When I got into therapy and I described my mother, the therapist thought my mother probably had this disorder. It made sense at the time and opened my eyes that dealing with my mother was futile.
Growing up with her and trying to please her was impossible.
I can now have compassion for her, in that I realize she was miserable. Had there been help for her, I doubt she would have thought she had a problem.
We were estranged until her death and that was a tragedy for both of us.