FALLING FOR A NARCISSIST
It starts like a story you’d always hoped would happen to you.
Not the cliché kind, but the kind that feels almost divine. Like the universe had its hands all over it. The kind of timing you can’t explain. He just… appears. And somehow, without even trying, he makes the world tilt in your direction.
He’s attentive in a way no one’s ever been. Present. Focused. When he looks at you, you feel seen in a way that feels new. Like someone is finally peering beneath your surface and appreciating all the layers you thought no one could handle. You tell yourself this must be what real love feels like. And if you're anything like me, maybe you’ve known pain. Maybe you’ve tasted abandonment before. So when a man walks in and makes you feel like the center of his orbit, it’s intoxicating.
And he’s quick, too.
Quick to say he’s “never met anyone like you.”
Quick to say “I love you.”
Quick to call you “special,” “magnetic,” “different.”
Quick to talk about a future with you in it. And it is spoken so casually that it doesn’t feel like pressure, it feels like promise.
You melt into the ease of it. Into the way he knows all the right things to say. It doesn’t feel manipulative; it feels like fate. He mirrors your beliefs. He agrees with your values. He’s passionate about what you're passionate about. You find yourself saying, "I’ve never felt this connected to someone before."
You don’t realise it’s a performance.
You think it’s love.
And God, it feels like love.
Your body responds to it. You feel more radiant, more alive. You’re suddenly motivated to become your best self. He makes you feel desirable and understood and chosen. And when you’re around him, everything feels heightened; music sounds better, food tastes richer, time moves slower. It’s not just falling. It’s flying.
You confide in him. You open up. You tell him about your wounds, your past, your dreams, the moments that broke you. He listens so deeply, you feel like you're being held emotionally for the first time in your life. You think you’re building trust.
You don’t realise he’s collecting ammunition.
Then, the shift.
It's subtle, at first. He might become distant for a few days; slower to reply, distracted. You miss him, but you don’t want to come across as needy. So you wait. When he does come back around, he doesn’t offer a real explanation; just charm. A joke. A compliment.
You take it, because it feels like relief.
But from that moment on, the highs start coming with lows.
He praises you one minute and criticizes you the next.
Not in ways that are obvious, but in ways that make you question yourself. “You’re too sensitive.”
“You always take things the wrong way.”
“I’m just joking, relax.”
You start doubting your reactions. You wonder if you’re making things up in your head. You apologise when you haven’t done anything wrong just to keep the peace. The version of him you fell for still flickers in and out, just enough to keep you hanging on.
And when you bring up how you’re feeling?
You’re met with defensiveness. Or worse… coldness.
He tells you you’re overreacting. That you ruin everything. That you always do this.
You start to feel like you’re the problem.
You think, Maybe I’m too much. Maybe I’m too emotional. Maybe I’m hard to love.
You don’t realise yet that this is how he wants you to feel.
Because when you’re unsure of yourself, you’re easier to control.
But still, you stay. You stay because the love at the beginning was so real; or so it felt. You stay because you believe relationships require work, and maybe this is just what “working through things” looks like. You stay because the version of him you first met still shows up sometimes. And those glimpses are enough to keep you believing.
But over time, the glimpses fade.
And the silence grows louder.
The distance gets colder.
And the love becomes conditional; earned only when you shrink, submit, perform.
He begins rewriting history, retelling stories with a twist that paints him as the hero and you as the villain. You start to feel dizzy in your own life. You question your own memory. You catch yourself explaining simple things to him; why you cried, why you were hurt, why you need clarity and somehow you end up apologising again.
You’re not flying anymore.
You’re falling.
And the landing is quiet, but brutal.
You begin to realise the man you fell in love with wasn’t real. He was an illusion. A carefully crafted version designed to pull you in, win your trust, and then dismantle you from the inside out.
That betrayal runs deep.
It’s not just heartbreak.
It’s psychological erosion.
You don’t just lose him; you lose the version of you that believed in him. You lose trust in your own judgment. You begin replaying every moment, every word, trying to make sense of how it all changed.
But here’s the hardest part to admit:
You weren’t stupid.
You were targeted.
Because you were open.
Because you were loving.
Because you were healing.
He chose you not because you were weak but because you were light. And narcissists feed off light they don’t have.
So if you’ve ever loved someone who turned into a stranger…
If you’ve ever questioned your worth because someone gave you heaven and then hell…
If you’re still unpacking the ruins of a relationship that felt so good in the beginning;
Please know it’s not your fault.
You were not naïve.
You were human.
And your softness is not something to punish; it’s something to protect.
And now, you know better.
Now, you heal.
Not because he changed,
But because you did.
And that’s what real power looks like.
“Healing means losing the identity that was built around your survival and pain.”
Most ardently,
Chenise Sinclaire
