Olivia Rayne - My Mother, the Psychopath: Growing Up in the Shadow of a Monster

What do you do when the person youre meant to trust the most in the world is the one trying to destroy you?

When people met her they thought how lovely she was, this attractive woman with a beautiful laugh. But she was one person in public and another behind closed doors. Who would she be today? The loving mother? The trusted teacher? The monster destroying my life?

Olivia has been afraid ever since she can remember. Out of sight, she was subjected to cruelty and humiliation at the hands of the one person who should have loved and protected her at all times her mother, Josephine.

While appearing completely normal to the outside world, Josephine displayed all the signs of being a psychopath unbeknown to her daughter until adulthood and Olivia grew up feeling scared, worthless and exploited. Even when she found the courage to cut ties, her mother found new ways to manipulate and deceive, attempting to destroy her life with a vicious campaign of abuse.

Now Olivia has come to terms with her past and gives a fascinating, harrowing and deeply unsettling insight into what its like growing up with a psychopathic parent.

Olivia Rayne works for a global marketing agency, where she takes pride in championing the women around her. A firm believer in the idea that your past pain is not what defines you, she hopes My Mother, The Psychopath will raise awareness of the insidious nature of psychological parental abuse. She is also hopeful that her story will help people in similar situations, reminding them that they possess the strength to break free, as she did. Olivia lives on the sunny South Coast with her lovely cat and even lovelier boyfriend.

To my grandmother, who helped me gain my freedom,

To my best friend, who gave me the strength to cut ties,

And to my boyfriend, who has loved me unconditionally ever since.

If you say it, it cant hurt you

Olivia Rayne

This book is a work of non-fiction based on the life, experiences and recollections of Olivia Rayne. In some cases names of people, places, dates and sequences of the detail of events have been changed to protect the privacy of others.

I always thought that if I met a psychopath, I would definitely know. For years fascinated by criminal psychology, I devoured every book on the subject I could find, watched every documentary, every film. I could recite the hallmarks of psychopathy as easily as my ABCs. I knew the most important weapon in a psychopaths arsenal is charm, because its that which lures you in but that charm, I knew, wouldnt work on me. Thered be something there that would tip me off a hardness to the smile perhaps, maybe an iciness in the eyes. Something would set the alarm bells ringing after all, Id read the books.

The reality was very different.

I met Olivia in 2013 when we worked for the same company. Olivia is bright, funny, playful and vivacious. I thought she had an infectious laugh, a warm smile and a quick wit. I was also struck by what a lovely mother she had. When I first met Josephine I observed her zeal, the way she seemed genuinely interested in everything and everyone around her. I noticed her smile, her earnest eye contact, the heartfelt way she talked. On each occasion we met, I thought, what a magnetic woman. Later, I noticed the gifts she sent Olivia that came to the office: designer shirts, dainty gold necklaces, sets of expensive make-up. Youre so lucky! I would say to my friend. Your mums so generous. Olivia would smile thinly and say nothing.

As time went on and we became closer, Olivia began to open up about her mother: all the awful things that had happened in the past, all the terrible things that were happening now. I listened, incredulous. Her story seemed so outlandish that initially I wasnt sure how much I believed she must be exaggerating, surely? How could a young woman in her early twenties be caught up in such an intricately toxic situation? Moving from one destructive relationship to another, being passed back and forth between her abusers as if they were playing catch. It was an unlikely story, wasnt it? And besides, her mother didnt just seem nice, she was positively lovely.

But then I started to see it for myself. Olivia showed me the hateful emails that flooded her inbox. I heard the furious messages her mother left on her phone. I witnessed Josephines attempts to control her daughter, I watched as she tried to sabotage her life. Intimidation, manipulation, blackmail, threats, exploitation, gaslighting, lies and deceit; Josephine utilised all forms of psychological abuse against her daughter, but physical abuse wasnt beneath her either. I saw the visceral effect this persecution had on Olivia: the flushing, the shaking, the way she picked at her skin like it itched.

Never would I have thought that the enchanting woman Id chatted with would be capable of such overt cruelty; I could never have imagined my cheerful friend with the wicked sense of humour could hide such a brutal secret. I was by Olivias side during her mothers final campaign of harassment, and later, I would be on the receiving end of it myself.

Olivias story is so outrageous and so dangerous that I simply had to tell it. With her blessing I wrote an article, which later led to this book. Reliving memories that she tried for years to suppress was extraordinarily painful for her, and hearing truths from family members that were concealed for decades was both distressing and humiliating.

At times I wondered if it was too much, recalling 22 years of torment at the hands of the one person youre meant to trust the most, but Olivia never wavered in her conviction: she wanted her story told. If her experience could help one person escape a situation similar to her own then it would all be worth it.

No more shame, no more pain, no more fear, no more grief: by untangling herself from the bind were taught from birth to trust, Olivia took back control, and now her story is an open book.

I want to thank Olivia for having the courage to share her ordeal. No one has impressed me more with their strength, humour, generosity and resilience and above all, such unwavering determination to move forward and heal.

This is Olivias story.

S.M. Nelson

In my dreams, my mother watches me drown. She stands above me, her head tilted to the side, and as I stare at her from beneath the surface, I see her looking down at me. She looks cloudy, as though Im peering through mist. Her eyes meet mine.

She watches me with a distant interest, like shes studying a painting she isnt sure she likes. She watches the bubbles drift up like pearls as my breath comes in panicked torrents; she watches the ripples swell to the surface as I churn through the water. She watches as Im dragged beneath the depths, blind eyes blinking as I float face down. She does nothing but wave me on, her palm circling in the chilly air as I wash down the river. Goodbye, Olivia, each wave says. Goodbye. Dont forget your mother.

I dont wake up until the end, until Im suffocating in stagnant blackness and I know that its over. I try to feel relief it was just a dream but as I settle down and try to sleep, the fear creeps in and waits silently by my bed. It feels sharp, like a paper cut, and it smarts like a burn, but its also an ache, like the dull throb of stomach cramps, or the fading hurt of a yellow bruise. Whenever I feel I am rising up past it, it presses down on me until Im limp and shaking and it squeezes me to pieces.