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May this be a place of healing and support!
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May this be a place of healing and support!
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May this be a place of healing and support!
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May this be a place of healing and support!
Were you forced to grow up too soon? Did you feel responsible for managing your parent’s emotions, household duties, or even their well-being? If so, you may have experienced parentification, a term that describes when a child takes on the role of a parent—either emotionally or physically—due to their caregiver’s unmet responsibilities.
For adult children of covert narcissists, this experience is all too common. Instead of being nurtured, they were expected to provide emotional support, household management, and even emotional regulation for their narcissistic parent.
While there are so many similarities in the stories of those dealing with a covert narcissism, narcissism does exist on a spectrum and can manifest differently in individuals. Traits from multiple types of narcissism may be present in the same individual. Root causes often involve a mix of genetics, childhood experiences, and environmental influences. Each type of narcissism can present with overt traits, covert traits, or a combination of both.
All of these different manifestations of narcissism add to the confusion for those who are dealing with it in their lives. Understanding the different types and faces of narcissism can aid in developing effective coping strategies, workarounds, or boundary setting. It is such a necessary part of your healing journey!
Imagine mustering the courage to share your deepest pain, the struggles you face daily in your marriage, and the emotional despair that has consumed you. Instead of finding empathy, you’re met with questions and statements like:
"Why don’t you just leave?"
"Maybe you’re the problem."
"You shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place."
These aren’t just hurtful—they’re devastating. Victim blaming silences survivors, reinforces the abuser’s control, and deepens the emotional wounds of covert narcissistic abuse. Instead of empathy and understanding, you hear accusations, judgments, and dismissive comments. This is the last thing you need and can push you even further into loneliness, hopelessness and despair.
For those who have left, that was an incredibly tough decision to make. But I want you to understand that for those who stay, this is an equally tough decision to make. To everyone listening who has chosen to stay in their marriage with a covert narcissist, I want you to know this: you are not alone. Your choice to stay is not a measure of your strength or worth. It is simply the path you are on right now, and there is no shame in that.
Today, I want to talk to you about a question that lingers in the hearts of so many: Why can’t I feel intimate with my partner? Let me assure you, you’re not alone in asking this. Intimacy, that deep connection we all crave, can feel impossible when you’re caught in the web of emotional abuse.
Emotional abuse is often described as insidious, and for good reason. It doesn’t have to happen constantly to dominate your thoughts, emotions, and decisions. Even if the abuse only happens 10% of the time on a clock or calendar, the fear of it, the anticipation of it, and the recovery from it consumes your mind 100% of the time.
One of the most challenging aspects of covert narcissistic abuse is its subtle nature. Unlike overt narcissism, which is more easily recognizable through grandiose behavior or obvious arrogance, covert narcissism thrives on subtle manipulation that is harder to detect. These tactics are designed to undermine your confidence, control your behavior, and make you question your reality, often leaving you feeling confused, invalidated, and powerless.
Navigating the holiday season after enduring covert narcissistic abuse can be emotionally challenging. Here are expert strategies to help you maintain your peace and prioritize healing during this time.
Why Emotional Abuse Leaves Invisible Scars—and How You Keep Showing Up Anyway
It took everything in me to finally say the words out loud:
“He is abusive.”
My voice trembled—not because I was afraid of him in that moment, but because I was afraid of not being believed. I had kept it inside for so long, trying to rationalize, minimize, survive. But this time, I needed someone to see me. To hear me. To validate what I knew deep down: this wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t okay.
But what came next always felt like a punch to the gut:
“Oh! I’m so sorry. Did he hit you?”
And when I said no, I watched their concern vanish. Their eyes scanned my face for black eyes, busted lips, any visible scars. When they found none, their expression shifted—surprise, doubt, discomfort. Not doubt of him—doubt of me.
Because in their world, no bruises meant no abuse.