The ultimate writers block?

I have spent the last year writing a book about what it was like being an average little girl growing up with a mother who was the walking definition of Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Repeatedly I would get curious about the competition I would be up against and research for similar books. I couldn’t find any. Okay, maybe one, but that was by an aristocrat with other transgender issues, so I didn’t think that counted.

This has been an interesting journey for the daughter of a narcissistic mother, and continues to be as I explore avenues for publication now that the first book it done.

Example

For instance – I decided to head off somewhere remote this past summer where I could focus on writing in a cooler environment than Texas in summer. Boy, did I pick the right summer. So I packed up my two yellow labs and made the 2000 mile journey to Quebec to spend time in a house on a mountain top with no television, internet, or even cell service.  The plan was to spend several hours writing in the morning and then take the dogs out hiking and swimming in the afternoons.

So I have 2000 miles of solitude to mull over my future in writing along with the wisdom of splurging to go to Canada when I’m taking time off work to write and have no income. I didn’t realize it until this morning when I was contemplating writing this post, but guess who crept into those musings? The voice of my narcissistic mother. Oh boy.

By the time I arrived in Canada I had convinced myself it was a terrible mistake to spend the money and that once there I shouldn’t go anywhere unless I could walk or ride the bicycle I had hauled with me because I shouldn’t spend money on gasoline. Oh please, what a great way to ruin a trip.

I had also thought about what I had written. I was doing this trip to make my final run through book 1 and get a good start on book 2. By the time I crossed the border I was convinced that everything I had written was utter and complete crap, that no one would ever want to read it, and there was no way in hell anyone would ever consider being my agent or publishing it. Great start…

I carefully avoided my laptop for a week, fearing a review of the book would only confirm my belief that it was crap. When I finally got up my nerve to crack the laptop open and take a peak in Pandora’s box guess what? I read and I read (this is an 86,000 word manuscript) and found myself only doing minor tweaks here and there and really liking the story.

I leaned back in my chair and wondered where the absolute conviction it was trash had come from? Oh gee, I wonder. Being raised by a narcissistic perfectionist allows me to bring self-criticism up to the level of an art form.

Why this happens

My mother had raised me with the goal of me being her servant. In support of that goal she had communicated I wasn’t worth and didn’t deserve nice things. Subtle clues like everyone else got nice stylish clothes and I got cheap out-of-date clothes.

The idea that I’m not worth spending money on has been a major battle my entire adult life. I’m much better now, but obviously I unconsciously let it sneak back in every now and then. Vacations seem to be a big trigger since that’s a serious outlay of cash for no good reason other than fun.

I was also raised that I was stupid and that everything I said was stupid so they’d really just rather I didn’t contribute to any conversations. Along with that I was punished if I spoke up in disagreement about anything (and trust me, I had a lot to disagree with)– disagreeing with mom was strictly forbidden. So basically, I had no voice whatsoever and I suspect this is fairly typical of scapegoat children of narcissists.

And the outcome…

So this morning it hit me like a bolt out of the blue — no wonder there aren’t any books by us survivors! No wonder all I could find were blogs written anonymously. Blogs that can be written in safety (like mine :-)). I have to be honest the only reason I am able to keep writing is that my mother is dead and I will probably publish under a pseudonym to protect myself from people who are still alive and not shown in a very favorable light in my writing.

So the legacy of her narcissism lives on and I’m still fighting it. Getting my story out there may be the biggest challenge I will ever face in the battle to get her out of my head, but I fear the price of failure would only confirm what she always told me – I’m not good enough. Perhaps a narcissistic mother is the quintessential writers block, it’s certainly a self-confidence block. I don’t care if all I end up doing is self-publishing an e-book, I need to get the story out there for my own peace of mind. I need to finally have voice about what happened.

Oh, by the way – while in Quebec we ended up driving all over the place to find exquisite mountain trails to hike and the trip was an absolute blast. Sorry mom.