Reclaiming My Autonomy: A Journey Back to Myself
The impact of maternal narcissistic abuse on personal autonomy
I didn’t just lose my autonomy—I never even had the chance to develop it in the first place. That’s the truth for so many of us healing from maternal narcissistic abuse.
Growing up under the iron grip and relentless control of a covertly narcissistic mother, I didn’t have autonomy—period.
This wasn’t just a toxic relationship; it was a dictatorship.
I had no personal agency, no room to breathe or grow.
It’s no wonder that now, as an adult, I bristle with animosity when someone tries to tell me what to do, even if it’s with good intention.
The rebel in me is a direct response to years of oppressive control.
Anyway, everything I did, thought, and believed had to align with her ideals in order for me to survive and escape her unpredictable punishments.
My thoughts? Irrelevant.
My feelings? Ignored, though showing emotions of any sort led to punishment.
My choices? They weren’t mine to make.
It wasn’t just about the big things; even the smallest decisions were dictated by her.
Whether it was what I wore, how I spoke, or even what I believed about myself and the world, her chaotic influence loomed over everything. This is what it looks like when personal autonomy is stolen before it ever had a chance to form.
For decades, I convinced myself this was normal, which was my survival instinct kicking in.
But living that way conditioned me to dismiss my needs and defer to others, even after I became an adult.
The control and fear followed me into midlife, leaving me feeling lost and powerless.
The frustration of learning autonomy later in life
Here’s me keeping it real: I feel angry that I’m just now, at almost 58 years old, learning what autonomy even looks like.
I watch people around me who seem to make decisions effortlessly and it stings.
There’s a frustration that comes with realizing how much time I’ve lost to someone else’s control, how much of my life was spent living for someone else instead of for myself.
And while I’m proud of the progress I’ve made, that anger is still there.
It’s a real part of my healing process and I’m learning to hold space for it without letting it stop me or shame me.
How I began reclaiming my autonomy
Reclaiming my autonomy hasn’t been easy and it certainly hasn’t been linear.
I’ve stumbled, hesitated, and second-guessed myself more times than I can count.
But I can tell you this: every step forward, no matter how small, has been worth it.
Here’s where I started:
Recognition of my lack of autonomy. The first step was simply acknowledging how much control my mother had over my life and where that control showed up (honestly, everywhere!). I had to face the hard truth that her abuse robbed me of my sense of self and my ability to act independently. That realization hurt like hell, but it was necessary.
Redefining what autonomy means to me. Autonomy doesn’t have to mean grand gestures or big, bold decisions. For me, it started with the smallest choices: What do I want to eat today? What feels good to me right now? When should I schedule watercolor lessons? These weren’t just decisions—they were declarations of my right to exist as my own person and do what I want to do when I want to do it (what a concept!).
Building self-trust. Years of being controlled eroded my self-trust, so rebuilding it became a cornerstone of my healing. Learning to build self-trust after abuse meant reclaiming my right to decide, trust, and believe in myself again.I started small by making decisions without second-guessing or seeking external validation—for example, scheduling my watercolor lessons without getting someone else’s approval for timing or location.
Setting boundaries. Boundaries were one of the hardest lessons for me to learn. Growing up, boundaries weren’t allowed. As an adult, I’ve had to practice saying “no” without guilt or protecting my energy from people who don’t respect me. It felt scary at first, but with practice it became empowering.
Leaning into my rebel energy. That rebellious streak I mentioned? It’s been a double-edged sword. For years, it showed up as silent defiance, a way to invisibly push back against the control I suffered through. But now, I’m learning to channel it in beautiful ways that serve me—advocating for myself, standing up for my needs, and unapologetically living my truth.
What I’ve learned about autonomy
Reclaiming autonomy is an ongoing practice for me.
It isn’t just about making decisions—it’s about reclaiming my right to exist as my own person.
It’s about saying I matter.
My choices matter.
My life matters.
This process has taught showed me that autonomy isn’t something anyone can give you—it’s something you have to take for yourself.
It’s not about being perfect or fearless; it’s about showing up for myself, even when it feels hard.
Final thoughts
Autonomy isn’t something I’ve mastered…yet.
It’s something I’m still learning and practicing every day (practice is key!).
But every step I take brings me closer to a life I’m designing that feels amazing!
If you’re on this journey, too—whether you’re reclaiming personal autonomy, healing from maternal narcissistic abuse, or building self-trust after abuse—know this: it’s okay to start small. It’s okay to stumble. It’s okay to take your time. Reclaiming autonomy isn’t about getting it right—it’s about giving yourself the freedom to try.
To rewriting your story with love and belief,
Carole