Юлия Пирумова – Fragile connections. How wounded narcissism prevents us from living in peace with ourselves and others (страница 3)

It is complexity that makes us real, and it is precisely what we fear most. Because complexity cannot be quickly sold, cannot be packaged into a flashy product, cannot be captured in a single post. Complexity is always contradictory, always a bit awkward. No one is entirely right in it, but no one is entirely wrong either. In complexity, you are neither a perfect hero nor a broken neurotic.

You are just a person: who sometimes manages and sometimes does not.

The world that tries to turn us into coloring books is comfortable because it is predictable. But in that comfort, we lose the most important thing: the ability to be complex. To be both strong and vulnerable at the same time. Both successful and still confused. Bright and sometimes invisible. It is terrifying – but it is out of this very complexity that real color is born. Color that is not distorted by filters.

I once saw a picture that was both hilarious and sad. It read: “Ah, these new relationships, where you aren't allowed to ask for affection, support, or warmth because you are both ADULTS. Might as well replace 'I love you' with 'I don't need you' – just to make sure you're truly independent.”

To my mind, it perfectly captures a modern trend. We no longer tolerate abuse, we no longer agree to discomfort, we no longer bend to demands of other people. We have a language now to name what hurts us: toxicity, gaslighting, codependency. We know exactly how things should be, and anything outside those bounds is immediately tossed into the trash. “You're abusive? Goodbye.” “You aren't self-aware enough? Goodbye.” “You're dependent, unstable, too complicated? Go fix yourself first, then come back.” And we diligently work on maturity, where vulnerability, weakness, and sensitivity are labeled as childish flaws.

And you know what? This is a pure narcissistic dream: to need no one, depend on no one, and purge yourself of vulnerability as something that decent people have long since gotten rid of. Thus, our narcissism has learned to become socially acceptable. It no longer looks grandiose or demanding. It has learned to say all the right words about self-worth, boundaries, and toxicity. But its essence remains unchanged: we are still afraid of being vulnerable, of being complex, of not being accepted as we are. Instead of learning how to be in relationships, we learn how to avoid them.

It is narcissism that says: “If something is uncomfortable – get rid of it.”

“If someone causes complications, they're not right for you.” “If something goes wrong, it is not your responsibility.” This kind of narcissism sounds like self-care, but in reality, it is a way to cling to the illusion of invulnerability. A protection behind which we hide from real life and real relationships.

Because it is true that real life is uncomfortable.

People are complex.

Relationships demand effort, compromise, the ability to hear and accept not only the other but also your own imperfection alongside them.

It is not about tolerating abuse or ignoring your needs. It is about being ready to accept that intimacy is always a risk zone.

Yes, sometimes relationships truly destroy us, and it is vital to leave them in order to save ourselves. But the problem is, we start seeing danger where there is none. We stop giving people a chance. We stop learning how to be with others in their complexity, just as they are learning to be with us in ours.

Narcissistic Loneliness is about remaining trapped in the idealized version of life, where no one can hurt us, but no one truly sees us either.

We cannot negotiate. We stop trying to understand. We cannot bear disappointments.

We diagnose, but we no longer connect.

We fear admitting that we are also complicated, dependent, vulnerable.

We are looking for ease in areas where ease cannot exist.

We choose to stay in this “lonely invulnerability”, clutching the illusion of control.

We hide in these narcissistic shelters, believing it to be self-work. And every day, I see the consequences: the deep, hopeless feeling of being cut off from the world and from ourselves. And it feels as if there is no way out…

Once I was talking to an acquaintance who, like many, had a habit of attacking himself whenever he felt unsure. He said, “I just want to rest. I'm so tired. I'd love to not work for a year to sort everything out.”

“That's an interesting fantasy,” I said, slipping a little into psychologist mode, “that a break from work could calm your inner battles. In fact, it would probably be the opposite. As soon as you have free time, the anxiety will surge even harder for you not to leave yourself alone. Your exhaustion isn't from external pressure. It's the grip of self-aggression pressing down on you. If you give yourself a break, that pressure might even increase.”

“But then how can I feel calm?” he asked.

“You know,” I said, “I think you're confusing calmness with something else. What you call calmness isn't about the absence of external stress. It is about making peace with yourself. Look, right now I'm writing a book (yes, this very one) and it's not going well. I can't figure out how to weave together all the things I want to say. There are so many ideas that I feel overwhelmed. I get angry, anxious, tense, trying to improve it. But it didn't occur to me once that I'm stupid or worthless because it's not working. Not once. It's just not coming together yet, that is all. But I'm trying. And of course, I get tired, but it is a different kind of tiredness. In this tiredness, my Self is alive and feels normal.”

“Wait, is that even possible?” he said.

“It is,” I said. “It might feel like fantasy for now. But that's what people truly come for when they seek help. Under the pressure of their previous worldview, people turn to psychologists to fix themselves: to turn a Bad Self into the Ideal One. But deep inside they aren't looking for that. They come seeking peace inside. A place where they can look at themselves with a different lens. Where instead of the Bad Self, the Real Self emerges – the one that doesn't swing between 'worthless' and 'magnificent'. Where the inner gaze shifts from judgment to acceptance, from cruelty to love.”

It is not about indulgence or abandoning growth. It is about inner support – strong enough to bear who we really are – that helps us move forward without breaking under the weight of expectations.

For example, one of my clients, after a disappointing date, said, “Maybe it's not about me. Maybe that woman just has her own issues.”

Another client shared how her state had changed:

“Last time, we talked about my childhood, about how I coped with loneliness when my mom left. I saw the roots of my tension. And I suddenly realized I've carried this feeling for years. For the first time ever, I didn't want to get rid of that part of me. In two weeks, I didn't attack myself even once when I noticed I was tense. I just thought: 'Yeah, that is me'. That's all.”

And another client, summing up our work, said:

“This year, I stopped treating myself badly. Maybe I still don't know how to treat myself kindly. Next year, I want to learn that. But I already have more strength to find that attitude in real life.”

And it really does feel like “surfacing”, like emerging from the endless lake Narcissus sat beside, staring at his reflection. Now you can look around. See others. Feel the real world around you – a world that matters too.

When a person accepts that the 14th-century chapel had been destroyed long before they were born, and not everything is about their badness or perfection, there is hope. Hope for a shift from narcissistic ways of treating oneself to something more human and mature. It turns out peace with oneself is truly possible.

We are all tired. Tired of endlessly trying to relax, to let go of control, to stop attacking ourselves. Tired of battling the inner critic who always finds a way to whisper: “You aren't enough.” Tired of the aggressive internal dialogues that never end. But the real problem is that our whole search for peace starts from two fundamentally false premises.

First – that our Real Self is terrible. That deep inside us lurks a monster best kept locked away. Well, maybe not a monster but that infamous core defect, the idea that “something is wrong with me”. This belief acts like a slow poison, infecting everything that comes from within us. How can anything good belong to someone so defective?

Second – that our true Self must be perfect. That if we just attend one more training, learn one more ultimate truth, we will finally find and reveal it. And if that has not happened yet, it must be due to some freak accident but most likely because of trauma or unloving parents.

These are not simply our beliefs. They are the very rules of the game of today. The pendulum has swung: from general psychological ignorance to widespread, simplified pop-psychology. But the essence remains the same: we are all still running around with our neuroses. Only now we have legal grounds to keep trying to “fix ourselves”. Because if you are not sufficiently “healed”, “confident”, or “successful”, then obviously something is wrong with you. It cannot be that you are normal and simply do not know exactly what to do yet or how to react properly, can it?