Naming the Wound: What Is a Narcissistic Injury?
A narcissistic injury is a rupture, one that impacts our consciousness, our spirit, and our heart. It is not caused by the absence of love, but by the distortion of it. This kind of injury occurs when closeness is used not to build connection, but to manipulate, control, or deceive. It doesn’t leave visible scars. Instead, it slowly wears away at our self-trust, our self-worth, and our perception of who we are.
This harm doesn’t arrive at once. It accumulates over time.
A lie here. An apology that isn’t followed by change. Dishonesty that’s explained away. A situation where you sense something is off, but you’re told you’re imagining it. Over time, these experiences undermine your confidence in what you feel, what you see, and what you know.
The confusion becomes part of the relationship. You feel it in your body; tightness in your chest, a subtle but constant sense of vigilance when you’re around the person. You notice yourself becoming more careful with your words, second-guessing your reactions, questioning whether what you’re feeling is valid.
What makes narcissistic injury so difficult to name is that it often comes disguised as love. The harm is presented with warmth, care, and even intimacy. That’s what makes it so disorienting. It’s not obvious. It doesn’t always look like abuse. And yet, it leaves you diminished.
How the Injury Shows Up
At first, it may seem subtle. You start apologizing for things that aren’t yours to hold. You replay conversations in your mind, trying to make sense of them. You begin to question your own feelings—not because they’re wrong, but because they’ve been consistently dismissed.
You may notice:
• You apologize for things you didn’t do, just to keep the peace.
• You replay conversations in your head, trying to confirm what you already know.
• You begin to distrust your own voice because you’ve been called irrational, too sensitive.
This is psychological injury and naming this injury is the first step in making sense of it, and starting to heal.
Crazy-Making and Gaslighting
One of the most destabilizing aspects of narcissistic injury is the experience of crazy-making: when your sense of reality is gradually undermined through repeated manipulation, denial, and emotional invalidation.
You begin to question yourself, not because you’re unsure, but because you’re made to feel that your perception is the problem.
You may be called overly sensitive, dramatic, or irrational. You bring up a concern, and the focus shifts to your tone. You ask for clarity, and you’re told you’re too much. The issue is never what was done, it becomes how you responded.
Deflection is constant. Accountability is avoided, and the conversation loops back to your reaction instead of their behavior. Issues remain unresolved because you’re never allowed to stay with the truth. Everything stays at surface-level, circular, and emotionally disconnected.
This is the essence of crazy making. It’s not just confusing—it’s a mindfuck. It scrambles your emotional clarity until you start to abandon what you know is true.
Over time, you become more concerned with how you’re being perceived than with what you’re actually feeling. You second-guess your memory. You minimize your instincts. You start wondering if you’re the difficult one.
This isn’t miscommunication. It’s gaslighting.
Gaslighting is a pattern of invalidation so persistent, it erodes your ability to trust yourself. You stop naming what’s true. You hesitate to speak. You lose your grip on your own knowing.
And that’s the goal of crazy making: to destabilize your inner compass so the other person never has to be accountable.
What makes it especially painful is the context. It usually happens in close relationships—where love, care, or commitment is professed. That proximity makes it hard to identify. And harder to leave.
The Dance: Harm. Apology. Repeat.
Another painful aspect of narcissistic injury is the cycle that keeps it going.
What my therapist—and others close to me—have taught me to recognize is the dance.
It’s not only the injury itself that causes harm, it’s what follows.
There’s an apology. Sometimes there are tears. The right words are spoken with tenderness. There’s some vulnerability—and in that moment, it might feel sincere.
Maybe it is.
And I’d find myself thinking: Maybe this time it will be different. Maybe something will change.
But it doesn’t.
The apology is not followed by meaningful change.
It’s followed by more harm.
I remember an experience where the person was profusely apologetic.
We spent hours talking. He acknowledged what he had done. He took full responsibility.
And then, within less than a week, he repeated the exact same behavior.
Another rupture. Another injury.
We begin to mistake that pattern for progress. For healing.
But it’s not healing.
We believe.
We trust.
But our inner knowing already knows the truth.
One of my most beloved Sister-Friends, Patty, would often remind me:
“Remember the wounding, Thulani.”
She would send it to me in a text before I knew I would see or speak with him, not out of judgment, but out of care. A gentle, grounded reminder to stay connected to what was real.
She wasn’t asking me to hold on to pain.
And she wasn’t asking me to withhold forgiveness.
She was inviting me to stay awake.
To stay rooted in what I already knew.
Not what was promised.
Not what I hoped.
But what was.
Patty would often say:
“Sweetheart, the pain will end when you and ______ decide to end this dance.”
And she was right.
I began to see how the apology, the tears, the gestures of kindness had actually become part of the injury itself.
Because they made me temporarily forget.
But my body didn’t.
The body never forgets.
The body holds the story of the wound.
It keeps the score.
And it tells the truth, even when we don’t want to see it.
It’s one thing to apologize and change the behavior.
It’s another to apologize and continue repeating that same behavior.
When words and actions contradict each other, the ground beneath the relationship becomes unsteady.
You start to question what you can rely on—what’s real and what’s not.
And in that space, trust cannot grow.
Healing begins when you stop negotiating with inconsistency, and begin honoring what’s actually true.
Beginning to Heal
Healing from narcissistic injury does not begin with analyzing the other person.
It begins with coming home to yourself.
So much of this kind of injury leaves behind confusion about what happened, how you felt, what was real and what was distorted. But the process of healing, at its core, is about reclaiming the self.
It’s about honoring your voice, your values, your truth.
It’s about restoring the parts of you that were minimized, silenced, or pushed aside in order to survive the relationship.
You were not wrong for wanting love.
You were not broken because you stayed.
You were doing your best in a relationship that made you doubt what you knew.
After the rupture, it’s natural to reflect on what happened.
To ask what you missed, how you responded, or what you might do differently next time.
That kind of reflection can be part of growth if it’s done with compassion, not self-blame.
You are not responsible for someone else’s refusal to be accountable.
You are not responsible for someone else’s repeated choice to cause harm.
And still, you can take responsibility for your healing.
Coming Back to Yourself
We also want to be mindful not to demonize the person who caused harm.
Many people who create these kinds of injuries have been deeply injured themselves.
They carry their own unexamined wounds, and they often recreate pain unconsciously.
That is their work to do. Not yours.
In a healthy relationship, it’s possible to grow and heal together.
But in relationships where narcissistic injury is a defining dynamic, the foundation is not stable enough for that kind of shared repair.
The other person cannot become your project.
And the relationship cannot become your place of rescue.
You can honor their humanity without sacrificing your wholeness.
You may never receive the apology you deserve.
I’ve had experiences where I never did.
But healing doesn’t require that someone else acknowledges what they’ve done.
Healing begins the moment you decide to acknowledge what you’ve been through.
You may have stayed too long.
You may have gone quiet to avoid conflict.
You may have tolerated harm because you were holding on to hope.
Now is the time to forgive yourself for all the ways you tried to survive.
That’s not weakness. That’s humanity.
You stayed because you cared.
You hoped because you believed.
You tried because it mattered.
And now, you heal—because it’s time to come back to yourself.
Healing is not a straight line. It is not fast or easy.
But it is possible. And it begins with truth.
Not the truth they told you.
Not the version that kept you stuck.
Your truth.
The one that lives in your body.
The one you’ve always known.
There is life after the rupture.
There is love that doesn’t ask you to abandon yourself.
And there is a version of you, whole, wise, steady and waiting to be remembered.
If you are navigating this kind of healing, know that you don’t have to do it alone.
Whether you’re seeking a trusted coach, a therapist, or a supportive community, there are people ready to walk alongside you. If you need a referral or deeper support, we stand ready to guide you to the right resources.
With Care,
Dr. Thulani
