Ask the Psychologist: Expert Psychological Perspectives

Many people who appear to function well externally have, often without realising it, developed strong psychological protectors over the course of their lives. These protectors are shaped through early experiences, social expectations, and periods of adversity. Their purpose is not to harm us, but to help us belong, stay safe, and navigate the demands of the world around us.

From an evolutionary perspective, belonging and acceptance are not optional extras. Historically, exclusion from the group carried real risks to survival. As a result, human beings are highly attuned to what is required to fit in, perform adequately, and be seen as acceptable. Over time, this can lead to the development of versions of ourselves that are organised around coping, managing, pleasing, achieving, or staying in control.

These protective ways of being often function very effectively in the external world. They help people work hard, take responsibility, appear resilient, and meet expectations. However, they can also require significant internal effort. Attention becomes focused outward, on what is needed, expected, or demanded, rather than inward, on emotional experience, needs, or limits.

Gradually, a gap can open up between how someone appears to function and how they actually feel. The inner world may become less attended to, less named, and less integrated. Over time, people may lose a clear sense of what they genuinely feel or need, because so much energy has gone into maintaining the external version of themselves.

As this discrepancy grows, the protective parts can begin to run automatically. Rather than being consciously chosen responses, they become default modes of functioning. At this point, people may feel as though they are performing their lives rather than living them. Externally, things may look stable or even successful. Internally, there may be exhaustion, emotional flatness, loneliness, or a persistent sense that something is not quite right.

Often, this distress remains unseen by others. Equally, people themselves may stop recognising it as a signal, experiencing instead only the consequences. Chronic tiredness, disconnection from others, a sense of emotional distance, or feeling somehow less than or out of place are common indicators that the inner world has been carrying too much without sufficient attention or care.

Depth-based psychological work focuses on gently understanding these protective patterns, not removing them abruptly. The aim is to restore balance, so that external functioning is no longer achieved at the cost of internal wellbeing, and so that people can reconnect with a more integrated and authentic sense of themselves.

Childhood adversity exists on a broad spectrum. For some people, it involves more overt experiences such as physical, sexual, or severe psychological abuse. For many others, it takes quieter, less visible forms that are not always recognised as having a lasting impact.

These can include emotional neglect, where parents are physically present but emotionally unavailable, critical or overly demanding caregiving, inconsistent attention, or a lack of protection and attunement. Some people grow up with parents who are apathetic, distracted, or preoccupied, making emotional connection feel uncertain or hard to reach. Others experience bullying, exclusion, or humiliation from peers, or witness harm, conflict, or distress within the family system. Even subtle experiences, such as parents repeatedly not turning up, minimising distress, or responding with joking, criticism, or busyness at moments of vulnerability, can shape a child’s inner world.

Children adapt intelligently to these environments. Because they are dependent on the adults and systems around them, it often feels safer to assume that the problem lies within themselves rather than with the people or circumstances they rely on. This internalisation creates a sense of control. If the child believes, “If I try harder, behave better, achieve more, or need less, things might improve,” then the world feels more manageable.

From this place, protective strategies begin to form. Some children learn to hide emotions and avoid being needy. Others become highly responsible, attuned to others’ needs, or focused on achievement. Some learn that being quiet, strong, capable, or self-sufficient attracts approval or reduces conflict. These strategies are not conscious choices; they are survival responses shaped from a child’s perspective, not an adult one.

As people grow older, these adaptations often become strengths. Hard work, competence, reliability, emotional restraint, and achievement are frequently praised by families, schools, workplaces, and wider society. Over time, individuals may come to identify almost entirely with these ways of being. The protective strategy becomes the self.

For many adults, this leads to lives that look successful and functional from the outside. However, the same strategies that once provided safety can begin to carry a cost. Living to work rather than working to live, difficulty resting or receiving care, emotional distance from oneself or others, and a sense of emptiness or exhaustion are common experiences. Identity may become tightly tied to performance, productivity, or usefulness, leaving little space for vulnerability, spontaneity, or genuine emotional connection.

Importantly, this does not mean these strategies were wrong. They were necessary and often lifesaving in their original context. Difficulties tend to arise when these patterns remain rigid, automatic, and unquestioned long after the environment has changed.

Depth-based psychological therapy focuses on understanding how early adversity shaped these adaptations, recognising their protective role, and gradually restoring flexibility. The aim is not to take away what has helped someone succeed, but to ensure that success no longer comes at the expense of emotional wellbeing, connection, or a fuller sense of self.

Shame is one of the most powerful and least visible emotional processes underlying psychological distress. It is often confused with guilt, but the two are fundamentally different. Guilt relates to behaviour: the recognition that something one has done may have caused harm and can be held alongside responsibility, repair, and growth. Shame, by contrast, is about the self. It involves a felt sense that something is wrong, defective, or unacceptable about who a person is.

Shame commonly develops in early relational environments where emotional needs were unmet, criticised, dismissed, or responded to inconsistently. In these contexts, children are more likely to internalise distress as evidence of personal failure rather than as a response to circumstances beyond their control. Over time, this can consolidate into a deeply held belief of being inadequate, unworthy, or fundamentally flawed.

Anxiety often develops as a way of managing shame. If someone carries an underlying sense of defectiveness, they may become highly vigilant to threat, rejection, or criticism. Worry, overthinking, perfectionism, people-pleasing, or control can function as attempts to prevent shame from being exposed or confirmed. In this sense, anxiety is frequently a protective response organised around avoiding shame rather than a standalone problem.

Burnout can emerge when shame-based strategies are sustained over long periods. Many people driven by shame feel compelled to prove their worth through productivity, competence, or responsibility. Rest, care, or limitation may feel undeserved or unsafe. Over time, this relentless internal pressure can lead to emotional exhaustion, disengagement, and a sense of emptiness, particularly when achievement fails to bring lasting self-acceptance.

Importantly, shame does not only lead to withdrawal or harm directed towards the self. It can also increase the likelihood of avoidance, defensiveness, blame, and harm directed towards others. When shame feels overwhelming or intolerable, people may externalise it through anger, passive-aggression, criticism, or controlling behaviour. Others may use substances, work, or compulsive activity to dampen or escape the painful internal experience. In relationships, shame can contribute to cycles of conflict, distancing, or reactivity, particularly when vulnerability feels too risky.

Because shame is deeply uncomfortable and often outside conscious awareness, it is rarely named directly. Instead, people tend to seek help for anxiety, burnout, relationship difficulties, or patterns of behaviour that feel confusing or out of character, without recognising the role shame may be playing beneath the surface.

Depth-based psychological therapy focuses on understanding how shame developed, how it is currently being managed or defended against, and how it continues to shape patterns of thinking, feeling, and relating. By approaching shame with clarity, compassion, and accountability rather than avoidance or self-attack, it becomes possible to reduce its influence and to address anxiety, burnout, and relational difficulties at a deeper and more sustainable level.

Short-term therapy typically focuses on a specific issue or recent event and aims to reduce distress in the here and now. It often works at a more surface or symptom-focused level, helping people manage anxiety, process a single incident, or stabilise during an acute period. This approach can be particularly effective for one-off traumatic events, such as accidents or isolated incidents, where the difficulty is clearly linked to a specific experience and does not connect into wider, long-standing patterns.

In these situations, working directly with the incident itself may be sufficient. The emphasis is on helping the nervous system settle, reducing immediate symptoms, and supporting a return to everyday functioning.

Depth-based psychological work, by contrast, is broader and more flexible in its focus. For some people, it involves exploring how earlier experiences have shaped emotional vulnerabilities, relational patterns, and ways of coping that continue to influence present-day life. This can be particularly important when difficulties feel repetitive, long-standing, or difficult to resolve through symptom-focused approaches alone.

For others, depth-based work is not about digging into the past at all, but about being supported through complex, demanding, or prolonged life events. This might include bereavement, illness, relationship breakdown, career transitions, or cumulative stress over time. In these contexts, therapy functions as a steady, containing space and a secure psychological base, offering continuity, reflection, and emotional support while someone navigates challenging circumstances.

In both cases, the defining feature of depth-based work is that it is not rushed or narrowly problem-focused. Whether the emphasis is on understanding underlying patterns or on being accompanied through difficult life experiences, the work prioritises emotional safety, continuity, and integration over quick solutions.

Short-term therapy may help reduce the immediate impact of distress. Depth-based psychological work aims to support longer-term emotional regulation, understanding, and resilience, either by addressing the roots of distress or by providing a stable, supportive presence during periods of complexity and change.

The difference is therefore not only about techniques or timeframes, but about the role therapy plays. Short-term work focuses on immediate relief. Depth-based work offers either deeper understanding, sustained support through life events, or both, depending on what the individual needs.

Early relational experiences play a significant role in shaping how people understand themselves, other people, and the world around them. From childhood onwards, we are not only learning what happens in relationships, but what those experiences mean. Over time, these meanings often consolidate into deeply held assumptions about safety, worth, power, closeness, and belonging.

From an attachment and schema-based perspective, early environments help form internal working models or belief systems such as: Am I fundamentally acceptable or flawed? Are other people reliable or dangerous? Is the world supportive or hostile? These beliefs are rarely conscious, yet they strongly influence how people behave, what they expect, and what they tolerate in adulthood.

Children adapt to their environments in ways that maximise safety and connection. If caregivers are critical, jealous, emotionally unavailable, or unpredictable, a child may learn to make themselves smaller, hide their needs, or avoid standing out. In other contexts, a child may learn that control, confidence, or achievement offers protection. These strategies are not chosen deliberately; they are intelligent adaptations to the emotional realities of early life.

In adulthood, these same strategies often continue to operate, even when the original environment no longer exists. This is why patterns can feel repetitive or puzzling. In relationships, people may find themselves drawn to familiar dynamics, sometimes replicating what they witnessed, sometimes taking up the opposite role, and sometimes oscillating between the two. For example, someone who grew up around imbalance of power may unconsciously accept controlling relationships, avoid intimacy altogether, or overcompensate by needing to stay in control.

Similar patterns frequently appear in work and professional life. People who carry a sense of being “less than” may choose roles that feel safe rather than fulfilling, avoid promotion, minimise their abilities, or stay invisible. Others may overcompensate by taking on roles that are driven by approval or status rather than genuine fit, leading to stress, dissatisfaction, or eventual burnout. In some cases, people avoid pursuing what they truly want altogether, fearing failure or exposure. In others, they persist rigidly in paths that no longer serve them, because letting go would feel like confirming a deeper belief of inadequacy.

Schema processes help explain why these patterns tend to repeat in predictable ways. People may surrender to early beliefs by recreating familiar dynamics, avoid situations that could challenge those beliefs, or overcompensate by acting in ways that appear confident or successful but remain internally driven by fear. Each strategy offers a sense of safety, yet often at the cost of flexibility, satisfaction, or authentic connection.

What is striking is that these patterns often feel compelling rather than chosen. They can give the impression of fate or bad luck, when in fact they reflect deeply ingrained ways of protecting against emotional pain. Without awareness, people may find themselves living variations of the same story across different relationships, workplaces, or life stages.

Depth-based psychological therapy focuses on making these patterns visible and understandable. By exploring how early experiences shaped core beliefs and coping strategies, individuals can begin to recognise when old adaptations are being replayed rather than consciously chosen. Over time, this creates space for new ways of relating, working, and living that are guided by present-day values and needs rather than by past survival strategies.

Readiness for deeper psychological therapy is often misunderstood as something fixed or absolute. In practice, it is usually more gradual and relational, and many people move into depth-based work over time rather than at a single, clearly defined moment.

For some people, short-term or skills-based approaches such as CBT can be a helpful starting point, particularly when difficulties are recent or specific. These approaches can support symptom management, provide structure, and help people feel more grounded during challenging periods. When this leads to lasting change, deeper work may not be necessary at that stage.

However, some people notice that short-term approaches do not bring the relief they hoped for, or that improvements are temporary and difficulties keep returning in familiar ways. Others find that techniques and strategies do not reach what is happening internally, particularly when strong protective patterns are in place. In these situations, it is not a lack of effort or motivation, but rather an indication that a different kind of therapeutic approach may be needed.

Readiness for deeper work does not require feeling confident, brave, or fully prepared. Some people know they want to understand themselves at a deeper level but feel anxious or uncertain about what that might involve. Others begin therapy with only a vague sense that something is not quite right in their lives, even if they cannot yet articulate what needs attention. In these cases, therapy often begins by establishing a sense of safety, trust, and continuity, rather than by immediately exploring deeper material.

It is also important to recognise that there is rarely a “wrong” time to begin deeper psychological therapy. What matters more than timing is openness. Being willing to notice repeated patterns, persistent emotional difficulties, or a sense that life is being lived in a way that feels constrained or misaligned, and being open to exploring this over time, is often enough to begin.

Depth-based psychological therapy is a process rather than a quick intervention. It involves developing a safe therapeutic relationship, allowing understanding to unfold at a pace that feels tolerable, and recognising that meaningful change often happens gradually. For some people, beginning earlier means the work develops slowly as trust builds. For others, starting later can lead to quicker shifts because awareness and readiness have already grown.

Ultimately, readiness is less about being fully prepared and more about being willing to engage in a process with the right therapist. When there is openness, curiosity, and an understanding that therapy is not a quick fix but a relational journey, deeper psychological work can begin, whether someone feels completely ready or not.

The term narcissist is often used loosely, but clinically it has a specific meaning. Narcissistic Personality Disorder is a diagnostic category with defined criteria and describes a relatively stable and pervasive pattern of functioning. While change is possible with specialist, long-term psychological work, it is not what is being referred to in most everyday discussions about difficult or emotionally harmful relationships.

When we talk about narcissistic dynamics, we are not talking about a fixed identity or label. We are describing patterns of relating that can emerge when certain psychological protectors dominate within relationships. These dynamics can occur in families, romantic partnerships, friendships, and workplaces, and they exist on a spectrum rather than as an all-or-nothing category.

All human beings develop protective strategies as they grow up. In childhood, being valued, seen, and important is not a luxury; it is closely linked to safety, care, and survival. When children experience environments where attention, affection, or protection feel uncertain, they often develop ways of safeguarding their self-worth and sense of mattering. For some individuals, one of these strategies takes a narcissistic form.

A narcissistic protector is organised around preserving self-esteem, importance, and safety by prioritising the self. When this protector is active, the focus becomes “me first” as a way of avoiding vulnerability, shame, or feelings of being less than. This can happen consistently, or only at certain moments when the person feels threatened, criticised, or exposed.

The difficulty is that when this protector dominates, it does so at a cost. Other people’s needs, perspectives, and emotional experiences may be minimised, overlooked, or engaged with only insofar as they serve the protector’s goal of maintaining status, control, or emotional safety. Empathy and mutuality may fluctuate depending on whether the person feels secure or under threat in that moment.

In close relationships, this can lead to imbalances of power, emotional confusion, and harm. A person operating from a strong narcissistic protector may struggle to relate in a way that feels fair, reciprocal, or emotionally attuned while that part of them is in control. They may rely on strategies such as devaluing others, withdrawing, controlling narratives, or disengaging when their sense of adequacy, specialness, or superiority feels challenged.

For those on the receiving end of these dynamics, it is important to understand that the emotional harm they experience is not caused by their inadequacy, sensitivity, or failure to meet someone else’s needs. Narcissistic dynamics are organised around protecting the person using them from vulnerability, shame, or loss of status, rather than around mutual care or emotional reciprocity. While understanding this can help reduce self-blame and confusion, recovery is not about fixing or managing the other person. It is often about restoring trust in one’s own perceptions, rebuilding a sense of self, and developing clear emotional and relational boundaries, whether or not the other person is willing or able to change.

When focusing on the person who uses narcissistic strategies, understanding these dynamics serves a different purpose. It allows narcissistic protectors to be recognised as defensive patterns that developed for understandable reasons, often early in life, but which now create harm to both the individual and those around them. Depth-based psychological work with narcissistic dynamics focuses on increasing awareness, accountability, and emotional capacity, rather than reinforcing blame or avoidance. The aim is not to label or excuse behaviour, but to reduce the dominance of these protective patterns so that relationships can become more reciprocal, emotionally safe, and humane.

Narcissistic patterns develop in a range of ways, but at their core they function as psychological protectors designed to keep a person safe from vulnerability, shame, and emotional threat. These patterns are not innate traits, but adaptive responses shaped by early relational experiences and reinforced over time.

For some people, narcissistic strategies are learned through observation. Growing up in families where power, confidence, status, or emotional dominance are associated with safety and respect can teach a child that vulnerability is dangerous and that being admired or untouchable is protective. When parents are valued, deferred to, or shielded from challenge because of these traits, children may internalise the belief that strength, superiority, or self-focus are necessary for survival.

In other cases, narcissistic protectors develop in response to feeling diminished, criticised, overlooked, or made to feel “less than” in early life. Experiences such as being shamed, compared unfavourably, excluded, or made to feel inadequate can leave a child with a deep sense of vulnerability. For some individuals, the most effective way to avoid ever feeling that pain again is to build and fiercely defend a self-image that is strong, exceptional, or untouchable. Holding a powerful version of the self can feel far safer than risking exposure to feelings of inadequacy or worthlessness.

Often, beneath a strong narcissistic protector sits a much younger, vulnerable part of the self that carries shame, fear, or a sense of not being enough. The protector’s role is to ensure that this vulnerability is never accessed. This can lead to intense reactions when the person feels questioned, criticised, or ordinary, because these moments threaten to reactivate the very feelings the protector exists to prevent.

Social and cultural factors can also reinforce narcissistic strategies. In societies that reward status, wealth, achievement, appearance, and confidence, narcissistic protectors are often externally validated. Praise, admiration, and material success can strengthen these patterns, making them feel not only protective but necessary and justified. Over time, a person may build a life organised around maintaining a sense of specialness, importance, or superiority, because the alternative feels emotionally unsafe.

As these strategies become more entrenched, they can begin to operate automatically rather than consciously. The individual may come to rely on self-enhancement, control, or emotional distancing as default ways of relating, even when these behaviours cause harm to relationships or lead to internal emptiness or instability. When these protectors become rigid, the individual’s need to regulate their own emotional state can increasingly override awareness of how their behaviour affects others. 

Understanding narcissistic patterns as psychological protectors does not excuse the impact they have on others. Instead, it provides a framework for understanding how these patterns formed and why they can be so resistant to change. Depth-based psychological work focuses on helping individuals recognise these protectors, understand what they are defending against, and gradually develop safer ways of relating to themselves and others without relying on strategies that cause harm.

Narcissistic dynamics cause harm because the relationship becomes organised around one person’s emotional regulation, needs, and sense of importance taking priority over the other’s. When a narcissistic protector is active, the individual’s focus is on maintaining their own sense of adequacy, control, or specialness, often at the expense of mutuality, empathy, and emotional safety.

Over time, this creates an implicit message in the relationship that the other person’s needs are excessive, inconvenient, or illegitimate. Partners, children, or family members may begin to feel that they are “too much,” overly sensitive, demanding, or dramatic simply for having normal emotional responses. Feelings are minimised, dismissed, or reframed as flaws, leaving the other person questioning their own perceptions.

This repeated invalidation can be deeply damaging. It often activates or recreates earlier emotional wounds, particularly for individuals who grew up feeling unseen, criticised, or less important. Gradually, the person on the receiving end may start to shrink themselves emotionally, speak less freely, or suppress needs in an attempt to maintain connection or avoid conflict. Self-confidence and self-esteem are worn away, replaced by shame, self-doubt, and a growing internal critic.

As the dynamic continues, many people begin to lose a clear sense of who they are. They may feel confused, emotionally destabilised, or disconnected from their own reality. Attempts to express hurt or address problems are often deflected, shut down, or turned back on them, making healthy repair impossible. In romantic relationships, this prevents mutual growth. In family relationships, particularly with parents, it can feel like repeatedly “hitting a brick wall,” where healthy communication is met with denial, dismissal, or withdrawal rather than engagement.

In some cases, the person experiencing harm may develop their own protective responses. This can include emotional numbing, withdrawal, self-blame, people-pleasing, or, at times, anger and reactivity. When someone is repeatedly attacked, undermined, or invalidated, defending oneself can feel inevitable. However, these reactions are often then used as further evidence that the person is the problem, reinforcing the cycle of shame and confusion.

Crucially, narcissistic dynamics do not allow for healthy conflict. Disagreement, challenge, or vulnerability are experienced as threats rather than opportunities for understanding or growth. As a result, the relationship becomes static and unsafe. No matter how much the other person adapts, improves, or tries to engage constructively, the rules keep shifting. There is always another flaw to address, another standard to meet, another way of falling short.

The cumulative impact of this kind of relational environment can be profound. Emotional harm in narcissistic dynamics is not caused by one single incident, but by the gradual erosion of self-trust, self-worth, and relational safety over time. Recognising this process is often a crucial step in recovery, whether that involves rebuilding boundaries, restoring a sense of self, or deciding how much contact feels psychologically safe.

People stay in emotionally unsafe relationships for many reasons, and these reasons are usually complex, layered, and understandable rather than a reflection of weakness or lack of insight.

One powerful factor is familiarity. When someone has grown up in environments where their needs were secondary, where emotional safety was inconsistent, or where power was uneven, similar dynamics in adulthood can feel strangely normal. Familiarity often feels less frightening than uncertainty, even when it is painful. For some people, emotionally unhealthy relationships do not initially register as unhealthy at all, because they resemble what has been known before.

Many people also internalise the belief that the difficulties in the relationship are caused by their own shortcomings. Rather than questioning the dynamic, they turn inward, believing that if they try harder, become less demanding, or improve themselves, the relationship will stabilise. This can keep someone invested long after it becomes clear that the imbalance cannot be resolved through effort or accommodation from one side alone.

In many cases, the harm develops slowly. Emotional erosion often happens through a gradual, drip-by-drip process rather than through obvious or dramatic incidents. By the time someone fully recognises what is happening, they may already feel depleted, isolated, or unsure of themselves. Self-confidence may be diminished, friendships and support networks weakened, and practical independence reduced. At that point, leaving can feel overwhelming, not because the person is incapable, but because their emotional and external resources have been worn down over time.

Financial realities are also a significant and often underestimated factor. As living costs increase, leaving a relationship may feel practically impossible. Some people are not the primary earner, others rely on shared income to meet basic needs, and even those who work may find that sustaining a household alone feels financially unviable. The fear of instability, debt, or loss of housing can make staying feel like the only realistic option, even when the relationship is emotionally unsafe.

Another powerful influence is doubt and distortion. People in narcissistic dynamics are often led to believe that they are incapable without the other person, that they are unstable, or that they would fail on their own. When the person using narcissistic strategies appears calm, charming, or emotionally mature to the outside world, this confusion deepens. Friends, family, or colleagues may not see what happens privately and may encourage the person to stay and “make it work,” reinforcing the belief that the problem lies within them.

Social and personal values can also play a role. Fear of failure, concern about judgement, family or religious beliefs about commitment, and the emotional weight of shared history can all make leaving feel morally or psychologically fraught. The idea of sunk costs is particularly powerful. When years, energy, identity, children, or shared goals have been invested, it can feel unbearable to consider walking away, even when the relationship is harmful.

It is also important to acknowledge that relationships shaped by narcissistic dynamics are rarely harmful all of the time. People with narcissistic protectors often have appealing qualities. They may be charismatic, exciting, generous, or admired by others. There may be periods of warmth, connection, or intensity that feel meaningful and real. Letting go of a relationship that contains both genuine positives and profound harm can be far more difficult than leaving something that is consistently bad.

Staying in an emotionally unsafe relationship is therefore rarely about ignorance or weakness. It is usually the result of psychological familiarity, emotional erosion, practical constraint, social pressure, and the genuine complexity of human attachment operating together. Understanding these factors can be an important step in reducing shame and self-blame, and in beginning to consider what safety, autonomy, and emotional health might look like going forward.

Change is possible for people with narcissistic patterns, but it is neither quick nor straightforward, and it requires a very specific kind of therapeutic work. Narcissistic strategies are often deeply embedded psychological protectors that have developed over many years, often beginning in childhood. Because these strategies have usually been effective in keeping the person safe, defended, or successful, there is often little motivation to change while they continue to work.

For this reason, people with narcissistic patterns do not typically seek therapy unless something significant has shifted or collapsed in their lives. This might include the breakdown of a relationship, a loss of status or role, a work or legal crisis, emotional emptiness, depression, or repeated conflict that can no longer be managed. When the protector stops working as intended, or its costs become undeniable, the person may become more open to psychological help.

Effective work with narcissistic patterns requires long-term, relational therapy with a practitioner who has specialist experience in this area. The work needs to be grounded in trust, consistency, and emotional safety, while also being able to tolerate challenge, limits, and accountability. Therapy focuses on understanding how narcissistic protectors developed, what vulnerabilities they defend against, and how these patterns impact both the individual and their relationships. Over time, the aim is to reduce reliance on these protectors and to develop greater emotional capacity, self-reflection, and reciprocity.

It is important to be clear about what does not lead to change. Insight alone is rarely sufficient. Understanding narcissism, reading about it, or recognising patterns does not undo them. Most importantly, change cannot happen within the relationship where the narcissistic dynamics are being enacted. No matter how insightful, empathic, or psychologically informed someone is, they cannot be the person who changes a partner or family member they are emotionally involved with.

Being inside the dynamic makes it impossible to act as a change agent. Attempts to help, explain, accommodate, or rescue often become absorbed into the very pattern that needs to change. In fact, believing that one can heal or transform the other person is often a sign that a caregiving or self-sacrificing protector is active, particularly in those who have learned to feel safe by meeting others’ needs.

For partners or family members, understanding narcissistic patterns can be helpful in making sense of what has happened and reducing self-blame. However, recovery for those on the receiving end is not about changing the other person. It is about clarity, boundaries, and decisions about what level of contact, if any, is emotionally safe. In some cases this involves learning how to manage ongoing relationships more safely, particularly within families. In others, it involves recognising when distance or separation is necessary.

Change in narcissistic patterns is therefore possible, but it requires the right conditions, the right motivation, and the right therapeutic setting. It cannot be forced, facilitated, or sustained by partners or family members within the dynamic itself. Understanding this distinction is often a crucial step for everyone involved.