When you hear the term “Stockholm Syndrome,” you might immediately think of notable cases like that of Patty Hearst. In 1974, she was abducted by the Symbionese Liberation Army, who aimed to ransom her back to her wealthy father, newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst. During her captivity, Patty developed unexpected feelings for her captors, even adopting a new identity, participating in bank robberies, and assisting in extorting money from her father. Despite her claims of Stockholm Syndrome during her trial, she was sentenced to a lengthy 35 years, a term later commuted by Jimmy Carter in 1979—one of the few wins for a beloved Georgia Democrat!
The term itself originated from a 1973 incident in Sweden where four bank tellers were held hostage for six days by two criminals. Surprisingly, the tellers formed a bond with their captors, illustrating that Stockholm Syndrome, also referred to as terror-bonding or trauma-bonding, can occur not only in sensational criminal cases but also in abusive relationships.
And I find myself affected by it.
What Led to My Stockholm Syndrome
The straightforward answer is that my relationship with a narcissistic mother gave rise to my Stockholm Syndrome. The more complex truth is that my childhood was devoid of genuine love and affection. My mother was relentless in her criticism, often blaming me for my lack of friends, saying, “You didn’t have any friends at Rainbow [my elementary school], and now you don’t have any friends here [in middle school]. It’s your fault.” I was constantly told that I lacked common sense. Driving home from my riding lessons, I would brace myself for her criticism, as she would detail every mistake I made.
I was always wrong, always failing. I was a loser, baby. As Beck would say, “Soy un perdedor.”
In families with narcissistic dynamics, one child often becomes the “golden child” while the other is designated as the scapegoat. My younger brother (and then my sister) was favored and celebrated for his looks, while I was sidelined. My hair was always cropped short, and he rode in the front seat of the car by default, while I took the back seat without a second thought.
To put it lightly: this experience messes with your mind.
I could elaborate endlessly on this. Rev. Sheri Heller, LCSW, explains that in a narcissistic family, “The unbearable betrayal of abuse and rejection must be walled off and denied… The child believes it is their badness that is responsible for the caregiver’s cruelty. This offers false hope necessary to survival.” To cope, I had to convince myself that I was the problem and that my mother was justified in her actions. Every lie she told me and every failure she attributed to me became my reality.
Moreover, I was pressured to normalize these “terrifying dynamics” to protect myself from psychological ruin. If I didn’t convince myself that this madness was normal, I would have lost all hope of receiving love from a parent—something that was simply not an option for a vulnerable child.
I still cling to that hope, which is why I find myself struggling with Stockholm Syndrome.
Taking Steps to Heal
Because of this complicated situation that led to my Stockholm Syndrome (my therapist prefers the term “trauma bonding,” but I identify with Stockholm Syndrome, as it helps me feel less adrift), I now deal with complex post-traumatic stress disorder (CPTSD) and am actively engaged in trauma therapy. My primary goal is to separate my desires from the “trauma responses that please Mom” and redefine them as “what I want for myself.” First, though, I need to identify what my trauma responses truly are.
For instance, I thought I always wanted long, blonde hair. But that wasn’t accurate; I wanted to please my mother, who celebrated my brother for his locks. Similarly, I believed I needed to be supermodel skinny—again, a misguided notion rooted in my childhood, where my low body weight was one of the few things my mother commended. Hello, anorexia—welcome to my life, courtesy of my desire for my mother’s love. I’m still trying to navigate and escape that twisted reality, and it’s incredibly challenging.
Letting Go of Excuses
Beyond addressing my trauma responses to heal from my Stockholm Syndrome, I must also learn to stop making excuses for my mother’s behavior. This is perhaps the most difficult task. My husband often reminds me, “She did this to you. Remember when she didn’t even call on our son’s birthday?” When I start to feel pity for her, thinking she might not understand her wrongdoings, he brings me back to reality. I might sidestep my pain, but I won’t tolerate any harm to my children.
I fear she might read this and think, “What a horrible, ungrateful child. All of this either happened by accident or is exaggerated.” But she spent decades labeling me as ungrateful and terrible. What difference will this article make, except give her ammunition to support her narrative? Narcissists crave attention and prefer to portray themselves as superior to others. Casting me as the ungrateful brat fits her story perfectly.
Yet, perhaps she truly believes her version of events, and someone created this narcissistic behavior within her. Should she be held accountable for a psychological disorder she may not be able to control? Is it possible I’ve broken a generational curse, and she is simply its unfortunate byproduct? If so, can I genuinely hold her responsible?
Remembering the Kids
This is the struggle against Stockholm Syndrome: the relentless effort to detach from another’s needs while resisting the urge to excuse their abusive behavior. This is incredibly difficult. Unless you’ve been raised by a narcissist, you can’t fully grasp the challenge of discovering an authentic self outside the narrow confines of longing for a parent’s love. My husband admits he doesn’t fully understand.
Some days, I cry. Other days, I rage. I often think of getting a Bruce Cockburn line tattooed on my arm: “I’m gonna kick the darkness until it bleeds daylight.” That’s all I can do.
For more insights and perspectives, you can check out one of our other blog posts here or explore expert resources like this one on the topic. Additionally, for an excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination, you can visit this page.
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In summary, navigating the complexities of Stockholm Syndrome, especially in the context of a narcissistic relationship, is a deeply personal and challenging journey. The struggle to reclaim one’s identity and detach from harmful patterns requires immense courage and support.