Self-Accountability – or the Result of Narcissistic Abuse?

I recently came across an old letter I wrote to my now ex-husband, just three months into our relationship. At the time, I believed I was taking mature accountability for my emotional reactions. What I now see, with painful clarity, is the dynamic of trauma bonding and self-blame common in survivors of narcissistic abuse.

This letter was written after he abruptly discarded me — his first major rage episode followed by a vanishing act under the guise of a “hunting trip.” During this separation, I wrote him a long message taking ownership for nearly every conflict and rupture in our brief relationship. I detailed my perceived flaws, apologized for my emotional overwhelm, and rationalized his withdrawal as something I had caused. I begged for reconciliation and described his qualities in glowing, idealized terms. I explained away his behavior while magnifying my own distress as the problem.

Looking back, it’s disturbing. I wasn’t “owning my part” in a healthy dynamic — I was internalizing his projections. By over-identifying with the blame, I gave him a manual for emotional control.

For context — he’d aggressively pursued and love-bombed me, showering me with affection and mirroring everything I shared about what I wanted in a relationship. In hindsight, I recognize that the emotional reactions I was apologizing for were actually the result of his intentional provocations; also known as reactive abuse.

That first letter marked the beginning of a cycle that would repeat over and over — rupture, blame, reunion, and walking on eggshells.

A year and a half later, I wrote another letter — this time after we were married and his cycles of rage, control, and gaslighting had escalated. I was no longer begging for love, I was trying to survive. I pointed out the emotional whiplash: one day he praised my personality and my projects, the next he mocked or punished me for the very same things. He withheld affection, demanded silence, disrespected boundaries, and rejected any attempt at healthy emotional connection.

The contrast between these two letters is stark. In the first, I was trapped in a trauma bond, idealizing the abuser and pathologizing myself. In the second, I began recognizing the abuse — but still spoke in softened tones, still seeking connection and fairness where none existed.

These writings are not proof that I was unstable or “too much.” They are evidence of what happens when a highly sensitive person is exposed to narcissistic abuse: self-erasure, hyper-accountability, and deep confusion. They show how quickly love bombing and future-faking can entrap someone into re-enacting old abandonment wounds, believing they are the cause of someone else’s cruelty.

Because that’s the trick of emotional abuse: it turns your empathy against you. It makes you believe that being kind, patient, and understanding will heal the monster who is harming you. It turns your light into a leash.

And when you’re a spiritual woman — one who believes in compassion, karma, shadow work, and divine love — it’s even easier to fall into the trap. You think, “Maybe this is my mirror. Maybe this is my soul lesson. Maybe he’s showing me my wounds so I can grow.”

But growth doesn’t come from being broken down. It comes from remembering who you are.

Healing means seeing clearly: what you thought was love was actually control. What you thought was accountability was you absorbing his shame. And what you thought was your fault was actually the fallout of abuse.

Self-accountability is a virtue. But self-blame is a cage.

When an abuser conditions you to take responsibility for their pain, you start mistaking submission for strength. You apologize for your instincts, second-guess your intuition, and call your boundaries “overreactions.” You suppress every flare of anger because you know it will be used against you.

But the truth is this: accountability is never one-sided. Healing begins when you stop explaining, stop fixing, and stop carrying the emotional labor of two people.

I used to think healing was forgiveness.

Now I know it’s clarity.

And I am done apologizing for waking up.