Many mothers live in the role of the victim. This pattern is so widespread that most people don’t even notice it. They’ve grown used to their mother often complaining, being demanding, or somehow appearing “pitiful.” That same mother may show care in many ways even after her children are grown—by cooking, cleaning, helping with their kids. She might constantly want to communicate, though about topics that interest her but not necessarily you. She may frequently express how much she loves you and that she’d do anything for you. And yet, something is missing. What’s missing is her ability to truly see you.
A mother in the victim role is so preoccupied with her own vulnerability that this vulnerability becomes a kind of black hole. If you give her your attention and open yourself to her, after the conversation (or more accurately, the listening), you’ll likely feel drained and heavy—because her need for attention has no end. If you ignore her to protect your own energy, you’ll probably end up feeling guilty.
When a mother takes on the victim role, you’re emotionally blackmailed—you’re expected to give her attention. Yet you will never receive that same attention from her. She cannot perceive your vulnerability, weakness, or pain, because those emotional spaces are reserved for her. When you’re struggling, it will somehow become harder for her—because you’restruggling—and you’ll suddenly find yourself comforting her. If you fall ill, her reaction might be: “Oh, poor me, my child is sick!” If you withdraw and stop sharing things with her, she may accuse you of being closed off, making you feel guilty for not creating closeness—closeness that serves her needs, not yours.
A mother is the child’s primary emotional channel for engaging with the world. And if that channel is blocked—if the mother doesn’t acknowledge a full range of the child’s emotions—then those emotions remain “forbidden” well into adulthood. The feeling of being unseen and unrecognized in your vulnerability (because that emotional territory belonged to your mother) can lead to all kinds of problematic situations. You may repeatedly fall in love with emotionally unavailable men, constantly offering up your feelings on a silver platter, hoping they’ll recognize and value them. You might develop a psychosomatic illness, unconsciously carrying a buried childhood wish for your mother (or someone in her place) to finally see that you’re hurting, that you’re weak, that you’re vulnerable. You may end up isolated, afraid of intimacy—because the version of closeness you knew with your mother was painful, and ultimately served her needs, not yours.
If your mother is in the victim role, it’s only natural that you feel sorry for her. And even if you understand that there’s a layer of manipulation involved, it still feels cruel to stop empathizing with her. In feeling sorry for your mother, you assume she’s vulnerable—when in fact, what’s happening is a kind of emotional displacement.
A mother in the victim role deprives the child of their own right to vulnerability. As an adult, instead of feeling that vulnerability within your own body—where emotions belong—you feel it in hers. Though it may sound confusing at first, the dynamic is actually quite simple. If your mother absorbed all emotional attention into her own vulnerability, then the only place left for you to feel your own is within her.
Adults with a mother in the victim role often come into contact with their own vulnerability through pity. By feeling sorry for their mother, they experience vulnerability which they mistakenly attribute to her, confusing it with compassion. In pitying her, they feel emotionally trapped—like they must behave in a way that suits her. They listen to her stories (perhaps about family or bad news) even though they’re exhausting, they call her out of obligation rather than genuine desire. In other words, they fulfill her need—they become passive givers of attention.
As passive givers of attention, they have no right to their own feelings. They exist to hold space for hers. The resolution to this emotional puzzle cannot be found in the mind. Even if reading this article has illuminated many aspects of your relationship with a mother in the victim role, it won’t, by itself, free you from the role she’s assigned to you. What can help is reconnecting with your vulnerability in your own body.
That means each time you feel pity for your mother, you can ask yourself: “Why do I pity her—what do I assume she’s feeling?” Then try to feel those same emotions within yourself. Those feelings are yours; they’ve simply been displaced. You are actually feeling what you imagine she is feeling. That’s your own vulnerability.
Don’t worry—this won’t make you heartless. Quite the opposite. You’ll become more sensitive and gentle.
When you pity someone, you place yourself above them—that person is “pitiful,” and you, in relation, are the stronger one. That childlike position your mother takes when she plays the victim is the heart of the issue. Because of her unresolved childhood need for attention from her own parents, she now demands that attention from you. Giving in to that demand doesn’t help her or you. She remains trapped in her victim role, and you end up exhausted and worn out. In reality, you are a victim of her victimhood, just as she is a victim of the role that has consumed her.
What can help is reclaiming your “displaced” vulnerability from her body back into your own—and setting boundaries when she attacks you with her victimhood. Because yes, if you feel depleted and gloomy after spending time with her, that is an attack. Even if it’s wrapped in sadness or fragility, the victim role is aggressive. It doesn’t let you feel good, doesn’t let you be yourself with your own feelings, doesn’t leave you space to protect yourself.
The first step is reclaiming your own vulnerability. You need your vulnerability. It tells you when you’ve been hurt. It tells you when you’ve been manipulated. It tells you when you’ve been used. Your vulnerability is your emotional instrument—and it only works if it’s in your body, only if you can feel it as your own.
Tomica Šćavina ©
