Those photos are being saved, curated, shipped out like resumes of a false identity. “Look at me, living my best life,” they say in captions, but you’re right there, cropped out, erased, invisible. They’ll post that sunset shot and pretend they were alone, and people will eat it up—not knowing they’re witnessing a performance, not a moment, but a lure. See, the narcissist doesn’t want to share the spotlight; they are the spotlight. And if you try to squeeze in beside them, they’ll either ruin the picture or cut you out entirely.
But that’s not all—not by a long shot. Walk into their home, or worse, invite them into yours, and you’ll find another stage—one where every dish becomes a debate, where every pillow becomes a problem. “Why’d you clean it like that? Why’d you fold it this way?” And here’s the irony: they might be a total slob, with dishes crusted over and socks on the ceiling, or they might be obsessive clean freaks who treat a single fingerprint like a personal attack. It doesn’t matter which extreme; the point is control. Some narcissists want spotless glass, spotless floors, spotless silence. You visit their place and feel like you’ve entered a museum where breathing too hard might set off the alarms.
But try inviting them to your space—oh, they love that. Because that’s where they let loose, lounging across your couch like it’s theirs, rifling through your stuff like you invited them to, asking “What’s for dinner?” like you’re the help. They don’t want to share space; they want to invade it, to dominate it, to leave their chaos where you sleep. And they’ll criticize—not kindly, not constructively, but cruelly. “Why is your stove like this? Who folds towels that way?” And they don’t even lie there. They could; they’d be couch surfing or room renting. But they’ll still act like they’re the kings and queens of domestic law. Because again, it’s not about the bed being made right; it’s about power. It’s always about power.
So what do we see here? Let’s call it what it is: the narcissist’s day isn’t filled with peace, progress, or purpose. No, it’s filled with habits that feed a hollow soul—from hiding in the bathroom to living through a screen, from snooping through drawers to lighting up addictions, from trolling the past to debating the future, from selfie sessions to social media stalking, from nitpicking to control. They chase control like it’s oxygen. This isn’t love; this isn’t partnership; this isn’t life. It’s performance, it’s manipulation, it’s a never-ending audition for worth.
So if you’re seeing the signs, don’t ignore them. Don’t silence your own voice just to avoid their wrath. Because the most dangerous part of all this is how normal it can start to feel. But normal doesn’t mean healthy; familiar doesn’t mean safe. You were not created to be controlled. You were made to live, to breathe freely, to walk in dignity, to be loved honestly. Don’t let someone else’s chaos write the script of your day. Step back, step free, reclaim your peace. You don’t have to play a supporting role in someone else’s story.
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