Guilt

It`s almost December and so the supermarkets are launching their Christmas adverts and brochures with all the seasonal products. Like many people I love to browse and see all the delicious things they have for the festive table, the must have gifts and the beautiful homeware items. The other day I was doing just that and I was struck by an old familiar feeling. Its so difficult to describe. It was a mixture of shame, guilt and foreboding. It`s not an overwhelming feeling that I stop everything I am doing and have to allow it to take centre stage and focus solely on it. Instead it is a nagging, niggling feeling, at the back of my mind, casting just enough shade that it takes the pleasure out of the moment. 

 Growing up with a Narcissistic Mother leaves it`s mark. After being raised from a baby in such a toxic, unhealthy environment and having been drip fed the clandestine message she is more important than everyone, she must always be everyone`s first priority and therefore you have no importance or value, and that she is jealous of and resents any pleasure or happiness that comes your way and further more, you know, through endless bitter experience, that she will, in the not too distant future, have some sort of revenge in return for your moment of happiness. After years and years of that behaviour pattern being on a loop, it is only natural that the brain remembers all the lessons it was taught by the Narcissistic Mother and so decades later, the smallest morsel of enjoyment found in the simplest thing is still tinged with a certain sadness. From extensive reading I now understand, albeit in a very simplistic way, that I have some pretty screwed up `core beliefs`, two of which are that I am not worthy of happiness and I deserve to be punished if I ever experience it.

For as long as I can remember I have had these feelings. I was always aware of them but it took a very long time to pluck up the courage to acknowledge them as they just felt part of me and it wasn`t obvious how untrue and distorted they were. They were, they are, just the effects of the lies of a Narcissist who would have me believe them to ensure her own sick sense of self importance was kept intact. I know this to be true and yet what my head understands my heart will not believe and deep inside there is still the conditioned inner child who remains shrouded in the cloud of toxicity that was my upbringing, still afraid to experience happiness, still guilty she is taking something she is forbidden, still sure she does not deserve it, still worrying there will be a price to pay for getting above herself.
This sense of shame, guilt and foreboding shows itself in too many ways to count. Here are just a few scenarios...

There was a time when if I had deep cleaned my bedroom, and it was immaculate with not a thing out of place and the bed had been freshly made up that I would dread getting in it at night time. I will confess that once or twice I slept on the sofa as the unworthiness was overpowering. Other times as I slipped under the covers I would feel shame, dirty, as if I was spoiling the room, I would lay very still unable to relax, like it was not my right to be there. I was aware of how resentful she would be to see me in the beautiful room. I sometimes let it get in a state just because I felt more at ease.

I have trouble buying new clothes and when I do buy them it takes me months to wear them, I often never do. I only wear about 10% of my wardrobe and it has become a habit to buy something I love only to sell it on ebay a year or two later. I have favorite `old` things that are well past their best but make me feel safe and comfortable when worn and I practically live in these. 

I collect Emma Bridgewater pottery. Its expensive but I shop carefully in the sale or buy seconds and when the parcel arrives it often sits unopened for a day or two until the uncomfortable feeling fades a little. I am more relaxed about buying things for the home as they are to be used and enjoyed by my family rather than just me.

I am neglectful of my self-care which I will make a separate post about. I have some lovely branded lotions and potions and yet struggle to use them, many are unopened. I buy them and subconsciously coach myself that they will be beneficial to me and I will use them and yet when it comes down to it I struggle.

There were even times when I would settle down to watch a favorite programme and I would feel the sting of guilt and shame. Nothing that is enjoyable seems to come without that familiar uncomfortable feeling. 

After several years living in a half built kitchen extension with holes in the walls, bashed off tiles, uneven floor, a broken cooker and make do fridge, managing as a single parent while my other half worked away with the lads, drinking heavily each night, we, he, finally got his act together and finished the revamp we had talked of and planned for years. It was at last a beautiful kitchen and I was thrilled with it. I began accessorising it with all the bits and bobs I had been buying for so very long and storing away. Then every time I walked into it and felt pride and enjoyment I was chewed up with the certain knowledge of how jealous and vengeful she would of been if she had seen it {she had been dead about 4 years then} I remember having a sense of impending sorrow and turmoil, it was almost prophetic in its powerlessness and sure enough I had a knee injury which rendered me disabled just two years later followed by a cancer diagnosis. And I thought how that would of made her smile.