in emotional sabotage. It proves, in my mother's own words, that engagement with her comes at the cost of my self-worth. Attempts to rebuild or repair will always be met with conditionality, judgment, or dismissal. There is no accountability. No curiosity. No genuine compassion.

In these dynamics, my cutting contact with her is not abandonment, it is self-preservation. It is an act of reclaiming my narrative, my dignity, and my mental health from someone who insists on defining me through the lens of their control.

I are not here to be managed, doubted, or guilted into submission. I am here to heal, to define myself, and to live free from the distortions of a mother who never saw me clearly.