Юлия Пирумова – Fragile connections. How wounded narcissism prevents us from living in peace with ourselves and others (страница 2)

From the very beginning, narcissism was on our side. Thanks to it, we felt significant, coped with early challenges, and learned how to relate to the world.

But not everything went smoothly. When there was not enough attention, acceptance, or simply the safety to be oneself, narcissism had to work differently. Sometimes, it reminds me of that song: “I made him out of what was at hand…”. It stitched our self-image together from the chaotic fantasies and the reflections we caught in the eyes of those around us. Sometimes, there were not enough reflections. Sometimes, they were colored too darkly, showing only our flaws. Sometimes, they were distorted by parental expectations we could never quite meet.

Thus, narcissism sewed us a costume not tailored to our Real Self but to the pattern we were handed. And it helped preserve the vital connections we needed so desperately – more than we needed to stay loyal to ourselves.

At the heart of this kind of narcissistic work, there is always the fragility of the construction of what we can consider our Self. As if it wants to emerge but keeps hiding in its childhood costume, still unable to find a healthy form of living in today's world.

We do not know whether we should flaunt our strengths, hide our flaws, or, on the contrary, obsessively embrace everything in ourselves so that it becomes an egoistic message to the world:

“Accept me as I am. I don't care what you think of me.”

It is not possible to always fully feel what our Self actually is, and we do not know how to replenish the missing pieces of that fullness. So, we decide: “Maybe I'll feel it through achievements and success?” “Or through enthusiastic responses – or at least through any attention at all?” “Or maybe I should stop needing it altogether, so I won't be so vulnerable and dependent?”

One day, a client of mine, a very successful woman by modern standards, complained about an unfair comment she had received on social media. A comment that, in my view, was borderline abusive. I asked her how she felt about it. I was not surprised when she said she was angry with herself. Since every pop-psychology outlet she had encountered had already explained that “if you have high self-esteem, nothing can hurt you”. So, logically, she wanted to get rid of her feelings – her woundedness, which revealed her vulnerability to others.

I think I would be right if I say that most of my clients think the same.

Some believe they must forbid themselves to feel “inappropriate” tenderness toward anyone who has not yet “earned” loyalty. Others think they must purge anger from themselves to show they have total control over their mood and emotions. Some wish to become utterly free of needing care or support. “Why does this affect me so much?” “Why do I care so much?”, they ask me, convinced that it is abnormal. They believe that our work together must help them to finally rise above all this everyday fuss and human relationships filled with feelings for each other.

What is being glorified today as personal growth model is, in fact, a new form of social narcissism. Everyone thinks it is about constant striving for success and craving recognition. But it is subtler and more insidious. Detached from our Real Self, unsure of who we really are, our “narcissistic costumes” now disguise us as “healed” and “well-therapized”.

Now, vulnerability is seen as a mistake. Feelings, even the most natural and sincere ones, are treated as weaknesses, as signs of immaturity. And it is not just a personal conviction. It is practically a rule in the culture of “successful” people. We think real maturity is about being above emotions, mastering them, controlling them. About not feeling pain, offense, longing, or dependency. And certainly, about never showing anything like that to others.

It is fitting to recall Ayn Rand's words here: “In an absolute sense, an egoist is not someone who sacrifices others. He is someone who stands above the need to use others. He does without them. They are irrelevant to his purposes, motives, thoughts, desires, or the sources of his energy.”[1] But if you look closer, you will not see strength in this “absolute egoist” – you will see fear. Fear of showing feelings. Fear of needing others. Fear of being misunderstood or rejected.

It is that fear that drives us to hide behind “healing” and stoicism.

We learn not to feel – because feeling hurts.

We learn not to need – because needing makes us vulnerable.

We learn not to want anything from others – because they might reject us, and we might get hurt.

We learn to keep our distance – because closeness always carries risks.

When my client got angry at herself for feeling hurt, she was actually angry at her Self for refusing to fit into this new model. Her feelings were real, but the model demanded that they disappear. And in this conflict between the Real Self and their “narcissistic costume”, she is not alone.

Many of us live trying to be invisibly vulnerable and perfectly indifferent at the same time.

Since that is sold to us as success in personal development.

New social models (by the way, with the help of pop-psychology) have reprogrammed our defensive narcissism. It is as if it received new instructions on how to protect who we are – and simultaneously create the illusion that we are manifested authentically.

Self-presentation has become more refined and subtler: morning coffee snapshots, sunset jogs, snippets of daily life. We crave being seen but must not show that we crave it. In this model, emotions stay behind the scenes; desires are tightly controlled. As if we play roles pretending that it is our real life and that we are truly present in it. But everything feels… fabricated.

In this new reality, the rules are different:

We must be here – but behind the glass, untouched and unmoved.

We must show ourselves – but only just enough. Brightly and sometimes even obtrusively – but pretending that it is natural.

We must evoke emotions – but not directly feel them toward those who evoke them in us.

We must create distance, always leaving space, so that no one can come too close.

And in that silence, your narcissism does not scream, “I'm the best!” It whispers: “I don't know if I'm really here. I don't know what I'm supposed to be like. I'm completely lost about how to manifest myself, because the way I am feels not enough. And pretending to be someone else is exhausting.”

It is the voice not of strength but of confusion. It is not controlling but searching for control. It is not dominating but trying to find itself in a world where the right answer to “Who am I really?” is always somewhere else, outside, and in the future.

And the heaviest part: we feel we must quickly get rid of this confused, vulnerable self. The moment we discover ourselves to be confused, vulnerable, or unsure, we split into pieces and sweep the unsuitable parts under the rug. Instead of a whole Self, our narcissism keeps piecing together a shifting mosaic, whose shape and colors change depending on the lighting. Today we might see the bright, captivating colors of our Self. Tomorrow, after one indifferent glance from someone – we shatter, like tiny glass fragments in a child's kaleidoscope.

The world we live in increasingly resembles a childhood coloring book. But a simplified one. Black-and-white. There is no room for nuance, complexity, or anything that cannot be described in a single word. All the immense media power of countless mentors, curators, coaches, and psychologists has handed us uniform pictures where nothing can be changed.

You are either “healed,” having conquered yourself, your emotions, and preferably your need for others – or you are a loser-neurotic, stewing in your contradictions, while everyone else has “already figured it out”. You are either manifested – in the feed, in stories, in the other people's mind, or a procrastinator who cannot pull themselves together to “make it out into the world”.

This is a reality where answers are simple and criteria merciless. You are either strong or weak. Either you know how to set boundaries, or you have let the whole world walk all over you. Either you are free or still dependent on the opinions of others. Either you are utterly confident and know exactly how to react in every situation, or you simply have not worked hard enough on your self-esteem yet.

And most importantly: you must always know exactly which side you are on. Because in this crisp picture of the world, there is no space for searching, for not knowing something yet. Uncertainty is not appropriate. It looks like a mistake. We ourselves become mistakes…

But what exists beyond this coloring book? Color that cannot be named. Feelings that cannot be squeezed into a quick checklist. Complexity. Something bigger than a simple answer, something deeper than mere approval or rejection. Complexity demands time. It demands reflection. It demands psychic effort, where our soul could slowly sharpen its own colored pencil. And most inconvenient of all, complexity demands admitting: you do not always know what is right, normal, or enough.