The Hidden Truth About Growing Up With A Narcissistic Parent

1. Growing From and Out of a Narcissistic Parent

Part 1: Understanding What’s Going On

As I was growing up, I spent *all* my energy trying to please a narcissistic parent.

I didn’t ask what **I** wanted.

I didn’t even know what **I** wanted.

It was all about making sure **they** were happy, avoiding conflict, staying in their good graces — even when it hurt me.

It’s emotionally draining, confusing, and feels like a **f***ing zoo** inside your head.

You keep thinking:

*If I just do enough.*

*If I just love hard enough.*

*Maybe — just maybe — they’ll finally give me that unconditional love.*

But they don’t.

And they won’t.

Because they *can’t*.

What you thought was love?

It was control.

Conditional attention.

You became the mirror in which they admired themselves.

Every “good” thing you did wasn’t really for you — it was to make them feel powerful, lovable, in control.

And when you stopped feeding their ego?

They attacked.

Suddenly, **you** were the problem.

I still remember being 13, thinking for once I was truly loved.

My father threw a big party, invited all my friends, and gave me amazing gifts.

For a moment, it felt perfect — like I finally mattered.

But just as quickly, it all turned.

He started making comments — saying the party was *too much,* that I didn’t deserve it.

Then came the punishment — sudden, cold, and without reason.

That’s the cycle with narcissistic parents:

Love becomes a weapon, and kindness always has a hook.

If you’ve been on that rollercoaster — up one minute, dropped the next — you know how confusing and damaging it is.

Here’s the thing: narcissists may *look* strong.

Confident.

Untouchable.

But inside?

They’re fragile as hell.

They’re addicted to admiration.

They need to be the center of the story — *even if it’s your story.*

The moment you speak your truth?

They twist it.

Flip the script.

Make you the villain.

Why?

Because your truth threatens their illusion.

If this sounds familiar, you’re *not alone.*

You might find yourself:

- Always putting others first.

- Feeling guilty when you try to rest.

- Struggling with low self-worth.

- Wondering why love feels like work.

You might be over-empathic, soaking up other people’s emotions like a sponge.

You learned early that your job was to keep the peace, to make others happy.

That’s a heavy burden for a kid — and it doesn’t just disappear when you grow up.

You probably became the “strong one,” the listener, the fixer.

But deep down, you might still be chasing something:

Validation.

Love.

Peace — that feeling you never got.

It shows up in your relationships, your work life, your health.

Maybe you keep overgiving, keep getting burned out, and don’t even know why.

But here’s something I wish someone had told me sooner:

**It wasn’t your job to heal them.**

It’s *your* job to heal **you**.

And here’s something crucial that took me a long time to understand:

**Respecting yourself means learning to say no.**

It means setting limits — even if it feels uncomfortable or makes others upset.

Saying no isn’t selfish.

It’s self-respect.

It’s drawing a line that protects your peace and your worth.

You don’t owe anyone your energy or your happiness, *especially* if they’ve shown they don’t value it.

Boundaries aren’t walls to keep people out.

They’re fences that let you decide what you *will* and *won’t* accept.

Learning to say no is part of healing.

It’s reclaiming control over your life and showing up as your true self — not the version molded to keep others happy.

And no, you’re *not* broken.

You’re *not* “too sensitive.”

You’re someone who survived emotional manipulation.

You’re someone who learned to read the room better than your own reflection.

That’s not weakness.

That’s trauma training.

And now — it’s time to unlearn it.

Let’s be real: rebuilding takes time.

It takes facing stuff you’d rather bury.

But it also means reclaiming your life.

Your voice.

Your wants.

You can unlearn the lies you were taught about your worth.

You made it through the impossible.

You survived a “love” that was never really love.

That pain? It’s real.

That confusion? Totally real.

But so is your strength.

Not the kind they tried to steal — the quiet, stubborn fire inside that’s been waiting for you to own it.

You don’t owe anyone proof of your worth.

Especially not the person who never saw it in the first place.

**Your worth? It’s yours. End of story.**

So ask yourself:

When did I start believing my needs didn’t matter?

- Who am I outside of the role of caretaker or peacekeeper?

- What would it feel like to be loved without conditions?

You don’t need to have all the answers today.

Just start asking the right questions.

This is just the beginning.

In the next part, we’ll talk about how to start rebuilding boundaries, self-trust, and a sense of peace that comes from **you**, not for them.

To the ones who feel unseen — I see you.

And you’re not alone anymore.