A Love Letter to My Narcissistic Mother

Coming to terms with a life lived unloved by the ghost of a woman who never was.

E.B. Johnson NLPMP
15 min readJan 7, 2022


A rare photo of my mother with one of my brothers.

Please Note: Some names have been changed to protect the anonymity of individuals both living and deceased.

by: E.B. Johnson

The day I found my mother’s psychiatric medication is a day that saved my life. Sneaking into my mother’s bedroom had always been a sin, but it became a capital crime after my father left. Weeks after his car had peeled out of the driveway — gravel ricocheting in its wake — she had slammed the door shut to that doomed room and pointed her finger in my face.

You’re not to go in there anymore, understood?

I nodded my child’s head eagerly, but the goalposts were set. I became obsessed with this new forbidden zone; with everything locked behind that impossible door.

Almost a year to the day of my father’s departure, I got my chance. Left home alone by a mother forced to work more than ever before — I found the key in the drawer and crept quietly down the hall. This was in the early days, before the hall was filled with sewage.

I turned the key over in the lock and felt the spring give way. With a quiet pop, the pin burst outward and the knob turned freely in my hand.

The door was tough to move over the age-stiffened carpet, but I persevered and made my way into the dingy space. Sparse shards of light flickered through ragged curtains and delicate specks of dust danced in-between. It was a time capsule of doom. Nothing touched or moved since the day my father had left us.

The water bed was still there, a hulking wooden frame dark and imposing against faded white walls. The mattress was motionless, but it still bore the old quilt my grandmother had given my parents only a few Christmases earlier. One corner, on my father’s side, was still turned back to reveal sheets that were crumbling and stained by some invisible hand.

It was a mausoleum of failure, and even in my naivety I could feel the grief and the misery pouring off of every trinket and dust-caked pile of clothing.

Desperate to get away, but unwilling to abandon my quest — I ventured further into…



E.B. Johnson NLPMP

NLPMP Coach | Writer & Content Creator | Sharing my knowedge with the world ⭐️ https://linktr.ee/ebjohnson01