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I was driving in downtown Toronto one day, crossing a busy intersection with two lanes in each direction. A van to my left suddenly swerved into my lane, side-swiping my car. Startled, I honked and pulled over; the other driver did the same. As I inspected my car for damage, he remained silent. Then, when I asked if he had insurance since he’d run into me, he raised his hands and said, “I didn’t do anything. I think it was you who ran into me.”
Thankfully, there was no visible damage, and I let the matter drop. But what truly collided wasn’t just our vehicles—it was our two opposing views of reality. Without objective evidence like cameras or eyewitnesses, we were at odds over whose version of events was “true.” His attempt to redefine reality—to deny something I clearly witnessed and felt—was a form of gaslighting. Gaslighting is a form of psychological manipulation where one person deliberately seeks to undermine another’s perception of reality. The term comes from the 1944 film Gaslight, where a husband subtly manipulates his wife to the point that she questions her own observations and sanity. Gaslighting often involves casting doubt on a person’s memory or understanding of events. Over time, it can shatter self-esteem and leave the victim constantly second-guessing themselves. Why Narcissistic Gaslighting Is More InsidiousGaslighting can appear in any setting—romantic relationships, workplaces, politics, media, families, and, yes, even during mundane traffic incidents. It turns particularly toxic, however, when it’s practiced by someone with pronounced narcissistic traits. 1. Protecting the “Perfect” SelfA narcissist’s identity often rests on a grandiose self-concept. Admitting flaws or mistakes threatens that image, so they become experts at deflecting blame. Gaslighting becomes a go-to strategy: if they can rewrite reality to place the blame on you, their “perfect” self remains intact. “You cannot argue them out of unipolarity and degradation.” Because narcissists structurally rely on feeling superior, they rarely yield. You can’t “out-argue” them because their reality is designed to protect their ego, not to seek truth. 2. Relentless Self-FocusBecause the narcissist’s primary goal is preserving an image of superiority, they can be ruthless about dismissing your feelings or experiences. They seek to dominate what psychologists sometimes call the “relational field”: the shared space where two people’s perceptions intermingle and where empathy normally flourishes. By controlling the narrative, they reduce real relationships to a paradigm of dominance versus submission. Anything that contradicts their self-image is systematically invalidated. 3. Repeated Invalidation of PerceptionWhere non-narcissistic gaslighters might just occasionally deny wrongdoing, a narcissistic gaslighter is far more unyielding. They rarely back off or apologize, creating a cycle of perpetual denial and confusion. Over time, you may begin to question whether you can trust your own senses at all. There Can Only Be One: Narcissism Is Not a True Relational FieldHealthy relationships—whether personal or professional—require give-and-take, empathy, and an openness to being influenced by each other. These elements fade in a narcissistic dynamic, where:
Why Gaslighting Makes You Feel IllGaslighting doesn’t just create confusion; it can also lead to emotional and physical distress. Here’s how: 1. Chronic Stress and ConfusionWhen reality is constantly up for debate, you’re pushed into a state of cognitive dissonance. You recall something clearly—yet you’re told it didn’t happen that way. This mental tug-of-war spikes stress hormones, which can manifest as headaches, fatigue, muscle tension or other physical and mental symptoms. 2. Emotional Self-DoubtGaslighting attacks the core of your self-trust. Each time you question your perception, you chip away at your internal stability. This often leads to anxiety, depression, and a pervasive sense of guilt or worthlessness. In totality, you might call the result the unesteemed self. By consequence, this is a self that’s vulnerable, prone to fluctuation and - perhaps - to seeking out dominant, narcissistic others in an unconscious cycle of seeking, but never quite finding, a longed-for stability. 3. Isolation and ShameVictims of gaslighting frequently feel they can’t talk about what’s happening, fearing judgment or disbelief. They may blame themselves for “letting it happen.” This isolation can deepen the internal turmoil, cutting victims off from much-needed support networks. Recovery: Why Self-Esteem Is All-ImportantGetting back on solid ground after experiencing gaslighting—especially at the hands of a narcissist—requires rebuilding self-esteem. Here’s why: 1. Reconnecting With Your Own RealitySelf-esteem starts with trusting your emotions and perceptions. Shifting your focus away from the gaslighter and back to your own inner compass is key. Recognize that your experiences matter, and validate them—even if someone else never does. This deliberate act of self-validation is a form of healthy self-love that reduces the power of hypervigilence. This can be highly nuanced work, including for example what to do with (how to integrate) feelings of confusion, anger, depression, doubt and so on. After all, they are all your reality, all your self. 2. Establishing BoundariesWhen you value your self-worth, it’s easier to see when you’re being mistreated. Healthy boundaries—be they emotional, physical, or digital—become your guardrails as a natural extension of a healthily-esteemed self. You learn to say “no,”, “maybe”, “give me time”, walk away, or seek help without constantly second-guessing if you’re “overreacting.” 3. Seeking External Support and PerspectiveTherapists, counselors, courses, art, articles like this one, or trusted friends can help confirm what’s real—and remind you that you’re not alone. If you grew up under a narcissistic “umbrella” (such as with a narcissistic parent or in a cult environment), or if you’ve had a narcissistic partner, the long-term impacts can be deeply ingrained. Professional support or a trusted support system is often crucial to untangle these dynamics and begin to heal. Remember: the self is a hard thing to locate and learn to properly validate – people from very healthy relational backgrounds might not have to think about it, but maybe you do. That can become okay. 4. Developing Self-CompassionIt’s normal to feel shame or embarrassment once you realize you’ve been manipulated. But turning that judgment inward only furthers the damage. After all, it’s what you’ve been taught to do. Practice self-compassion exercises, such as mindfulness or journaling, to replace blame with understanding—and pave the way for genuine growth. 5. Cultivating Creativity, Love, and Self-RespectWhen you reclaim your “relational field” for yourself, you open space for genuine curiosity, creativity, and connection with others. You begin to dance with reality rather than fight it. This emphasis on give-and-take—with yourself and with healthy, empathic people—allows you to experience love and play in a resilient, fulfilling way. Remember: it’s your love, your creativity, your play, your self-respect, your curiosity about self and other. Intentional reclamation of your self is possible. By countering your self-doubt, your hypervigilance (which is all-about-them) and their relentless warping of reality we can learn to calm ourselves and grow our self-respect. ConclusionGaslighting can occur over something as seemingly trivial as a traffic incident—yet its real power lies in the clash of two subjective realities. When the gaslighter is also a narcissist, the manipulation becomes even more relentless and corrosive. Their need for dominance and self-preservation is structural, not a fleeting mood. This can leave you doubting your own senses and trapped in an endless cycle of blame and confusion. The way forward involves restoring belief in your own perceptions and worth. Strengthening self-esteem, setting boundaries, seeking supportive relationships, and possibly working with a professional can all help you step away from the confusion and emerge with a more grounded sense of self. In some cases—especially for those raised in or long-exposed to narcissistic environments—this process is both challenging and richly rewarding. Ultimately, the real collision in gaslighting is the attempt to overwrite your identity and experiences. Reclaiming those experiences as valid and true is the first step toward recovering your sense of safety and wholeness. By doing so, you defend yourself against future manipulation and begin to heal the deep emotional wounds that gaslighting inflicts.
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Introduction
Narcissus, the tragic figure of ancient Greek mythology, was obsessed with his own reflection in a pool of water, unable to tear himself away. At first glance, the myth seems to depict one-dimensional vanity. Yet the story also hints at a far more layered process: the presence of the other (Echo), the reflective surface that functions like a mother’s admiring gaze, and Narcissus’s eventual entrapment in an illusory self-image. Psychoanalysis, beginning with Freud’s early work and further developed by thinkers like Kohut, Kernberg, and Winnicott, has gradually expanded our understanding of narcissism into something more nuanced and, at times, paradoxical. It is not just vanity but also the developmental process of learning how to see oneself through the eyes of another. Indeed, the baby who “basks” in the mother’s eyes is participating in a crucial mirroring process. If everything goes well, the child learns a balanced sense of self—both separate from and related to other people. In so doing, the child learns to love both self and other. When that balance is disturbed, defensive retreats can ensue, culminating in what might be called a “womb-like” enclosure where only the self seems real. Yet, not all narcissism is a total retreat to the womb. Greek Narcissus himself is no longer in complete enclosure; he is more like a newborn who has stepped a bit further into the world but still requires the other’s adoration (as the pool or Echo) to buttress his self-image. Modern psychoanalysis goes even further, outlining a third, healthy space—the relational field—in which a person moves beyond “all about me” or “all about my illusions” and into genuine, anchoring, give-and-take. This is the zone where true relationships flourish, surprises emerge, and reality testing remains intact. In other words, the hallmark of health is the ability to remain flexible and engaged, rather than rigidly fixated on a single self-image. And finally, we must consider celebrity narcissism—an illustrative example of “power corrupts,” where the individual’s reliance on a glorified social image effectively separates them from authenticity. This situational vulnerability may overtake even a relatively balanced person once they’re thrust into a position of adulation and influence. This is related to the Greek Narcissus, but with a twist whereby adulation tempts an individual into a regressed, false-self state. In what follows, we will explore these different “faces” of narcissism: from the newborn’s delight in its reflection, to the regressive womb-retreat where the external world nearly disappears, to the relational space of mature interaction, all the way to the celebrity scenario where power itself can inflate, or recreate, narcissistic tendencies. By seeing narcissism as a continuum of emergence from the womb, via mirroring, into the relational field, we gain a far richer understanding of how we might both recognize and navigate its presence in ourselves and others. I. Greek Narcissus: The “Newborn” in the Reflective PoolIn the classical myth, Narcissus is not devoid of an external world; rather, he has a surface (the pool) and he has Echo. The problem is that he only recognizes these external entities insofar as they serve his self-absorption. The reflection becomes a stand-in for the mother’s gaze, providing adoration without demand. Echo, too, is present but only in the most minimal sense: she can do nothing but repeat Narcissus’s words, offering no genuine confrontation, no independent perspective. She is a co-dependent, one might say, as well as an object, a tool for Narcissus to buoy his compulsively self-oriented being. The psychoanalytic parallels are striking. Heinz Kohut spoke of an infant’s need for “mirroring”—the child sees itself reflected in the caregiver’s warm, approving expressions. When the mother (or caregiver) looks at the baby with love, the infant basks in a sense of being wonderful, important, and safe. It’s not coincidental that those in relationships with narcissistic others will frequently describe a parent-child relationship they find both powerful and frustrating. This function, in children, is crucial for building a cohesive self; in normal development, it is gradually balanced out by reality checks, frustrations, and moments of attunement mixed with moments of misattunement. The child learns that other people are distinct beings and that the self, too, has limitations. But imagine a scenario where this mirroring experience goes awry. The child receives adoration only in one direction (or not at all), and there is no robust sense of mutuality. That child might grow up stuck in a half-world of reflection—like Narcissus, forever gazing for approval in the pool but never genuinely seeing or hearing the other (Echo). This condition is not the total retreat of the womb, yet it lacks the truly relational dimension of a healthy self-other interplay. Narcissus, then, can be understood as a newborn-like figure, partly emerged from isolation but still demanding that all eyes remain fixed on him. He craves the mother’s gaze (or the pool’s reflection) and fails to recognize the full humanity of others. In modern life, we often see this “Greek Narcissus” stance in individuals who have some capacity to acknowledge others but only so far as others serve as an admiring audience. The failure is a love failure, above all. Investment is limited to obsessive self-concern, rather than reliably esteeming the self and the other. Where is Narcissus’s wider interest, his concern and care for the world? Where is his joy at finding it, and letting it inspire him? Where is his (non-obsessive) ease with himself? He is developmentally self-absorbed. II. The Womb: Ultimate Retreat from the Relational FieldAnother manifestation of narcissism appears when a person withdraws so completely from engagement with others that the external world becomes nearly meaningless—a condition akin to returning to the womb. This metaphor is powerful in psychoanalysis precisely because it describes a state prior to birth, prior even to the mirrored dynamic of a mother’s gaze. The womb is perfect enclosure; there are no real boundaries to test, no tension between self and other, no risk of disapproval or conflict. Both self and other, in this state, are deeply coloured by projection, especially by idealization and devaluation. Under severe stress—chronic depression, unremitting physical pain, or some forms of addiction—a person may regress into this womb-like self-enclosure. Relationships, external feedback, and empathy recede in importance; the psyche retreats into an almost solipsistic universe of self. This can look like:
III. The Third Space: Healthy Relationality If we imagine a continuum, from womb, to Greek Narcissus’s reflection-seeking quasi-emergence, we can also speak of a third, healthy space. This is where a person relates both to self and other in a balanced, reality-tested way. Unlike regressed, or developmentally stalled humans, who see others only as mirrors and selves as fantasies, the individual in this third space:
IV. “Celebrity” Narcissism: When Power Corrupts Narcissism often flares up under conditions of adulation or unilateral power. This is sometimes referred to as “celebrity” narcissism or situational narcissism—an extension of the old axiom “power corrupts.” When someone finds themselves in a position where they are constantly praised, catered to, or shielded from criticism, they may drift into a self-image that is inflated or even entirely contrived.
V. Vulnerabilities to Narcissism: Pain, Addiction, Stress, and MoreIn addition to celebrity or power-driven narcissism, people can temporarily adopt a narcissistic posture under conditions of exhaustion, illness, depression, or addiction. This phenomenon does not necessarily equate to a full-blown personality disorder; rather, it highlights the continuum and how easy it is for any of us to slip, or regress, into a more self-absorbed mode under duress.
VI. Charting the Spectrum: From Womb to Third SpaceIt may be helpful to visualize narcissism as running along a spectrum of self-other relationship:
VII. Why We Need to Think of Narcissism in This Way
Conclusion Understanding narcissism in these graduated, context-sensitive ways enables us to see it as more than just a pathological label. It’s a framework for recognizing the constant negotiation between needing recognition and needing to remain open to the other. Indeed, the measure of health or pathology lies in how we move (or fail to move) between these states. Do we become imprisoned by our reflection like Narcissus? Do we retreat so far into ourselves that the external world vanishes? Or do we stand in that relational field, meeting triumph and disaster—and everything in between—with enough self-awareness and empathy to keep the door open to genuine human connection? Ultimately, it is in that relational third space that we discover the richest possibilities of being human, allowing for both self-expression and authentic responsiveness to others. Here, we need neither the mother’s constant adoring gaze nor the sealed-off womb, nor the endless applause of celebrity to define ourselves. We can be seen, see ourselves, and see others, as real. And that, perhaps, is the most valuable lesson of all: real depth, rather than shallow reflections, is where true fulfillment and health lies. It is nothing less than love that anchors the self-other dynamic. In this state, we experience healthy self-regard—neither exaggerated nor denigrated—and a genuine investment in the other that welcomes empathy, surprise, and reciprocal influence. Love, in this broader psychoanalytic sense, is the capacity to see both oneself and others as real and worthy. It is where self and other meet in mutual recognition, balancing the need for personal esteem with a willingness and desire to share in another’s perspective. By acknowledging that love in its fullest form comprises both self-love (self-esteem) and other-love (engagement with the world), we discover how truly relational health transcends mere reflection or isolation. We need neither eternal adoration from the pool nor total withdrawal into a psychic womb. Instead, we stand in the mutual dance of reciprocal relating, able to integrate success and failure, self and other, independence and connection. This is the zone where narcissism loses its hold—and where authentic human bonds, nourished by love, offer genuine fulfillment and meaning. More than any other influence, it is psychoanalysis that paved the way for the shift in what we mean by narcissism. The change, which some find perplexing, is actually due to greater rigour in what we are actually, structurally, speaking about when we use the term. On some level, perhaps it is ironic that, in seeking to better define this condition, we have begun to shine a light on the true extent of this in-built, and most troubling aspect of human life. It has always been with us, individually, and societally, and its influence should never be underestimated. Especially when it comes to trauma and relational trauma, we would be foolish to return to an idea of narcissus that excluded his developmental dimension – he is, after all, a pervasive and foundational character in all of our lives. Here is my not-so-secret secret: we are all members of the Narcissist Survivors’ Club. Many have known, in one sense, what it means to grow up under the care-less-ness of the narcissistic wing. But this club reaches far further afield than that, down to the roots of what it means to be a human being, and what it means to live in this fallen, troubled world.
You may know, from previous articles, that each of us is born in the narcissistic condition: so-called primary narcissism. Much as a baby’s world may be wondrous, it is also undifferentiated. Mother and child form a dyadic relationship, and the baby assumes control, and is surprised by misattunements. When we say someone “is an extension” of someone else, this is what we mean: a baby cries because the breast is not already moving toward their mouth, not because they’re asking a totally separate person for help and nourishment. We all grow from this all-is-me beginning, and must learn, through maturity, that each other has volition, an independent mind, legitimate feelings and a consciousness just like our own. This transformation is a radical and imperfect thing. Like tree rings, we always carry our original state within us, and grow out towards the world through the encounter of inner resources with external relating. The transformation is not into something wholly different. Instead, it’s a transformation of what we mean by self-centredness, of the qualities of our narcissism: a loving person, after all, is not without a centre. Their world view still originates in a singular point of consciousness. Each human survives their own narcissism just as they hope to survive familial and cultural narcissism. No one can take a caring, empathic family for granted, or democracy, or fair, meritocratic treatment. In reality, we’re surrounded by negating forms of dominance, by the autocratic, by tyranny, tribalism, and those who view us as nothing but a use, number or profit. Ontology Ontology is a useful way to think about the dynamics of how we relate to one another and the self, because it is concerned with the nature of being: how it is, and what it is. The child’s sense of being (existence, identity, agency) is deeply influenced by parents’ interdependent pathologies. The child’s very reality is shaped by how each parent allows or disallows the child to exist as an autonomous subject. This process, as we know, happens in familial, cultural, and historical contexts. I’ve long been fascinated by, for example, the long-lasting influence of Descartes’ “I think, therefore I am.” As a figure, he has a quasi-prophetic position in our history, a forerunner of what was to come. He was a father-figure to our societal, ontological reality. Although his most famous phrase is written in the positive, his reasoning was, above all, doubtful. He was saying, in effect, that if I doubt absolutely everything, the very thing I can rely upon is the doubter: the fact that there must be something doing the doubting. The background to this mathematician’s perspective is the overriding power of the church, while the future-ground is the intense lens of scientific rationalism, framed through doubting reductionism. The zeitgeist was turning from a religious hold on power and perspective, to a scientific-positivistic one. Descartes’s famous statement was taken as the cornerstone of modern Western philosophy, and the Church was firmly in his crosshairs. Now, all of this is quite wordy, even high-falutin’ stuff, and we need to ground ourselves again. Think for a moment about what Descartes’ pithy statement omits. Why, for example, shouldn’t we borrow from Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s contribution to phenomenology and say: “I move, therefore I am.”? Or perhaps, by way of Freud: “I desire, therefore I am.” Or, from many others: “I feel, therefore I am.” Our being –here’s the point –is not reducible to thought, rationalism or let alone, doubt. The very idea - the very defensive, reduced, crouched - idea, is actually horrific. What Descartes was actually voicing was a transfer of power. He was writing at the early stages of scientific revolution, and the musculature of Newton, Bacon, Kepler et al is bulging from the seams of his mind. He was writing with the confidence of mathematical successes, especially in geometry, in understanding the world. The problem is that the new would mimic the same corruption as the old, and set the stage for our current problems with reductionism. Dogma over being-with A common dogma, for example, exists in the positions of the “new atheists”, such as Dawkins, Hutchins et al. Their point is to lampoon “fictions” and “superstitions” in the articles of religious faith. It often ends with a straw man argument about “sky fairies” or “flying spaghetti monsters”, or variations on the reductio ad absurdum argument. Descartes, and his contemporaries, were sick of the stories, and sick of the way they were being defended. If your new philosophy is to doubt, and try to rebuild our concept of truth, these stories are bound to be in your way. The new cornerstone of western philosophy positioned the self as, above all, a thinking, doubting thing. It’s quite a castle to retreat to, because to doubt Descartes appears to confirm his truth, not undermine it. But much as we may admire this mathematic castle, it comes with attendant problems. First: is it dogmatic, in itself? Is it a new scripture? Worst still is the problem of corruption. The crimes of the old church were/are problems of reductionism and dogmatism. Any links to slavery, for example, or to child abuse, or various persecutions - are all problems of reduction whereby the sanctity of an individual, through corruption, is lost. Dogmatism empties the symbolic of meaning. Descartes’ “last fortress,” by contrast, sits along a fault line of intellectual anxiety: in the face of potential cosmic illusions, all he can do is trust the interior sense of thinking. But in so doing, he also reduces us, and lays the groundwork for the “nothing but” scientism to follow. Another story is being told, in which we are mere things. The best, the very best, response or counter weight to the battles over dogmatic reductionism came from the arts. In particular, the renaissance, and the romantics. “Here we stand”, they say, “full, strong, holy, beyond your clasp!” The “mind-forged manacles” and “dark satanic mills” be damned. The most successful art and artists stood up for the dignity of the self via the dignity implied in Martin Buber’s “I-thou” self-other relationship. It is this relationship which is always problematic in the course of human history. In some large degree, this is because the Self is invisible and immaterial. As such, it is first in line - along with God - to be executed by doubt, reduction and positivism. The ontological questions– what being is, and how being is –are deeply vulnerable to the violent swings in how - or whether - we view ourselves. In psychoanalysis, this same narrative has played itself out. Freud was an ambitious rational scientist. His first stab at things position the self as a desiring, animalistic It. Jung, and later on, the relational turn of psychoanalysis, reasserted the self as “Thou”. Not coincidentally, Jung was also very focussed at re-energizing the symbolic, at rescuing it from dogma and literalism. He knew that the I-Thou relationship needed to be culturally reasserted. Most good psychotherapists these days would be careful not to objectify or otherwise reduce clients, whether through the abuse of power dynamics of abstract ideas of the self. A recent exception in a minority is the precarious idea of viewing self as non-universal, a political identity, an abstraction, rather than the authentic self. Whenever institutions—be they churches, schools, corporations, or families—privilege a rigid framework over genuine, vulnerable, equitable relating, they end up dehumanizing individuals. What’s supposed to be a sanctuary for our deeply felt, immeasurable selves regularly becomes a machine that regards people as cogs. The Church has at times epitomized this corruption: the very place that proclaims “holiness” in relationships—between soul and Creator, between congregants—has far too often perpetuated systemic violence, be it physical, emotional, or spiritual. But so too, has positivism, often through materialism. If we are mere matter, we do not matter at all. The self is both invisible and immeasurable. Because we can’t chart or weigh it like cargo, our egocentric or bureaucratic impulses find it all too easy to discount it. In the same way that Descartes, by reducing certainty to the “I think,” unwittingly empowered a culture of mechanistic reduction, so too do literalist or dogmatic systems reduce the rich, ambiguous tapestry of human interiority to checklists, data and commandments. People become background to the “grand narrative” of the institution or dogma. Ironically, the faith tradition that should best guard the mystery of the soul can, at its worst, crush that very mystery under a rigid scaffolding of rules and prohibitions. When form takes precedence over content, rituals and doctrines turn hollow. The Encounter What is needed, then, in this Narcissist Survivors’ Club, is a constant re-affirmation of the self-other encounter as holy in and of itself—holy not because it follows a rule perfectly, but because in that moment of genuine connection, something larger than “framework” takes place. The universe, like the self, is a mysterious place, no matter what we think we know of it. It stands, unknowable in defiance of what is known, beyond what we can imagine, let alone pin down to data, or reduce to literalism. Therapy, to me, is like this. I recently met a person –a very intelligent prospective client –who wanted to know every book and author I had read. He intended to rank therapists by this assumptive knowledge base in order to find help. But therapists are not machines. We encounter knowledge, just as we encounter ourselves and our clients. It is a relationship with these things that we bring into the therapy room. We relate and impart as humans in a creative act. To put it another way, there are an infinite number of responses, in terms of tone, information, timing, wording, to any given thing a client may say, and a wide array of ways they may say it. In psychotherapy, we co-construct something from how and what we are: our shared ontological moments. This is, in many ways, the opposite of burping out data points at one another. Rather, the aim, probably more artistic than scientific, is the encouragement and nurturing of your being, and that is rather a wonderful thing to be a part of. |
Tom BarwellPsychotherapist, working in private practice online Archives
January 2025
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