When you finally stop chasing the narcissist, you step right into what feels like a quiet moment for you. But it becomes a full-blown nightmare for the narcissist—not because you yelled, not because you exposed every lie, but because you did something far more powerful: you stopped. You didn’t send the long text. You didn’t apologize for things you didn’t do. You didn’t run after the storm, begging for scraps of peace. You laid the rope down and walked away. For the narcissist, that simple act is an earthquake.
First, let’s settle something deep in your heart. If you spent months or years chasing a narcissist, that doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human. The narcissist is a master of what some psychologists call intermittent reinforcement. One moment there’s sweetness, affection, laughter—a glimpse of the person you thought you’d found. The next moment, there is ice, distance, cold eyes, silence, and confusion. Then, just when you’re about to give up, there’s another little hit of kindness. It’s the slot machine effect: you keep pulling the lever because every once in a while, the lights flash, and the bells ring. Not often enough to feel secure, but just enough to keep you hooked on maybe.
And it goes even deeper than that. Your mind has been wrestling with a kind of civil war—cognitive dissonance. The person I love is hurting me, and the person who hurts me is the same person I turn to for comfort. That clash doesn’t sit quietly, so your brain starts trying to fix the story. If I try harder, if I’m more patient, if I communicate better, maybe the narcissist will return to the version I met at the beginning. You chase, not because you enjoy the pain, but because you’re trying to make your reality match the beautiful lie you were sold.
There was future faking, too. The narcissist didn’t just give you a relationship; they painted a future: the home, the trips, you against the world. You weren’t just holding on to a person; you were holding on to a promise—a promise that was never real. Put all of this together and something fierce forms: a trauma bond. It doesn’t grow out of safety; it grows out of highs and lows, threat and relief, fear and temporary comfort. Your brain gets trained to crave the little crumbs of kindness after the storm of cruelty. So, when you stop chasing, you’re not just changing a habit; you’re breaking an addiction—emotional, psychological, even chemical. And, friend, that is an act of tremendous courage.
Now, what happens inside the world of the narcissist when you stop pursuing? At first, it looks like nothing. On the surface, the narcissist wears a mask of total indifference. The performance begins. Social media lights up with photos of friends, laughter, and living their best life. Maybe some new achievement suddenly appears everywhere. The message is calculated: I don’t care. I’m thriving. You never mattered. But that’s the costume, not the truth. Inside, something very different is stirring.
The Tables Have Turned, and They Hope You Never Know
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