Come in close, friend. Let’s talk heart to heart. Have you ever wondered what goes on inside the mind of a narcissist when silence falls like a curtain? When you stop feeding the chaos, stop giving your tears, your texts, your trembling voice on the other end of the line? What happens when you finally say, “No more. I’m done playing this game”?
See, I’m not just talking about cutting someone off completely, although for some, that’s the only way forward. I’m talking about that sacred moment when you stop giving them your attention. When you don’t react, when you don’t explain yourself, when you finally hold your peace like a sword in your hand and suddenly you’re quiet.
Now, I’ve walked through fire with folks who’ve stood in that silence, and let me tell you, narcissists don’t take it lightly. That silence—it’s not peace to them. Provocation—it’s like a thunderclap in their mind. Because you’re not just ignoring them. No, you’re reclaiming yourself. And to the narcissist, that feels like rebellion.
See, most narcissists—not all, but many—build their sense of control like a house of cards. They need a reaction. Reactions—tears, desperation—because if they can stir you, they can steer you. If they can trigger you, they feel like they’ve still got the strings in their hands. And if they’ve got access in their mind, they’ve still got power. But the moment you don’t reply right away, when that text sits unread, when the phone rings and goes to voicemail, they feel it. Oh, they feel it deep. Not because they miss you. No, friend. It’s because they miss the control.
That’s what drives the panic. That’s what turns their calm into chaos. Depending on who they are in your life—a partner, parent, boss, or friend—the reaction will vary, but the root is always the same: they are losing access to your soul. And they hate that. Some will lash out—loud, angry, manipulative—like a storm trying to shake the walls you just built. They’ll accuse you, guilt you, bait you—anything to pull you back into the ring. Because in their world, if you’re not under their thumb, you’re a threat.
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Others will go quiet, matching your silence but mirroring your stillness—not out of growth or grace, but out of strategy. You want to stop talking? Fine. Let’s see who breaks first. And if you’ve been trauma bonded to this person, friend, that silence can feel like withdrawal. You start to panic. You reach out. And that’s exactly what they wanted. You come running, and just like that, they’re in control again. So ask yourself: why would they ever change if their silence gets results? Why would they stop playing games that keep you tethered?
Let me tell you something: they won’t. Not unless you stop reacting. Not unless you stop dancing to the rhythm they set. The silence is not just absence. It’s resistance. It’s healing—a run for reclaiming your spirit from a system built to break you. So if you’re walking through that silence today, hold fast. Don’t just go quiet; go free. And that, my friend, is where the real change begins.
Come closer now and listen deep—not just with your ears, but with your heart. When you stop speaking to a narcissist, when you finally silence your voice in their world, it does something. Oh, it does something. It rattles the very ground they stand on. Because suddenly, the power they fed on—the reaction they relied on like air in their lungs—is gone. And in that silence, something dark begins to stir in their mind.
The narcissist doesn’t see your silence as peace. No, they don’t interpret it as rest, boundaries, or healing. They see it as betrayal, rejection, abandonment. And their first thought? You’re giving that energy to somebody else. It’s not about your growth or your healing to them; it’s about possession. If you’re not talking to me, then surely you must be talking to someone else.
Why do they think that way? Because that’s what they do. The narcissist is a mirror—twisted and cruel—and everything they accuse you of is a confession in disguise. If they go quiet, it’s because they’ve already found someone new to echo their name. If they seem distant, it’s because they’re rehearsing their lies with someone else. So when you choose silence, they assume you’re walking the same path because to them, loyalty is foreign. Stillness is threatening. Solitude is unbearable.
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The narcissist isn’t powered by love. No, they’re powered by validation—and not the kind that comes from within. They’re not fueled by faith, truth, or peace. They’re not wind-powered or spirit-led; they’re solar parasites, drawing energy from the hearts of the kind, the open, the deeply feeling. So when that power source—you—goes dim, they panic, they spiral, they lash out, they plot. Some will twist your silence into their excuse: “You weren’t talking to me, so what choice did I have?” Suddenly, your boundary becomes their justification for betrayal. That’s what we call the reverse discard. They didn’t walk away; you did. And now they get to play the victim.
“I needed someone to talk to, and you weren’t there,” they say. But don’t be fooled. That story was written before you ever fell silent. Others will turn your peace into chaos. They’ll throw tantrums like toddlers in grown-up bodies, slamming doors, raising voices, stomping floors. If you live with them, they might turn your home into a battleground of noise and nonsense—loud music, sudden messes, passive-aggressive parades of attention-seeking behavior. They’ll do anything to pull you back in, to make you respond, because silence screams louder than any word they can understand.
And yet, there are others who will try a different route. They’ll start talking more, calling more, popping up like shadows you thought you’d left behind. Why? Because they sense it. They’re intuitive—not in a soulful way, but in a calculating one. They can feel when you’ve started to let go, when your heart beats a little freer, when your soul starts to rise. And they can’t stand it—not because they love you, but because they fear losing control of you. So they reach out—not to reconnect, but to reattach. Not to grow, but to grip tighter. And if they suspect you’ve outgrown them, or that someone else is planting peace where they once sowed pain, they’ll rush to replace you or punish you.
But hear me now, and don’t miss this: you are not responsible for their reaction to your healing. Let me say that again: you are not responsible for their reaction to your healing. You don’t owe your sanity to someone else’s dysfunction. You don’t need to explain your peace or defend your boundaries. What you need to do—what you must do—is protect your mind, your spirit, your soul. Because healing doesn’t happen in the same environment that broke you. You can’t grow roots where they poured poison. You can’t find peace while dancing on eggshells. Talking less—that’s not weakness. That’s wisdom. Going quiet—that’s not giving up. That’s getting free.
So if you’ve started that journey, if you’ve chosen silence, stand firm. Let their tantrums echo off your strength. Let their accusations fall away like dust. And above all, choose yourself, because self-preservation is not selfish. That’s not pride; it’s survival. And you, dear soul, are worth surviving for.
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