i grew up believing something was off, but i couldn’t quite put my finger on it. it wasn't until i hit my late twenties and started therapy that the pieces clicked. both of my parents exhibit behavior that's frighteningly consistent with narcissistic personality traits. my therapist used the term “narcissistic perverts” once, and it rattled me, because it fit too well. not in a dramatic, made-for-tv kind of way, but in the slow, insidious kind of manipulation that wears you down without you even realizing it. it’s exhausting living with the constant feeling that your emotions are invalid, your achievements are never enough, and your boundaries are optional suggestions they feel free to ignore whenever it suits them 😒

my dad masks his manipulation behind a facade of reason and logic. he’ll say things like “i’m just being honest” or “you’re too sensitive” whenever i try to call him out on his emotionally dismissive behavior. growing up, he would tell me i was “too dramatic” whenever i cried or got upset, even if i had a legitimate reason. like when i came home from school one day in tears because a teacher publicly embarrassed me—his response? “you probably deserved it.” that sentence never left me. it etched itself into my memory as one of the countless times he made me feel small. he doesn’t scream. he doesn’t throw things. but his silence and cold logic cut deeper than any raised voice ever could.

my mom, on the other hand, plays the victim card like it’s her career. everything is always about her. if i tried to talk about a bad day at work, somehow it would spiral into a conversation about how she once had it worse. i remember mentioning i was struggling with depression in my early twenties, and her response was, “you don’t know real pain until you’ve been a mother.” i just stood there, numb. there was no space for my pain, only hers. she uses guilt like currency—reminding me of the sacrifices she made and how ungrateful i am for not calling every day. “after everything i did for you, this is how you repay me?” is her go-to line whenever i set even the smallest boundary.

what makes it worse is the gaslighting. when i bring up specific moments or confront them with how their actions made me feel, they either deny it happened or tell me i “misremembered.” it’s like arguing with a wall that changes shape every time you touch it. nothing sticks, and you start questioning your own perception of reality. this constant emotional distortion makes it hard to trust others—and harder to trust myself. even now, when my friends validate my experiences, there's still a little voice in my head whispering, are you sure you're not just being dramatic again? 🤷‍♀️

lately, i've been distancing myself. i limit contact to occasional texts and birthdays. part of me feels guilty—like i’m being a “bad daughter.” but another part, the part that’s finally learning to breathe, knows this space is necessary. healing doesn’t mean pretending it never happened or forgiving before you're ready. sometimes it means stepping back, protecting your peace, and acknowledging that some people—yes, even parents—are toxic. do you ever wonder how many people walk around thinking they’re broken, when really, they were just raised by people who shattered them without ever lifting a hand? if you’re reading this and it resonates, i hope you know: you’re not crazy. you’re not dramatic. you’re not alone. 🖤

Stories in the same category