I remember the first time I met her, in the beginning, before I'd moved in with him. There was a barage of questions, one of them being about holidays, where had my parents taken me on holiday when I was younger? Well, being from a fairly low income family, I'd been to Spain a handful of times and then often on caravan holidays to Devon in the UK where we lived. This gave way to a hefty monologue about all of the countries they had visited as a family over the years. She was clearly very proud of their travel achievements.
But I remember her making me feel very inferior. She talked about the location of my rented flat, she knew exactly where it was and what the outside of it looked like, despite her living nowhere near the flat- 8 miles away. Despite the flat being in a boring cul-de-sac with hardly anything around it. I wondered if she had driven to see where I lived before I'd met her, she wouldn't do that would she? It would be a strange thing to do given that I had no material wealth or sprawling mansion to impress her with.
Peter was quiet around his parents and a little tense. His mother seemed to monologue persistently at me, whilst not really listening to any of my responses. His father was always straight-faced and serious, intermittently chirping in on his wife's monologues which were mostly about wealthy people who I didn't know. Peter had learned to be quiet whilst his parents talked, that was clear to see and he just accepted it. He didn't swoon in and save me with a joke about their boring scripts, he'd abandon me in their chatter in some sort of mindless obligation to them. I'd leave their company feeling totally drained.
After the baby was born, his mother's expectations of me became enormous. It was evident that she was to be a big part of my baby's life and that I had no say in it. At first, I found it endearing, particularly in the absence of my own mother who lived a few hundred miles away. But she had an opinion on everything, she didn't hold back. I'd get phone calls and messages everyday and through the night, requesting details on how she'd slept, how she'd eaten, in a very informational seeking way, rather than out of love or care.
I also couldn't do anything right. I was always "making a rod" for my back, she was always suggesting different ways of doing things and I began feeling like my baby belonged to her. I felt like her childminder and became very mentally ill.
She would turn up unannounced and I began keeping the curtains closed during the day time. This woman knew no boundaries. My feelings began spilling out at the mother and baby unit and they reassured me that I did not owe this woman my maternity leave and precious time with my baby.
They encouraged me to speak to Peter.
Bravely, I began explaining my struggles with Peter's mother's behaviour on a walk together. He was visibly uncomfortable by what I had to say. This was the first time I remember him seriously gaslighting me. He told me that she "meant well" that I needed to "ignore her" "take no notice" "just don't take her comments on board" "it's just how she is with everyone, not just how she is with you." I had to learn to cope with it! (Like he had?).
No matter what I said or how I said it, he always minimised his mother's behaviour and found an excuse for it. This man was so deep in the normality and monotony of his mother's dysfunctional behaviour that he couldn't see objectively how it was affecting me or acknowledge that it was making me ill. He batted off my concerns for months. When she interferred in our finances and meddled in our appointment with the bank, I said enough was enough. I was leaving him.
He panicked and spoke to her, like a nervous child and she was of course horrified that he'd dared to challenge her behaviour after all these years. He was miserable for days after challenging his mother, like a scorned child.
The time came for him to speak to her again, when I'd had enough of her behaviour and challenged her myself much to Peter's alarm. She clearly found it proposterous that I could ever be upset by her behaviour, and became a blubbering victim in the whole thing. The family- his father, sister all pandering to her mental distress. It was awful. This family was trained to partake and pander to this dysfunction.
Peter visited his mother for a conversation which had to take place should our relationship be able to continue. He was reluctant but he knew now how serious I was, I needed boundaries and he needed to tell her. He spoke to her and from what he told me, she excused much of it, could not see the impact her behaviour was having on me and was highly unapologetic. I had several months of space from her afterwards and began to get better, I started bonding with our daughter and enjoying being a mum. Peter changed a little. He realised that I was not going to just slot into his life as it was and conform, he acknowledged this and saw me for who I was. But it changed the way he felt about me, that was for sure. I wasn't the good girl he'd met in the beginning, I was a rule breaker and a nonconformist. Our planned marriage never happened. I'd shouted at hime about his mum too much, I swore too much- swearing is bad. It's amazing how much you shout when they refuse to listen. Not that it works. I have learned that action works better though "if you don't do x, I will do Y." But he resents me for it I'm sure, for uprooting him from the comfortable dysfunction that he had grown up with.
Fast forward to now, two children and many improvements later and I am able to be in the company of his mother for short periods of time. I do not give her the stage for her monologues anymore and I walk away, speak over her or begin a conversation with someone else. She of course, doesn't like me, but with age comes wisdom and I've learned that being liked isn't everything.
His father slipped my radar for a while, but I've learned that his impact on Peter is huge; how possessive he is with Peter and his sister (let's call her Sally). He needs them to need him. He likes to be in control and know everything they're doing. He bails Sally out all the time- she is like a child even at 38 years old. Peter's father is stuck in the habit of parenting his daughter as if she were a teenager. He has no friends. Peter and Sally are their Dad's special interests. As for his mother, her special interests are always changing- at the moment it's her new art class and the people within it. As for the grandchildren, the novelty of them wore off years ago.
I've known his parents for 12 years and they don't know me. They are rude. They are not interested in anything I have to say, they speak over me, they don't laugh when I tell a joke. Communication with them is highly strained, it doesn't flow. They speak at me and I'm supposed to nod and agree to all they say. I continue being me after discussing the relationship I have with them at length in counselling. Do I be polite to them? Don't I? His mother won't even say hello back when I say hello to her. We concluded that I should keep being me, despite their dysfunction. This has had some advantages as Peter has been able to see his mother's lack of friendly responses towards me when I continue my smiley, friendly but unreciprocated greetings. Peter is now made uncomfortable by her because of how she is with me, rather than the other way around and that's progress.
I've wasted so much time over these last 12 years, weighing up what is wrong with Peter's family. Even now, I find myself pondering over his mother- is she ASD, or is she a narcissist? If I'm honest, I still don't know, but there is something and regardless of label, the impact on me is the same and that is what matters. And this dysfunction, inherited or learned spreads through families.
If I'm honest with myself and with you- I see ASD in all of Peter's family, from his grandmother, to all three of her children, to Peter's cousins, his sister and now, I am seeing traits in our eldest daughter. Being neurotypical in a life where you're surrounded by neurodivergence is tough, that is if I'm even NT myself. Who knows.
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