I grew up in a small town in eastern Slovakia in what was, “on paper,” a respectable family, where shouting, arguments, and fights between my parents were part of everyday life. We lived in a classic Eastern European-style block of flats. It happened several times that I would be walking home from school and could already hear my mother shouting. I never knew what I was coming home to, and I barely looked forward to it. It was supposed to be my safe place; instead, it was a place I wanted to disappear from, a place that gave me stomach aches. At one point, my father finally said, “Enough!” and moved out. I did not cry. Not because I was not sad. I was the firstborn daughter and had been taught that I must not cry, must not get in the way, must not have my own needs or opinions. At a very young age I learned to push down my feelings. At first, there was relief. The silence. My perpetually shouting, psychologically disturbed mother suddenly became kind, patient, and loving. But it did not last long, and a different kind of hell began. My parents started fighting each other through us, their children. Of course, my father’s mother, our grandmother, also took his side. Ridicule directed at my mother was present during every obligatory Sunday visit. My mother’s uncontrollable screaming and aggression were there too, every time we returned home: “Did you enjoy your day with your ‘beloved daddy’???” After a while, I understood that talking back was dangerous, that loving my father was something better kept secret, and that his name should not be mentioned at all. In every family, children are divided between parents. People do not say it out loud, but one child always fits better with the father, another with the mother. My parent was my father. Emotionally denying his existence was difficult and traumatic, but I learned to do it. I learned to suppress my anger and not show emotions, because that meant safety, which I needed from my primary caregiver as a child. Only later did it become clear that all that suppression had led to reduced thyroid function. When the throat cannot cry, speak, or scream, that suffocation sooner or later turns into inflammation. How many people do you know with an autoimmune disease? Are they, by any chance, women? Kind, compliant women who try to avoid conflict at any cost, yet still live in constant stress; who above all serve others and have learned never to ask anyone for anything? It is worth thinking about…
The First Taste of Calm
I longed for freedom, although I did not even realize how much. After graduating from high school, I went to England for a year as an au-pair for a divorced mother who was raising her two children on her own. That was the first year of my life when I realized how strange it is to live without stress. How unusual it is when the people you live with under one roof are kind to you. It was around the beginning of my stay there that I messed up. The mother was working shifts, and I usually had the weekends free, as the children stayed with their father. I misunderstood when I should be at home on Sunday, and my phone had also been stolen at a party the evening before. She was working a night shift, the father brought the children home, and I was nowhere to be found because I was out with my girlfriends. When I got home, the father and the children informed me that their mother was really angry. I could not sleep all night; I was so nervous. I was expecting a huge telling-off for my mistake. Instead, there was quiet. Nothing… I went to apologize. She told me in a very calm tone that she was disappointed in me and had not expected such behavior. I promised it would never happen again, and that was it. This was my first experience of mistakes being handled in such a calm and respectful manner. I could not believe it. Later, I realized that the stomach aches that had been part of my whole life were gradually gone. I will be forever grateful to dear Alex for this eye-opening experience.
Leaving Home to Survive
My mother gave me an ultimatum: until I was accepted to a university, I should not show up at home. So, I chose a university abroad. Thanks to that, I would visit my hometown as little as possible. My mother was proud; she could boast about what and where her daughter was studying, and I, in turn, was calm because I did not have to experience stress with her every day. Of course, we must not forget how financially demanding my studies were for her. For her, money always meant a means of control. As soon as I was no longer the polite, compliant little Csilluska, she threatened to withhold finances from me. When I decided it would be better to pack it all in after my bachelor’s degree so I would not burden her wallet any further, that was also out of the question. It would have been her shame, after all. She could not have boasted about that. Once she “joked” that she would take out a loan, kill herself, and I would repay that loan in the same monthly amounts as my studies were costing her. Now I know that the wisest thing would have been never to return from England and never to accept any further help from her, but it is hard to reach such conclusions when you have never been allowed to think independently and somehow still believe that she is your mother, that she means well, and that what she does, she does out of love for you… Back then, I did not even suspect that one’s own parent could be a person who needs to feed their ego, who needs to keep people under their control, who does not perceive their child as an independent being but as an extension of themselves…
Love, Motherhood, and Burnout
After my studies, I stayed abroad and swore that I would never return to Slovakia… until a childhood friend, Rado reappeared in my life, and I fell in love with him. Our dating period was very short. He proposed to me 10 days after our first date, married me three months later, and we began our life together once again in my hometown. Three years later, our first son was born; in the meantime, we had started building our dream house in a village 40 km away, and I once again breathed a sigh of relief that I could put at least a little distance between myself and my mother. Our son was not yet two years old when our twins were born (a boy and a girl), and a crazy merry-go-round began. After three years on parental “leave,” I was quite looking forward to going back to work. I managed to find a great work-from-home job at an amazing company, for which I was grateful every day, until my psychologist confirmed that I was completely burned out. Working from home is practical, except that you never switch between work mode and parenting mode. You keep running two roles in parallel nonstop. Three children—essentially triplets—plus a higher-level job that requires more responsibility is a perfect recipe for a mental collapse. Preschool-aged children can be intense. Preschool-aged children who are often sick at home run on a surprisingly high-energy program. This does not align well with the never-ending, trendy Teams meetings required in corporate organizations, especially if we are talking about an employee who is a perfectionist—me.
It became clear that something needed to change. I want to be a good mother. A present and patient mother. I do not want to repeat the parenting patterns I absorbed as a child.
The Break That Had to Hold
I went no contact with my narcissistic mother two years ago. It is not the first time I have cut ties with her, but under pressure from those around me, and because of guilt, I always reconciled with her. Unfortunately, after reconciling, we either pretended as if nothing had happened, or even when I tried to explain what the problem was, understanding or acknowledgment of mistakes never came, and every time I only regretted having let myself be deceived again.
This time, I truly mean the break in contact seriously and irreversibly. It was only a few months ago that I realized I was finally thinking with my own voice. My decisions are no longer based on “Would she approve?” or “Would she be proud?” but on “Is this what I really want?” and “Is this what’s best for me and my family?” This realization simply proved that I had made the right decision. I finally unmeshed myself.
A New Life Within Reach
Seeing this positive shift in my mental health (and the negative shift in our geographic area), my husband and I have decided to move as far away as possible, somewhere my mother cannot reach me or our family. Somewhere we can start a new, simple life. That is why we decided to sell all our property; we bought a beautiful plot of land in Costa Rica, where we will move in a month and build ourselves a new home.
After we made this decision, I handed in my resignation. I have not worked at my corporate job for over a month now, and I can already feel the benefits of it. I finally genuinely want to spend time with my beautiful children and husband. I have regained the patience I was once so well known for. I laugh with them, we have long chats together, and I am just so happy that, at last, I truly enjoy being a mother and a wife.
I believe our new Eden will be a place where we can raise happy, healthy children who will know what the right values are, who will know that they can fully trust us as parents, and who, as adults, will be able to build meaningful relationships based on love and mutual respect.