So, I took a shower yesterday and had a flashback of something my mother did to me back in the day.  I was getting dressed in a room, behind a closed door, and my mother walks in, unannounced, not knocking, just barging in.  Like usual.  Anyways, she sees me without a shirt on and stares for a moment. I scream at her to leave, she does, and then she proceeds to spend the next however long going on a tirade about my breasts and nipples.  As though I asked her to look at my boobs and give me her opinion on them.  I don't know about you, but I would never on purpose show my mother my boobs.  I don't know if any daughter would.  She keeps going on and on and on about "I had no idea that's what breastfeeding does to your boobs!  And your nipples!  Oh my god!  Blah blah blah!"  I am mortified.  I am not sure if she said this front of my father, but knowing her, she probably did.  

I did not give my mother permission to look at my breasts.  So what gave her the right to comment on them? 

When we moved in here, she used to barge into my room, too.  I never outright told her she wasn't allowed in my room.  I know better than that.  Narcissists DO NOT do well with direct communication.  But I should have.  I should have told her outright, since you cannot knock and wait for me to open my door, you are not allowed in my room, ever.  Instead I beat around the bush and installed locks to keep her out.  She eventually learned.  But it was a LONG time and a lot of going back and forth.  Why do we as children of narcissists who are not narcissists feel SOOOOO guilty being straightforward with someone who is doing something wrong?  Why do we fear we are the ones being rude to a person who is clearly being rude?  

Therapy in a Nutshell on Youtube says that there are two types of people on this planet: ask culture and guess culture.  But I disagree.  Ask culture are 100% narcissists/bullies.  And guess culture are their victims, which makes us non-combative and usually end up becoming the victims of narcissists/bullies.  We fear that saying no is rude when a rude person outrightly asks for something that's rude to ask for (or tells, or demands, etc.).  

Another time, I butt-dialed my mother on accident and she sat there listening to a very private conversation about my surgery I need to have (hysterectomy) and when I got back, she proceeded to tell me what SHE thought I should do about my surgery, as though I had given her permission to listen to my conversation.  

Another time, the neighborhood weirdo, Fritz, came over and logged himself into my mom's computer and my mother got into it and read all of his emails, as though her gave her permission to do read them.  

Let's not forget, if she has a key to your house, she will enter any time she likes and give you her opinion on what she thinks your house looks like.  One time, she entered my house while we were on vacation and cleaned my whole house (3 stories) without permission.  Which means she looked through all my stuff. 

Moving in here, she used to go through my groceries the moment I walked in the door, as though what I bought was any of her business.  If I left anything in the other room to keep out of her view, she'd go in there and go through the bag, too.  

My mother NEVER asks for permission for anything.  Ever.  Never has.  I don't understand that world.  I don't get how you can live that way, thinking you are so freaking entitled to everyone else's life around you that you never think that you should ask permission before barging in on someone's privacy.  But that's her.  Zero self-awareness lady.  

I mean, I've written on here about the numerous, numerous ways she's crossed my boundaries and into my privacy, as though I am not a person, but her pet or object she can do whatever she likes with.  But she treats everyone that way.  Not just me.  

The whole things about my boobs?  Reminds me of someone else, too.  My mother-in-law.  She used to, in front of my husband's brother, sister, and father, sit there and brag about the size of my husband's penis when he was a kid.  As though that was appropriate to talk about, even in private.  Or my father talking about my breast size with his friends when I was a kid.  What's wrong with these idiots?  Who never taught them about boundaries?  Or maybe they just don't care. 

Sometimes, I wish I could go back in time to those moments, being the age I am right now, and tell them all to fuck off.  

I forgot about the boobs thing.  I say "boobs" as though it's funny or a joke, It wasn't.  She was going into detail about the color, the size, and the sagginess of my breasts after breastfeeding.  And asking if that was normal.  It wasn't funny.  It wasn't a joke.  It was disgusting, humiliating, and awful.  But that's my mother for you.  The Queen of Terrible Things.  

Though, recently, after last Thanksgiving's attack (in 2022, from both my ovary and my mother), my mother then told her BFF Christmas my personal medical business about what had happened to me in the kitchen as I was walking through.  I looked right at her and said "Excuse me!  That's not your business to tell anyone!  That's MY personal medical business."  She replied "I didn't think you'd care if I told Christmas."  I said "If I wanted her to know, I'd tell her myself.  That's not up to you to tell anyone, thank you very much!"  She said okay, but I am sure she was angry about it.  But it sure felt good to put her in her place the moment she did something wrong, rather than either never saying anything about it, or telling her too late when she has plausible deniability (or at least she think she does) and she weasels her way out by saying either "I don't remember doing that" or "That didn't happen!".  But she can't say either of those things when I call her out right when it happens.  Also, her BFF heard us both say what we said, so my mother can't lie about it either way (either to Christmas later, about what I said or to me later, about what she said--which she always will if given the opportunity).  So, living with her the first two years was total hell, but I will say there is healing here.  And healing to be had.  Things I could never say in the past, I can catch her in the act and say now.  So, it's healing the things I could never say before.  Which is my silver lining, I guess.  

I love the meme that says "I am not stronger due to my pain, I am stronger despite it".  And the good that has come out of living with her, the healing things, they aren't worth the pain I had to endure to get here.  But they are good despite it.  The silver lining in my shitty storm of a mother.  

Flashbacks are annoying, but they necessary for healing and I am glad I have somewhere to record them.