I Went No-Contact With My Narcissistic Mother—Now What?

Things are starting to move in the right direction here in Costa Rica, but nothing major enough to justify an entire blog post. So, I’ll set aside our Pura Vida adventures for now. Instead, it’s time to go deeper into my healing journey after maternal narcissistic abuse.

The other day, while washing the dishes, I realized I hadn’t thought about my mother much since we arrived. Honestly, it has been blissful. Writing about this pulls me back into her unpleasant world, but it also makes no sense to publish one post on the subject and then abandon the story halfway through. Apparently, healing comes with sequels.

No-Contact Brought Peace—Not a Factory Reset

In my post about how I went no-contact with my narcissistic mother, I described my upbringing and the journey that led to my final decision to cut contact. Going no-contact brought an enormous amount of peace into my life, but it did not undo years of damage. It did not magically correct the blueprints I had been given for marriage, parenting, or family life. Sadly, there is no “erase childhood programming” button.

My First Attempt at Therapy

Because I knew this decision was final, I wanted to do more than block her number and remove her from social media. I needed the decision to mean something. I knew I should talk to a professional, but I distrusted psychologists. I assumed they would reach for society’s favorite line—“but she’s your mother”—instead of trying to understand me.

Eventually, I did some research and contacted a psychologist who lived far away, and we agreed to meet online. The first session was “easy”: years of injustice and abuse poured out of me while she listened. What I needed most was reassurance that I had the right to go no-contact. She gave me that. She acknowledged how difficult my experiences had been and affirmed that I could make decisions that protected both my children’s well-being and my own.

I told her this, we agreed to continue only “as needed,” and—spoiler alert—I never felt the need. That experience made me skeptical again, so I decided to heal myself through YouTube, Instagram, and a stack of books. To be honest, some of them were genuinely helpful.

The Self-Help Resources That Actually Helped

On YouTube, I recommend Dr. Ramani, whose work helped me understand patterns associated with narcissistic behavior. Her book It’s Not You: Identifying and Healing from Narcissistic People is another useful resource. I also found Dr. Gabor Maté’s work thought-provoking, particularly his book The Myth of Normal: Trauma, Illness, and Healing in a Toxic Culture, which explores possible connections among trauma, chronic stress, and health. I now think about those ideas as context—not as a simple explanation or diagnosis for any illness.

There are many other resources now, thankfully, because this subject is no longer as taboo as it once was. These are simply the ones that have helped me most—and the ones I still follow.

When No-Contact Affected My Relationship With My Sister

Meanwhile, I was trying to navigate my relationship with my sister. She is my best friend, and growing up, we were always in the same boat when it came to our mother—even when one of us was temporarily assigned the role of golden child and the other became the scapegoat. I once told my mother she seemed incapable of loving both children at the same time. She either praised one and despised the other, or switched us around for variety.

She hated how close my sister and I were. During the worst moments, we held each other’s hands. We didn’t even need words; a look was enough. But siblings do not grow up with exactly the same family or the same version of a parent. Birth order, timing, family circumstances, and personality all shape the experience.

Even our wider family knew my sister was our mother’s favorite. I struggled to show affection—especially toward a mother I feared—while my sister was naturally cuddly. She would climb into our mother’s lap and tell her she looked like a Barbie doll. Imagine the narcissistic ego boost. She was also the younger, cuter child. I, meanwhile, became the “big girl” at four. Whatever my sister did while our parents were away somehow became my responsibility, my problem, and, naturally, my fault.

That does not mean my sister had an easy time later. She experienced her own share of physical punishment, humiliation, and criticism—but that is her story to tell. She coped differently, burying many memories so deeply that she no longer recalls them. After becoming a mother, she began viewing our mother with more gratitude. I moved in the opposite direction, toward: How could a mother do this to her child?

When I went no-contact, my sister sometimes became the messenger between us—the “flying monkey”—and that may have been the hardest part. I did not want to lose her. We had painful arguments, tense conversations, and outings where we tried to discuss anything except our mother while her presence hovered over the table anyway. It took persistence from my sister, emotional openness from me, and effort from both of us, but I think we are okay now. We may never be as close as before because certain topics remain off-limits, but we did not lose each other.

The Moment I Realized Self-Help Wasn’t Enough

So what made me realize that no-contact and self-help were not enough—that I needed professional support after all?

It happened when my eldest was in first grade and learning to read. He knew every letter and could sound out a word correctly, but he could not blend the sounds together. Slovak is phonetic, so reading is generally more straightforward than in English: letters tend to keep the same sounds. I became so frustrated that I yelled at him asking whether he was stupid.

It was my lowest moment as a parent. I still feel ashamed writing it. As soon as I stopped, I shut myself in my bedroom, terrified by what had come out of me. The scene was almost identical to one from my childhood, when I was learning to write and my letters were never neat enough for my mother.

That was the moment I understood: going no-contact was not enough. Self-help was not enough. If I wanted to raise happy children who would neither fear nor hate me, I had to break the cycle.

My mother had a terrible childhood, and I have some understanding of how she became the person she is. I do not know much about her mother’s upbringing, but I doubt it was easy. Still, understanding the source of harm does not mean passing it on. I do not want to hand this nasty inheritance to my children.

I will mess up. I am sure I will hear “I hate you!” when they are teenagers—probably with impressive volume and dramatic timing. But I want to remain their safe person.

Finding the Right Therapist—and Choosing to Break the Cycle

The next day, I started looking for a psychologist nearby—someone I could speak to in person. I got lucky and found an amazing therapist whose sessions were exactly what I needed. I’ll share how it went and what I learned in future posts.

Therapy was an emotional ride. Sometimes I wondered whether it would have been easier never to start. The more I understood about myself—my decisions, past relationships, marriage, and parenting—and how much of it reflected the examples I had grown up with, the angrier I became. I think anger was a stage I needed to pass through, not my final destination.

I no longer think healing is a neat process with a finish line. But I am not consumed by anger anymore. I have accepted my past and made peace with it. I understand myself better, and that understanding has made me calmer. I believe I am a better parent now. That remains my intention: to be a better version of myself than I was yesterday.