Another critical reason why the narcissist’s most enduring bond is often with the mother rather than a partner, siblings, or enabling friends is because it revolves around the Golden Child dynamic. To understand this, we have to look at the architecture of the cult-like family he grew up in. In many narcissistic family systems, the narcissist is not just a son; he is the mother’s trophy—the shiny object she places on display to show the world, “Oh, look at me. I did a good job.”
Imagine a spotlight fixed on him from the moment he was born. While other siblings may have been criticized, compared, or left in the dark, this child was bathed in that light. He was the chosen one. She protected him regardless of his behavior. No matter what mistakes were made, no matter how destructive his conduct became as he grew older, he was defended. If he failed a class, the teacher was incompetent. If he bullied a neighbor, the neighbor was too sensitive. If he broke a window, it was because of the wind. If your narcissistic partner had a father figure like this, everything will make sense. She essentially became his defense attorney before he even committed a crime.
Over time, this creates deep, fractured division within the family. The mother may even damage or sacrifice her relationships with her other children and wouldn’t care—I’m talking about the scapegoats or the invisible children. Why? Just to preserve the alliance with her narcissistic son. She invests so heavily in protecting him that she has little room left to confront him honestly. She bankrupts the rest of the family emotionally to keep his ego intact.
This creates a binding contract—an invisible tie that you and I cannot break. You have to understand that this level of protection is not free. It comes with a massive price tag. The narcissist remains loyal to the matriarch because she has always prioritized him above everyone else—even sometimes above her other children and her social reputation. She makes him the center of her emotional universe. She never allows him to sit with discomfort for too long. She always gives him a reward when he craves one. She softens every failure, reframing every incompetence. She protects him from the crushing psychological weight of being a loser or facing the natural consequences of his actions. She is like a human airbag. Every time he crashes his car due to his reckless driving, she instantly deploys to make sure he does not feel the impact at all.
When someone receives that kind of unconditional reinforcement for life, loyalty becomes very predictable. It becomes an addiction. He cannot leave her because, in the real world, the pavement is hard. Yet in her world, everything is padded. Why would he leave the only courtroom where the judge has guaranteed a not-guilty verdict even before the trial begins? This shared family narrative deepens the connection between them. Many such families operate on an unspoken pact—that’s why I refer to it as a cult.
The show must go on. From the outside, they present as strong, united, and respectable—the family that looks like a greeting card. But internally, the structure may be totally hollow, decayed, or unstable. However rotten it may be inside, it must appear solid from the outside. To maintain that illusion, the mother and the narcissist stand together as the pillars of the family image—the PR team for their own dysfunction. If they were to separate, if the narcissistic son were to actually grow up and set boundaries with her, it would expose the cracks. It would reveal that the Golden Child is actually a damaged man and that the saintly mother is actually a controlling enabler. Neither of them can afford that exposure, so they stay locked together, holding up the walls of a house that should have collapsed years ago.
The Role of the Spouse
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