The response to our narcissistic parents story was overwhelming: ‘It allowed me to break this evil cycle’

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When I wrote a story about narcissistic parenting earlier this year, inspired by the furor over Galia Oz’s memoir about life with her allegedly abusive father Amos Oz, I knew the story would reverberate. But I had no idea quite how much.

There were messages from friends and acquaintances I hadn’t realized had grown up in such homes, including some who wished they could share their story, but couldn’t out of fear of hurting their parents. There were also many readers who emailed to thank me for the story and discussing their own experiences.

Take, for example, this email from “A.,” who wrote that after reading the story, they had spent a week rubbing their eyes in astonishment. “I always related to that disorder as a problem that affects the narcissist himself, since he or she lives with a sense of superiority that is dissociated from reality. It had never occurred to me to associate this disorder with the two words ‘narcissistic parenting.'”

Since the story was published, A. added, “I’ve read a lot about this topic and watched many fascinating lectures by psychologists from around the world who explain this phenomenon with great precision. And even though at my venerable age I’ve connected nearly all the dots, it’s still fascinating to discover how all these dots have a defined label, known to others besides me, coming under one category.”

Writing from the United States, “G.” stated: “When I read the story about narcissistic parenting, I was amazed by how much I could identify my own childhood, as well as with stories told by other family members.” She asked for the contact details of the therapists I had interviewed, in the hope that they might be able to recommend some therapists in her area. “My goal is to break this cycle and prevent me and my husband from passing the damage onto our own children,” she explained.

Among the many messages I received through Facebook Messenger was one by “S.”: “I’ve been going for counselling for years; I have a remarkable therapist, and yet the wider context – which included so many testimonies and echoes of the past – allowed me to make a few leaps forward on my long and arduous healing journey,” she wrote.

“One of the hardest problems facing children of such parents is the lack of any physical marks on their bodies,” S. noted. “Even though the spirit is broken and exhausted, the external world identifies with the narcissistic parent and you, the child, are labeled as ‘bad.’ The fact that you expressed this phenomenon in words, giving it a voice, helped me in the most intimate way.”

Itay Bekin

Humiliation and abuse

Then, of course, there were the hundreds of online comments. I don’t read these regularly since many of them tend to be irrelevant and sometimes assuming an aggressive or insulting nature. This time, though, few were like that. The vast majority consisted of personal stories of people who identified with the testimonies appearing in the feature, as well as some heartwarming and supportive comments written by others in response to the first batch of comments.

I wasn’t the only one to notice the difference. One comment, under the title “Thanks for the important information,” noted that “in unprecedented fashion, most of the people writing comments were themselves affected, writing from the depth of their souls. I identify with them, since I went through this and managed to get back on my feet. With every comment I read, I was shocked by how much the symptoms of this problem are similar.”

“As the daughter of a narcissistic mother and an antisocial father, I thank you for this story, which answered many unresolved questions I had,” wrote “Efrat.” “I hope a better generation is growing up here, raising their children with love and compassion – in contrast to our sick parents.”

A reader “in his early thirties” wrote: “For years, I’ve been going through a long process of trying to understand the destructive implications of such parenting for my life, for my physical and mental health, for my relations with other members of my nuclear family. Reading your feature and finding in it so much of what I experienced throughout most of my life conceptualized my feelings.” Most importantly, he added, “it allowed me to break this evil cycle. Looking at myself, understanding and deciding that I’m different, not allowing myself to transmit this pathology onward while trying to prevent this in others in my family – this is what made this story so important.”

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“I only wanted to write about some of the implications I’m still struggling with at the age of 40,” wrote “Anonymous.” “I have zero self-confidence, I can’t speak in public, I keep trembling, with every little news item causing pressure in my chest. … I live in fear at night. I tremble in the dark, eat ceaselessly, weighing more than 100 kilograms, constantly binging. I have no friends and never will have. I’m unable to say hello and I can’t maintain relations with anyone.”

She continued: “I try to please the whole world all the time. The partnership I did have was toxic to the core and, as I expected, I was severely beaten yet everything was ‘alright.’ I didn’t mourn the death of my first parent, and I promise not to for the second one as well.”

“A man who was hurt” wrote: “This story was so apt – you described my own story. I grew up with a father who earned my hatred through blood, sweat and hard work. He beat me, he humiliated me and hurled abuse – including at times when I returned home broken after funerals of best friends. In the background were endless family gatherings where I was told this was no way to treat a father and that I should be grateful for having been born to such a man. The effect continues to this day, including sexual abuse in the army, which led me to avoid sexual relations for years. I’ve never had a partner, I suffer from abuse at work, and my conception of a ‘damaged self’ and ‘I don’t deserve it’ has caused my wages to always be low.”

“A 40-year-old” stated: “My mother died a few years ago. With all the sadness, I felt great relief. She was, and I say this with great sadness and compassion, like a very damaged child who had become a mother but couldn’t handle the role. When I was 12, she wasn’t on speaking terms with me for two months (since I hadn’t tidied my room properly). She told me many times how I was making her life difficult, sharing with me suicidal thoughts (supposedly due to my making her life difficult). She broke down in front of me, cursing … but outwardly, everyone was impressed by her, by what a caring, good mother she was. … I don’t know why I’m writing all this – your feature has seemingly woken sleeping demons from their lair.”

Quiet terror

As explained in the original feature, narcissism is a spectrum. Narcissistic parenting is not just one thing but a continuum of expressions that have common characteristics, with varying types of expression and degree of severity. In order to explain the phenomenon clearly, the stories in the feature came from the more extreme ends of the spectrum. The subsequent comments included examples from the entire range.

“In my case, luckily, there was no physical or verbal abuse, and there was sincere affection,” writes “Max.” “But there was total disinterest, neglect, a sense that I existed for their benefit and that they were much more important, and that I was always wrong. All this cast a heavy shadow over my life, to this day. … I wonder if there could be a relationship in this world that is not based on the need to dominate and bend the other to your needs, even when it’s your own child.

“I try every day to give my children an experience that is the opposite of what I received, and to always show them that they’re the most important thing in the world for me, more than myself,” Max added. “However, after reading the feature, I’ll try even more to pay attention when I set boundaries or educate, not to humiliate or shame them, not to let them doubt themselves. How sad it was to read about so many people who grew up in such a toxic environment.”

“Yossi A.” recounted how he “grew up with narcissism on the softer side of the spectrum. No one beat me, and horrible things such as those described here definitely did not happen to me. There was definitely a feeling of being in a cult: Furious outbursts, a sense that you’re not loved, that the world always revolved around them, that your sexuality was dirty, that any kind or relationship with the opposite sex was not allowed and that you should be ashamed of having one.

“The problem with that kind of narcissism is that it’s much more concealed, even from the victim,” Yossi added. “As a child, you’re actually quite aware that things are not right, but ultimately you get used to it, reminding yourself that every family has its faults. You take your problems into adult life feeling it’s your fault that you’re the way you are. I remember how at the age of 18 I thought to myself that my parents were the best there were, even though I never felt loved, and obviously I didn’t know how to love myself. The relationships I entered into as an adult were always narcissistic to some extent. Only at the age of 50 did I realize my mother was a narcissist, and a conversation with her left no doubt. No self-criticism – something that would never change.”

“Embarrassed to admit” wrote: “Thanks for the feature, what a welter of thoughts and emotions. … I come from the most delicate and evasive shade of this phenomenon, but now I understand that the checklist on my mother’s part was there all those years – expressing emotions only when I was very sick or weak, gossiping behind my back with my sisters, not being happy at my successes. … Somehow, something in me did not agree to accept a label whereby I was damaged, but it’s still always a question mark and I’m never secure. Maybe I really am defective like she says I am.”

Among the commenters, there were also many examples of parenthood from the extreme end of the spectrum.

“Aryeh” stated: “I grew up in a family with a violent father who abused me my whole life and a mother without feelings who pretends everything is fine. I remember how every time my father would beat me, my mother would grab me and keep repeating, ‘Nothing happened. Forget about it.’ And that’s how I learned to pretend and forget. I forgot most of the things my father did to me in my childhood.

“When I was older and after my father died, all of the memories started to surface: the abuse and the humiliation. When I asked my mother if what I remembered from my childhood was correct, she said no, that I’m exaggerating, that it didn’t happen. And then I realized that my mother was part of the problem. That she is the one who makes sure we all pretend everything is fine. And then more memories surfaced. How my father raped my mother; how he beat her too. But my mother still insisted none of it ever happened. I decided to write everything I remembered from my childhood online. Then my brother and sisters turned their backs on me too. It took me four years to get over the family boycott. At first I was ashamed that they didn’t want to be in touch with me, but when I dared to tell all my friends about the boycott, the situation improved and I was able to love myself again.”

A vengeful act

For many who were raised by narcissistic parents, the only way to be healed involves severance from the toxic parent. Sometimes it is an emotional rather than a physical severance, which professionals call the “gray rock” method: you become uninteresting and unresponsive. Using this method, your objective is to make someone lose interest in you – in order to prevent additional harm from the narcissistic parent, who usually continues to harm the children even when they are adults. The adult child does not react to the parent’s incitement and does not share intimate details with them.

For others, emotional severance is insufficient or impossible, and they separate completely.

This is what “Galita” did. “What worked for me was the severance from my parents first and then from my siblings,” she wrote. “Only when I completely severed myself did I manage to achieve healing. I have a family of my own, friends – I’m happy. You don’t choose your family, and that’s why it’s possible to release them.”

Another commenter, writing under the moniker “Blood-sucking leech” (because that’s what her mother called her), recounted how her mom “was an angry and frustrated woman who blamed her husband and children for all of her problems, and never took responsibility for her words and actions.

“I was a good girl, an outstanding student, responsible and sociable,” she added. “And still, she called me ‘filth’ and ‘fatty,’ explained to me that ‘Nobody would take me’ because I was nothing, screwed up. Today, I’m a mother myself. My children are the most precious thing to me. They’re wonderful and kindhearted, they’re growing up happy and feel loved. All that became possible thanks to independent work combined with years of therapy. Today, I’m totally separated from my mother. That’s the only way I can breathe – and I’m still screwed up.”

But in the family-oriented society in which we live, the decision to stay away is usually not understood and is seen as a vengeful act. This interpretation was also expressed by some who responded.

“With the exception of cases of violence and sexual abuse, cutting yourself off from the family is not a solution, “Az” declared. “Apparently, you don’t have a drop of understanding or familiarity with the extent to which abuse damages and damages and damages for years, and remains with you all your life,” replied “Ronit.” “‘Severance,’ as extreme as it may sound to you, is the first step to becoming healed from toxic parenting. There’s only one way to stop the ‘infusion of poison’ or ‘death by a thousand cuts,’ as it’s called in therapy. Such a family is not an asset in any way. But sure, stay ignorant.”

Moments of grace

In the feature last April, psychotherapist Danit Beer spoke of many patients who remained in contact with their parents, and in their old age even nursed them devotedly – even though the insults continued. For example, “Hannah” writes: “The really hard part came when my parents became demented one after the other, which made them even more narcissistic and even more cruel.

“Dear children,” she added, “we here are obligated to honor our parents, but it doesn’t say anywhere that we have to love them. Don’t feel guilty. Take care of them and have compassion for them in their twilight years, but don’t feel guilty if you sever yourselves emotionally from them in order to manage to live a life without feelings of guilt and anxiety.”

“Eva,” 52, revealed that some of the testimonies in the article struck home for her. “I remember wicked words said to me as though it were yesterday; her attempt to turn Dad against me, and her jealousy of me when that didn’t succeed. … Only in the past year did I partially understand what I experienced, and the article explains everything. And yet I loved her so much. I yearned for her love.

“During the last years of her life, we became close and I think she understood how much she had denied me and herself,” Eva continued. “We had moments of grace and I hope I’ll be able to remember them and not the poison, the distance, the neglect. She never bought me a feminine thing. Not a hug or a kiss or a caress. … She gave me a lot except for her love and her belief in me. She was surprised each time I had any knowledge; that I was able to make progress. I’m not close to a single person in the world; I don’t have a soul mate.”

One person remarked that there seemed to be more women commenting on narcissistic parenting than men. In response, “Maya A.” speculated that perhaps, as in cases of sexual assault, women simply talk more about their experience.

“And also,” she noted, “it’s possible that there’s room to take into account sociological issues such as a mother oppressing her daughter, which stems not only from the mother’s personality but also from her role as an ‘agent of the patriarchy,’ who has an oppressive ‘educating’ role: Putting the girls in their place, determining boundaries and creating a constant feeling of inferiority, which justifies their ‘natural status’ in society.”

One of the dominant characteristics of narcissistic parenting is the tendency to give the children “roles” – one sibling, or more, will be the “bad child,” and another one, or others, will be the “good children.” This is regardless of the children’s behavior or nature. At the same time, the parent exercises a dynamic of divide and conquer in the family, so that for the most part there will be severance of relations among the siblings and rifts within the family.

Most of those interviewed for the feature were “bad” children, the “black sheep,” and the same was true of the commenters.

But several people who responded identified themselves as the “golden child,” the one whom the narcissistic parent considered good and successful. That testimony is rare because, for the most part, the “preferred” child remains captive to the parental narrative, but testifies to the fact that even the preferred children of a narcissistic parent are harmed by them.

For example, “Adi” wrote: “I’m the beloved and preferred daughter of my narcissistic mother. My brother and sister tried to resist her manipulations and those of my father. In return, they got terrible parental alienation and were forced to manage alone from a young age. But to be my mother’s preferred daughter scarred me too – to the point of hospitalization, where the therapists explained to me the necessity of reducing her presence in my life to a minimum. Because of her suffocating embrace, I didn’t develop an identity, or hobbies, or ambitions of my own. I have a self-esteem issue, because for years I lived as though she deserved the credit.

“In theory, it’s called the narcissist’s ‘parental child.’ In practice, it’s deeper than my excessive sensitivity to her, to insecurity without her, and ‘walking on eggs’ next to her. I have no right to exist without her, from her standpoint. From the moment I got married and dared to be a spouse and mother, and not just a vessel that she shaped and was at her service, her belligerence was also directed against me.

“I’m writing this after another difficult conversation with her, and I feel pain throughout my body – the weekly conversation in which she goes into great detail about her success in managing without me, in a passive-aggressive tone,” ,” Adi recounted. “My psychologist is encouraging me to tell her what I’m feeling, but from my previous experience I know she’ll again dismiss my feelings.”

“Hey, Adi,” “T.” wrote her, “from experience with a narcissistic mother and my study of the subject, there’s no point in telling her what you’re feeling. Therefore, it’s worth avoiding it. Narcissists feed on other people’s feelings, and if that’s your mother, she knows exactly how to make it hurt most. In a certain respect, she created these sensitive and vulnerable buttons to use herself. She presses [them] with a word or tone of voice, for example, and only the two of you know what she’s intending, and no one else hearing it would understand or perceive that, under the surface, there is power, control, belittling, casting doubt on your being a worthy person.”

“These words are paralyzing and hurtful, and arouse feelings of guilt and dependence,” T. continued. “I don’t want to criticize your psychologist on the basis of just this issue, but it’s a very important, critical point for you to protect yourself over, and also to understand what to expect with regard to her – because she can’t see you, isn’t capable of it. Every time she disregards you, it’s a hurt that screams to the heavens with no one to hear it. Avoid it to every extent possible.”

“Favorite child” wrote the following: “For years, I was my parents’ favorite child while my sister was humiliated, sworn at and, in the worst of cases, also hit. I had blond hair and hers was black, so the split was very apparent from a physical standpoint. But I suffered a lot for being the ‘golden child.’ They had endless expectations and everything had to be as they saw the world. At some point, it was also accompanied by sexual assault from my father, which was also framed as a good thing because, after all, I was the favorite, the pretty one and the good one.”

A number of commenters recommended sources of information and additional reading in English. This included two books: “Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents: How to Heal from Distant, Rejecting, or Self-Involved Parents,” by Lindsey C. Gibson; and “Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving – A Guide and Map for Recovering from Childhood Trauma,” by Pete Walker.

Also recommended was a Facebook group called Healing Journey for C-PTSD from Developmental Trauma.

Many others shared their own painful, personal family stories. Their horrific accounts, which make for difficult reading, appear at the end of the Hebrew article, one after the other. While working on the story, I began to realize the extent to which narcissistic parenting exists and how little it is spoken about. Those powerful responses, and the sheer number of them, are a clear demonstration of this.