Narcissistic Abuse. My story …
I didn’t know I was being abused.
Not at first.
He never hit me. He never raised his voice – well, not often. And when he did, it was my fault anyway, wasn’t it? I had triggered him. I had “misunderstood” him. I was “too sensitive,” “too emotional,” “too much.” I questioned myself more than I ever questioned him.
That’s the cruel thing about narcissistic abuse. It doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t arrive with black eyes or broken bones. It slips into your life quietly, wearing the mask of charm, love, even safety.
At first, I thought I’d hit the jackpot. He was attentive, generous with praise, seemed to know me better than I knew myself. He loved everything about me – until, one day, he didn’t.
Suddenly, the same traits he had once adored – my independence, my emotional depth, my strength – were now “problems.” He didn’t say it outright, not at first. It came in subtle digs, confusing conversations, and that ever-present feeling that I was somehow always doing something wrong.
Everyday I was questioning myself. Every choice I made, every decision would not just be second guessed but third and fourth. I would tie myself in knots trying to do even the most basic things.
That’s the thing with narcissistic abuse.
It thrives in confusion.
You know something is wrong, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. It’s not just one event. It’s a slow erosion – of your boundaries, your confidence, your identity.
Narcissistic abuse isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes, it’s so subtle that you don’t even realise it’s happening. It’s in the way you start explaining yourself all the time, justifying your feelings. It’s in the way you flinch when your phone pings, unsure if it’s going to be praise or punishment. It’s in how your world gets smaller, because somehow it’s just easier not to have plans, not to provoke the sulks, the silent treatment, the guilt trips.
He made me believe I was the problem. If I could just be better, try harder, stop overreacting. I was exhausted from the mental gymnastics, trying to pre-empt his moods, keep him happy. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. And when it did, he would act like I had dropped it.
This is what narcissistic abuse looks like. It’s psychological warfare. It’s gaslighting – where your reality is slowly dismantled and replaced by his version of the truth. It’s love-bombing – when you’re treated like the most special person in the world, only to have that affection withdrawn as punishment. It’s silent treatment. It’s emotional manipulation. It’s being punished for crying, and then accused of being cold when you stop.
I created so many versions of myself to try and be who he wanted me to be. But something shifted. I wasn’t trying to keep him happy, I was trying not to make him mad.
I didn’t realise that I had slowly stopped smiling, or more that the smile had stopped reaching my eyes.
I didn’t notice how tense I’d become.
I didn’t connect the constant brain fog, the panic attacks, the chest pain.
I thought I was going mad. I remember one night lying in bed and thinking,
This isn’t what I wanted! This isn’t what my life was meant to be!
When I found out he was cheating, I left. I ended the relationship and I got out. But there was still so much hurt, so much pain, so much confusion. This was more than just being cheated on. There was something else I was trying to overcome – but I didn’t know what it was.
It wasn’t until the abuse laws changed in the UK that I began to learn the patterns, the language, the psychology of narcissistic abuse that I saw the full picture. And when I did, I felt two things: relief and grief.
Relief – because I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t crazy.
Grief – because I had lost so many years of my life trying to fix something that was never mine to fix.
Narcissistic abuse isn’t just about someone being unkind or selfish. It’s about power. It’s about control. It’s about using charm, guilt, fear, and shame to keep you in place – to feed their ego, to avoid accountability, to manipulate your reality.
I know how easy it is to stay, to hope they’ll change. I know how shame can creep in, how the voice in your head starts echoing their voice. But please know this – what you’re experiencing is not love. It is control dressed up as care. It is trauma, not passion. It is fear, not respect.
Healing from narcissistic abuse is possible. But it begins with naming it. With seeing it. With recognising that what you went through wasn’t your fault – and that surviving it makes you incredibly strong.
You deserve peace.
You deserve to feel safe in your own skin.
You deserve love that doesn’t leave you questioning your worth.
If your body is tense right now, if your heart is racing a little, if part of you feels seen and scared at the same time – I get it. I’ve been there. And I promise you, it gets better.
The calm you’re searching for isn’t a fantasy.
It’s not boring.
It’s not cold.
It’s freedom. And you are allowed to have it.
Take Care and Stay Awesome.
Louise x
Main Blog Photo by Marcos Paulo Prado