So they run to the next distraction, the next audience, the next person to use as a mirror. And I know, my friend, I know deep inside you might still wonder: maybe they’ve changed; maybe that new person got the version of them I prayed for. But I’ve got to stop you there: that thought? That’s the bait. That’s the lie that pulls you back into the storm.
Do they change? No, they don’t—not in the way your soul hopes for, not in the way healing works. The narcissist doesn’t sit in a quiet room and reflect; they don’t look in the mirror and say, “Maybe it was me.” They point fingers, they spin tales, they rewrite history to fit their needs. You had a front-row seat to that cycle, and if you step back far enough, you’ll see it’s not just your story; it’s a pattern, a loop, a treadmill that never stops. Even when they claim they’re going to therapy, working on themselves, reading books, they’re often just sharpening the same weapon they’ve always used: image.
It’s not about truth; it’s about control. See, growth requires humility, and change requires facing the dark. But the narcissist can’t go there; they deflect. They survive by blaming others. So when they jump into something new, when it’s not healing, it’s hiding—it’s a new disguise stitched together overnight to prove, mostly to themselves, that they’re still worthy, still wanted, still powerful.
And that leads me to your greatest strength—the one thing that shakes the foundation beneath them: silence. Silence is not weakness; silence is power. It’s resistance; it’s clarity. And let me tell you, it destroys the narcissist. Why? Because they don’t know what you’re thinking; they can’t predict your next move. And most of all, they can’t use you to prop up their fragile ego anymore.
In your silence, you’re not just healing; you’re becoming invisible to their control. And oh, that terrifies them. Why? Because for the first time, you’re not playing the role they cast for you. You’re not reacting; you’re not feeding the cycle. You’re breaking it clean. So if you’re sitting in that silence, shaking, questioning your worth, stay there. Let the silence hold you. Let it cleanse the noise. Let it remind you: you are not here to be consumed. You are not here to be broken down and replaced. You were never the problem.
What happens to them after you walk away? More cycles, more chaos, more empty attempts at self-worth dressed up as romance. They don’t evolve; they don’t transcend; they just repeat. But you? You can grow. You will rise. And maybe that’s the miracle in all of this—that something as painful as this can become the very ground where you plant your freedom.
So don’t look back, wondering if they’re living their best life. They’re not; they’re just trying to look like they are. You’ve got something far greater waiting—something rooted, something real. You’ve got your back.
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