The Psychological Effect of a Controlling Mother
I’m writing this hub from a personal perspective in hopes of helping anyone else who might have suffered a similar fate and isn’t sure how to change their life.
I was raised by perfectionist parents who were extremely overbearing. Consequently, my relationships have suffered, and I've made a few decisions that are less than flattering. But I did get through it.
My childhood and adolescent experiences are examples of how controlling behavior can manifest. I hope by sharing these experiences, other people might realize a pattern in their own life, and be able to make changes and take back control of their lives.
The Beginning of a Broken Childhood
I was born in Fort Lauderdale back in 1978. At the time, my parents had been married for nine years, and were on the verge of divorce. My mother had an abortion prior to my birth, and after I was born by cesarean section, my parents officially ended their marriage.
My mother didn’t want me, and wrote a letter saying as much. The letter was addressed to my father’s parents, my grandparents, with whom she was leaving me. My father had decided that was the best course of action, but made an effort, with a few visitations during my first year of life, to be involved.
My grandparents gave me my first bottle in the hospital. They brought me home, and treated me as their daughter. Four years later, they adopted me.
I remember going to the attorney’s office and being asked about living arrangements. I don’t recall my response, my grandparents (from here on referenced as my parents) told me I said I wanted them to raise me. The most I remember is the seat warmer in the secretary’s chair at her desk and trying to figure out how to turn it on.
I was declared legally abandoned by the courts, and my parents officially adopted me. The birth certificate has their names on it, not those of my biological parents.
My parents made no effort to hide any of this from me. I knew from a very young age that I was adopted. Granted, I was adopted by immediate family, but adopted nonetheless.
This really made no difference to me. My parents were the people raising me, not the people who gave birth to me. It was just a fact.
Growing Up with a Controlling Mother
Growing up was difficult. I attended private, catholic school all my life including high school. I didn’t have any friends in elementary school, and I was routinely picked on by bullies. I had an above average IQ, and was apparently “pretty” because adults told me as much. This made me the perfect target for bullies.
In my heart, I didn’t really care that everyone teased me and called me ugly or fat (I was actually quite skinny). But in the back of my mind, it affected me. Despite my outward expression of self-confidence, I was only confident when I was by myself.
Ironically, during my years as a young child, my mother wasn't horribly controlling. However, I was never allowed to have a sleep over (either at my house or theirs), and I only had one birthday party that I can remember, and only one person showed up, which is why I remember it.
As I got older, my mother's controlling behavior just escalated.
During high school, I had a couple of friends who were in the band, which was the only time I was really allowed to "socialize." One of them was a witch, and his best friend became my best friend.
She was amazing. She laughed at all my jokes; she even helped me stand up against the bullies. My mom told me to simply ignore them because they were just jealous. Although she was probably right, there was no other comforting offered. Just a lot of physical hugs and kisses (on the mouth), which I had come to despise.
In my junior year, a new student started at our school. He was probably THE best-looking guy in the school and he became MY boyfriend. Strangely, no one really picked on me after that.
Except for my mother.
The Signs of Controlling Behavior - Personal Examples
Having a serious boyfriend exacerbated my mother’s behavior. She started to track my periods on her calendar, which were never regular. It wasn't unusual for me to miss 2 months or more.
At one point, she showed me all the months I had “missed.” On every one, she wrote something like “please God, don’t let it be so” in large red letters at the bottom of the month.
I knew I wasn’t pregnant, I didn’t lose my virginity until I was 20! But, she didn’t believe me, and she wondered why I never went to her with anything important.
I was never the type to talk with anyone about anything, especially my parents. I kept just about everything to myself. This lead to my mom being so nosy she would ransack my room, including my garbage, to find out anything she could about my life.
I tried to keep a diary, but she put a stop to that by reading it constantly. How do you stop someone from invading your privacy? You keep everything inside. Eventually for one of my birthday’s, my mom got me a diary with a combination lock on it, and promised never to read it again. She never did, not that I know of anyway. But I didn't really write in it anymore either.
This didn’t stop her from rummaging through my garbage, though. There were many, many arguments with my parents. Most of them entailed my mom yelling at my dad and I, while we sat there and stared at the floor.
One time, she even threw out the Christmas turkey and then stayed in her bedroom all day. It was a common occurrence. I actually enjoyed these times since it was just dad and I.
We’d sometimes watch Tom and Jerry cartoons and on the days mom wouldn’t come out to cook dinner, we’d have peanut butter sandwiches dipped in coffee. Dad and I were always close.
Saturday mornings were bad. I’d be rudely awakened by screaming. Mom inevitably would be screaming at dad in the kitchen about things that happened 40 years ago. The screaming was amplified by the air conditioning vent so I could hear every word.
My mom thought I slept too much because I “slept in” until noon or later.
I wasn’t sleeping; I was hiding.
The last thing I ever wanted to do was leave my room on days like that because the second I stepped foot into the kitchen, either I’d get dragged into it, or it would just stop and mom would act like nothing happened… to me.
Dad would be sitting in the corner of the kitchen staring at the floor and if she had anything to say to him, she would say it in a tone that I can’t even describe. My only escape from all of this was the driving.
Once I got my license (which I didn't get until I was 17), I spent as much time in my car as I could. It was my safe haven. Even to this day, driving my car is the one place I feel the safest.
I became a smoker and tried a few drugs. I wanted an escape from life. I guess it was also a way of rebelling, although I never thought of it that way. I didn’t know how else to cope. Anytime I was home, I had to walk on eggshells around my mom. She was a ticking time bomb.
For example, I went to a dermatologist for my acne when I was 18 who suggested birth control pills to regulate my period, which would also regulate the hormones causing the acne problem.
I didn't want pills, and definitely not birth control pills. Not only did I know my mother would freak out, I knew birth control pills had side effects, and I just didn't want to deal with them.
I had called her via my cell phone on my way back from the doctor (she surprisingly let me go alone), and made the mistake of telling her the doctor's suggestion over the phone. As I suspected, when I told her the dermatologist suggested birth control as a line of treatment, she freaked out.
For someone who was afraid to let me drive at all, she was doing quite a bit of yelling in my ear while I was driving, and it wasn't about calling her while driving. I remember her words vividly: "I don't like where this is going!" she screamed.
I think I blocked out the rest of the conversation. But I do remember taking my time to get home.
Rebelling Against Controlling Parents in Adulthood
After graduation, I chose a little Baptist college in a tiny town, four hours away from home. Once I got there, I had a hard time dealing with all the freedom. My mom wasn’t hovering over me telling me to study, what to wear or how to style my hair. I was free. I knew my parents had a four hour drive to the school if they wanted to come and take me home. It was enough time to run.
The last half of my freshman year, my mom told me if I was good, and brought up my GPA, she'd put the car in my name and let me drive it my sophomore year.
I was the perfect little angel for those six months, and I did enough extra credit to double my GPA. My mom kept her word and put the car in my name.
I was smart, I knew once she put the car in my name she couldn't take it from me. I was 18, and if she did take it, I could report it stolen. Getting the car in my name changed me, although I didn't realize it at the time.
After getting the car, my grades were horrible. So bad, in fact, I flunked out. I really didn’t care. I had met a man, and we were getting married.
My parents found out and started driving up to the school. I ran. I knew they couldn’t find me if I went to my fiancé’s house.
It was a huge ordeal, campus security got involved. I was informed about the legalities of the situation, which at 18, all I understood was that my parents couldn’t physically remove me from anywhere. And since they had put the car in my name, they couldn’t even take that, which would have been the first thing she did. She always threatened to take my car from me.
I got married to the man my parents hated, and I rescued two dogs (pets were another thing I was never allowed to have). Six years after I married, I got divorced.
By this time, I had realized I married him to get away from my parents. There was no love there, and there never was if I’m honest with myself.
Unfortunately, this separation forced me to call my mom and get her financial support to move into my own apartment.
I had a career, that paid enough to make the rent. The week I moved into my new apartment, I got a $3 raise. I was set. I had a car, and I had my dogs.
For three months, I did some soul-searching. I delved further into my spirituality, and I realized I had let my controlling parents ruin my life by running away.
The relationship with my parents has never been the same. I became overly analytical to compensate for my mom’s irrationally emotional behavior. This has driven my life. I despise talking with my mom.
I eventually remarried and had a daughter of my own. Initially, I tried to keep my parents in my daughter's life thinking they could offer some enrichment. But every time I called my mother, she would say nothing but derogatory things about my husband and my life.
These conversations with my mom would leave me feeling anxious, angry and frustrated, which I inevitably took out on my husband and daughter. I eventually realized I couldn't keep doing this. The effects of each conversation lasted longer, and I would put off calling my mom as long as possible because I just didn't want to deal with her. This just lead to more anxiety and frustration and it took a toll on both me and my family.
I eventually came to the conclusion that the only way to fix the situation was to stop talking to my mother altogether. It really wasn't a difficult decision. I knew I didn't want my daughter growing up exposed to my mother's vitriol.
Best decision I ever made.
My parents are now getting on in years, and their health is failing. Imminent death tends to make you rethink your decisions. I have lived the past 10 years without talking to my parents, with exception of my dad.
Dad was never the problem, and when he had health issues during the spring of 2014, I broke down and called him. It was very sad. His speech was garbled, and I could barely understand what he was saying. But it did feel good to tell him I loved him. I even let him talk to my daughter. Although she had a harder time understanding him than I did, I know it made dad feel better knowing that he was able to say hello and tell us he loved us.
During all of this, I have never felt bad about my decision to avoid communication with my mom. But I have felt that my dad has had to suffer because of my decision. This has never sat well with me, but I have yet to find a way around it.
Dealing with Controlling Parents
Controlling parents have a massive psychological impact on their children. They can strip them of the ability to find anything satisfying in life, and this is something that is virtually impossible to overcome.
I’ve had to separate myself completely from my parents, unfortunately, in an effort to change my outlook on life. Talking to my parents only serves to reinforce the negative mindset I’ve worked so hard to shift.
To many people, including myself, severing contact with parents may seem harsh, and it very well may be. But, I have to do what is right for my child now. If not speaking with my parents gives her the life I never had, then so be it. I despise emotion. I really dislike affection. I refuse to let my daughter feel the same way.
© 2012 Melissa Flagg OSC