How narcissism stole my wedding morning

When every moment is about her.

“Narcissistic mothers absolutely hate and resent your special days and successes. This makes sense when you think about it. Since everything is about her, then your graduation, your pregnancy, your baby, your book deal, your wedding, is almost a crime against nature. You’re trying to make it about you, when everything should always be about her… Now, dismissing our successes does not mean that they cannot at the same time claim them and get attention for them.”

- You’re Not Crazy, It’s Your Mother: Understanding and Healing for Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers by Danu Morrigan

I had quite the ‘aha’ moment when I first read this paragraph written by Danu Morrigan. Suddenly, another way in which my mother left me feeling out of sorts was finally making sense to me. The fact that “your wedding” was mentioned in the text also confirmed that the above sentiment rang true for my experience with my mum.

A wedding morning with my narcissistic mother

It was my wedding day (I can’t write that without singing “Bruno” from Disney’s Encanto), and the plan had been for myself, my bridesmaids, and my mum to get ready together in the large hotel suite I had booked. Except, my mum didn’t show up all morning.

Initially, I thought she was just running late. Then I assumed she wasn’t happy with her dress. Finally, I began to worry. I called and texted, but there was no answer. Hours passed, and when the cars arrived to take us to the wedding venue, there was still no sign of her. I called again, and again, and again.

By this point, I was fully dressed, makeup done, and trying to hold back tears. I had envisioned us finally sharing a happy morning together, sipping champagne with my bridesmaids while getting ready. Instead, she left me heartbroken - yet again. Just as I resigned myself to leaving without her, imagining the chaos that would cause, she finally arrived.

She walked straight past me to my friend, who is a hairdresser, and asked for help with her hair because it hadn’t gone right. She didn’t acknowledge me or my dress (which she hadn’t previously seen, but that’s a story for another time). My friends, put in an awkward position, reassured her that her hair looked fine and did a few touch-ups for her, while saying “doesn’t Chloe look lovely”. She looked my way, murmured something, while gesturing what I think was a yes, without actually saying anything.

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Have you ever experienced a moment like this, where the people closest to you seem determined to diminish your joy?

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I brushed it off, sharing with everyone that we had to get to the cars because they’d been waiting for us.

We had two cars. My bridesmaids went in one, and I went in the other with my mum and brother. A decision I soon regretted. On the drive, she shouted at me for “leaving her out” that morning. She accused me of being awful for not including her, claimed my friends were horrified at how I treated her, and said I was selfish for not helping her get ready. Then she insisted I fix the brooch on her dress, because it wasn’t staying put. The brooch was fine.

The roles we play

When I tried to explain that I had wanted her with us all morning and could I now just enjoy the drive to my wedding venue, she started shouting again. I gave in and spent the drive fiddling with her brooch while staring at her chest.

Her accusations spiralled in my mind. Had I not been clear about wanting her to get ready with us? Were my friends horrified by my actions? Once again, I found myself questioning everything. Her version of events never matched my reality, but her words always made me doubt myself.

Considering the drive we’d just had, I was stunned when she stepped out of the car in full ‘mother of the bride’ mode - smiling, happy, and telling everyone how proud she was that the big day had finally come. The transformation was astonishing. I’d seen this in smaller ways before, but never so dramatic. Still, I followed her lead. You’d never have known what had happened that morning or in the car. We played our roles as happy mother and daughter, even though we barely made eye contact all day.

Betrayal, speeches and silence

With traditions in mind, and considering that my dad passed away when I was younger, I wanted to ask my mum how she felt about splitting the traditional ‘father of the bride’ role between herself and my brother. Before I had even finished sharing my thoughts, she immediately said it would be a lovely idea, as it would give her “a big role” while also giving my brother a “special role”. I was relieved that, for once, she actually liked something I suggested. After that conversation, we decided together that my brother would walk me down the aisle, and my mum would give a speech - provided my brother was happy with this, which he was."

Despite that conversation, and unknown to me at the time, she took to her Facebook page to say how hurt she was that her only daughter didn’t want to have her walk down the aisle, even though she had to play the role of both mum and dad. “The thanks I get!”, was the sentiment she ended her post with.

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She told me she was nervous about the speech and asked if she could rehearse it with me. This was the day before my wedding. She read through her notes and shared that she hadn’t decided what order to say everything in. It all sounded great. Just as I thought that was it, she hesitantly added that she wanted to say a bit more about me but hadn’t found the right words yet. Her plan was to write them later that evening. She looked at me, said “proud” quietly, and then seemed visibly uneasy. I remember feeling shocked to hear her say that about me, mixed with happiness and excitement that she truly thought some kind things about me. I reassured her that it all sounded wonderful and that I knew she’d give a great speech. We then parted ways, in what felt like a very uncomfortable moment.

Her speech during the reception was heartfelt, and she delivered it so well. You would never guess she had been nervous about it. She praised my husband, his family, and my brother. She spoke about how challenging it had been to raise children on her own and how she wished my dad could have been there. There was just one thing missing. I waited in anticipation to hear the words she said she was going to write about me, but they never came. While so much of her speech was touching, I couldn't help feeling disappointed. I didn’t want to, but the truth is, I was eager to hear what she’d say to express her feelings for me. Even after the morning we’d had, I still wanted to hear kind words from her. I suppose she decided against it, or maybe those words were never written.

After the speeches, I didn’t see her for the rest of the evening.

Confiding in my friends

Some time after my wedding, I confided in my maid of honour about what my mum had said on the way to the venue. I asked if I’d been in the wrong that morning. My friend was shocked and angry on my behalf. She reassured me that I hadn’t left my mum out, nor had she said that to my mum, and my intentions for that morning had been really clear to everyone. Instead, she had felt for me, seeing how upset I was that she’d been late and how she ignored me when did turn up.

My mum later described my wedding as the best and worst day of her life. Best because she was with her then-boyfriend and enjoyed the day with him, and worst because it was the last time she ever saw him.

Reflections

My intention in sharing these moments, along with insights from specialists in narcissistic personality disorder, is not to depict my mum as a fictitious villain. Rather, it’s to help those who experience narcissistic abuse understand how subtle acts can leave deep and lasting scars. These invisible wounds carry a heavy weight, clouded by confusion over why and how a parent could treat their own child this way.

I’m often told, “but we all have stuff with our parents”, and while that’s often true, the “stuff” children of narcissistic parents endure can feel relentless. Narcissistic parents struggle to celebrate their child’s successes, often diminishing them or making those moments about themselves. They create confusion, pain, and self-doubt, even on days that should be filled with joy. A loving parent is genuinely happy for their children when they succeed, and would want them to enjoy their wedding day - not argue with them moments before they’re due to walk down the aisle.

As I continue to heal from the emotional abuse I’ve experienced, I feel a growing urge to raise awareness about what it’s like to have a narcissistic parent. My hope is that sharing these realities will help others navigate their own experiences, recognise harmful patterns, and find the strength to prioritise their wellbeing.

If you’ve read this far, thank you for allowing me to share my story. I hope it brings you comfort, understanding, or perhaps the courage to seek support if needed.

Take great care,
Chloe