Why the Difference Actually Matters

Not every mother who hurt you was a narcissist.

That sentence might land strange coming from me. But it’s true, and it matters more than you’d think.

I used to lump every difficult mother into one category. Hard or hurtful or not what a child needed. And in one sense, that’s accurate. But underneath “not what a child needed” are two very different stories. And knowing which one you lived is part of how you finally start making sense of what happened to you.

Let me show you what I mean.

Two Accidents, Two Very Different Mothers

My mother was taking care of my son. He was 13 months old well in to eating solids. She was feeding him, and she accidentally hit his teeth with the spoon. He started crying.

It was an accident. It was definitely not intentional. I comforted him. I was calm, present, attuned. I didn’t say “everything’s fine, nothing happened.” I said, “Oh, okay. That hurt.” I picked him up and stayed steady the whole time.

My mother was visibly upset but also almost resentful. Then she said something I clocked immediately.

“Oh no. Now he’s going to think I did that on purpose. He’s not going to like me.”

He was 13 months old. He didn’t have a single thought about her intentions. But that’s not what struck me. What struck me was where her mind went first. Not “is he okay.” Not “how do I comfort him.” Her mind went straight to what his pain meant about her.

At no point did she try to comfort him more, or attune to what he actually needed. The goal was to get him to stop crying. Because to her his crying wasn’t about his discomfort. It was evidence against her.

A few months later, another adult was taking care of him. He was playing with stuffed animals that had furry bits, the kind that release little fibers that can trigger allergies. His eye started to react. Red. Swelling. Getting worse.

Also an accident. Nothing intentional.

I stayed calm. Soothed him. Washed his eye. Realized we probably needed urgent care. Not life threatening, but more than I could handle alone.

This adult, though, fell apart. Crying. “Oh no, he’s hurt. What did I do. Why did I bring these stuffed animals.” I ended up comforting a distressed baby and a distressed adult at the same time.

If that had been her own child, it would have taken some time for him to get what he needed. Not because she didn’t care. Because she was so overwhelmed, so lacking the tools in that moment, that she couldn’t get there right away.

But she did get there. Eventually, the attention came back to him.

The Difference That Actually Matters

Both of these adults failed to meet a child’s need in the moment. If I hadn’t been there, neither one would have been the calm, attuned presence he needed right then.

But one of them could come back.

With emotional immaturity, the child’s needs get lost for a while. Not out of malice. Out of overwhelm. Out of not knowing what to do. But eventually, the adult finds their way back to the child. Sometimes. There’s also capacity there to reflect, to repair, to learn, and to turn back around.

With narcissism, the child’s needs were never really on the radar to begin with. The child’s pain becomes something else entirely. Not something the parent doesn’t know how to handle, but something that threatens the parent and activates the parent’s shame. Has to be managed, redirected, made to disappear.

Sometimes the child becomes the problem. For having the need in the first place.

This is one of the most striking differences in an emotionally immature mother and a narcissistic one. In the first, there’s a possibility of repair.

In the other, there isn’t.

Why This Isn’t About Being Generous to Her

I’m not telling you this to soften what happened to you, or to talk you into more compassion for your mother than you’re ready to give.

I’m telling you this because the category you put her in changes what you’re allowed to expect from her now.

If she has the capacity to repair, that’s information. Not permission to wait around for it. It’s just information.

If she doesn’t, that’s information too. And it might be the thing that finally lets you stop waiting for a version of the relationship that was never going to arrive.

You don’t have to have a diagnosis. You don’t need a clinical label to know what you experienced. But understanding the shape of what you’re dealing with, whether there’s a person in there who could eventually turn back toward you, or whether that was never actually possible, changes what recovery looks like from here.

Not because you owe her that clarity.

Because you owe it to yourself.

---

If you’re not sure which one describes your mother, or you’ve suspected it’s some of both, that’s common. Click here to take the quiz and learn more.

Carol 🦋
After The Fog Recovery