TOM BARWELL BSC RP PSYCHOTHERAPY

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:

1. Lack of Empathy
   Empathy holds two individuals’ emotional realities together. In a narcissistic setup, empathy is minimal or nonexistent. The narcissist’s version of events, no matter how distorted, rules unchallenged.
   
   
   
2. One-Sided Realities
   When only the narcissist’s perspective “counts,” conflict resolution becomes a dead end. If you’re denied even the basic right to your own viewpoint, you’re left perpetually at a disadvantage.
   
   
   
3. Fragmented Identity in the Partner
   Because the narcissist’s version of “truth” must dominate, you may end up suppressing your instincts or pretending to agree just to keep the peace. This can cause fragmentation or the stifled growth of your identity, leading you to question who you are outside of the narcissist’s shadow.
   
   
   

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.

​

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:

• Covert or inverted grandiosity: “I’m the absolute worst, the most miserable, no one else suffers like I do.” Despite the self-deprecating content, it’s still all about me.
• Fantasy dominance: The individual constructs internal scenarios of how things “should” be, ignoring or distorting real-world complexities.
• Fragmented reality testing: Because the womb-state is self-enclosed, there is little room for outside input; others are either idealized if they pose no threat to the bubble or harshly devalued if they challenge it.

Consistent with other manifestations of the narcissistic continuum, the concept of “otherness” disappears almost entirely: all is self, all is projection, the real other is compulsively denied. In this case, the emphasis is not on capturing the other’s adoration but on insulating oneself from any demand or disappointment that might threaten a fragile sense of control. While classically we imagine narcissism as flamboyant vanity, the womb metaphor helps us see how a total retreat can be just as self-centered, just as grandiose, even if it manifests as depressed withdrawal rather than arrogant showmanship.





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:

1. Engages With Real Differences
   They accept that other people have separate minds, experiences, and viewpoints. This is intrinsically interesting. They do not reduce the other to an admiring echo or a threatening intrusion.  Dominance is replaced by relationship with the other, in its diverse (non-self) manifestations.
   
   
   
2. Allows for Surprise and Growth
   In healthy relationality, there is the possibility of being changed by the other. We can be challenged by someone else’s perspective, leading to personal growth and transformation. True relating means sometimes hearing uncomfortable truths.  Narcissism limits people, especially due to envy and grandiosity.  As Kernberg put it: “Envy fuels a refusal to accept anything from the other.”  In contrast, mature people are able to play with other ideas and other beings; they can enjoy their selves, and other selves as they interact.
   
   
   
3. Maintains Authentic Self-Expression
   The person recognizes their own needs, talents, and feelings without hyper-inflation or crippling shame. There’s enough stability in the self to handle praise without becoming grandiose, and enough humility to handle criticism without collapsing.
   
   
   
4. Balances Triumph and Disaster
   Drawing from Rudyard Kipling’s famous line—“If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster / And treat those two impostors just the same…”—a healthy self-other dynamic acknowledges the oscillations of life. One neither feels omnipotent in success nor annihilated by failure. There is room for both accomplishments and shortcomings, one’s own and others’, in the relational field.
   
   
   

In this third space, empathy and self-esteem coexist harmoniously. The person can receive admiration when appropriate, but admiration is not the sole fuel for their identity. They can empathize with others’ hurts without reducing them to a footnote in their own story. Genuine reciprocity is the hallmark of this zone.





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.

1. External Feedback Becomes a Hall of Mirrors
   Like the Greek Narcissus gazing into the pool, the celebrity or powerful figure sees only adoration. Realistic critique is minimized, either because followers are afraid to speak up or because the celebrity is insulated by a PR machine. This can undermine any healthy self-other negotiation, pushing the individual toward a grandiose stance.
   
   
   
2. Separation From Authenticity
   Over time, the celebrity can start believing their curated image is their true self. Social media “likes,” interviews, fans’ hero-worship—these all form a bubble that divorces the celebrity from the authentic aspects of themselves. Essentially, they exit the balanced “third space” and revert to a more Narcissus-like demand for adoration.
   
   
   
3. Vulnerability and Hubris
   Ironically, celebrities often have just as many insecurities and vulnerabilities as anyone else, but when those doubts arise, the easiest defense is to retreat into the illusions of grandeur. The result is both a refusal to accept limitations and a fragile self-esteem that shatters if the applause fades. The self-other dynamic becomes transactional: fans provide the admiration, and the celebrity attempts to maintain a public image in return.
   
   
   
4. Why This Matters
   The reason we point to “power corrupts” is that the environment itself feeds narcissistic inclinations. Even a well-grounded person can slide toward self-absorption when immersed in a field of false-mirroring. This underscores that narcissism is not only about internal deficits; it’s also highly situational.  Powerful people and celebrities who are wise to this problem often find themselves consciously grounding themselves in order to ward off the siren call of false-self grandiosity.

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.

• Pain and Fatigue
  When we are in great pain or utterly exhausted, our capacity to tune into others shrinks drastically. We may become short-tempered, impatient, and so wrapped up in our own distress that we overlook other people’s needs.  Our interest itself shrinks, our capacity to invest and engage in the world in meaningful, relational and creative ways diminishes.
  
  
  
• Addiction
  In active addiction, the substance or behavior can become the person’s singular focus, mirroring a partial “womb” retreat. Empathy for others diminishes, and relationships may be redefined solely in terms of whether they support or threaten the addictive habit. This state can be brief or long-term, depending on the severity and duration of the addiction.
  
  
  
• Stress and Overwhelm
  Under immense psychological stress—loss of a job, financial crises, intense emotional turmoil—the protective reflex might be to narrow one’s scope to “just me,” effectively blocking out the relational field in an attempt to survive.
  
  
  

These scenarios underscore how situational factors can derail our usual capacity for balanced relating. Once the crisis abates, many people re-emerge into the third space, regaining empathy and perspective. Others, however, may remain stuck, reinforcing deeper narcissistic patterns if they receive no corrective experiences or help.





VI. Charting the Spectrum: From Womb to Third SpaceIt may be helpful to visualize narcissism as running along a spectrum of self-other relationship:

1. Womb State:
   
   
   
   • Complete retreat; other people’s realities barely register.
   • Reality testing often severely compromised.
   • Grandiosity can be covert (self-pity) or overt (delusions of omnipotence).
2. Greek Narcissus State:
   
   
   
   • A partial emergence from isolation, but the other is recognized mostly as a reflection or echo.
   • Needs adulation to feel secure, actively seeks out mirroring.
   • Some illusions of perfection or specialness remain, but these revolve around external approval.
3. Third Space (Healthy Relationality):
   
   
   
   • Recognizes and engages with the other as real, separate, and worthy of mutual regard.
   • Balances self-esteem with empathy; triumph is not absolute dominance, and disaster is not total defeat.
   • Allows for genuine dialogue, surprise, and personal growth.
4. Celebrity or Power-Related Narcissism:
   
   
   
   • Situationally induced when a person is placed in a context of unilateral admiration, deference or the opposite.
   • Can exacerbate or create illusions of grandeur, especially if criticisms are filtered out - or opposite illusions of self-disgust, shame, worthlessness.
   • Might manifest similarly to Greek Narcissus (adores reflection, needs admirers) or, if threatened, recede into womb-like self-protection (cut off all opposing views).

VII. Why We Need to Think of Narcissism in This Way

1. Capturing Diverse Expressions
   The old stereotype—“narcissism = vanity”—is far too narrow. By acknowledging multiple states, we do justice to the complexity observed in clinical practice and everyday life. A depressed individual proclaiming they are “the absolute worst” can be as self-absorbed as the boaster who insists they’re “the absolute best,” even if the emotional tone is different.
   
   
   
2. Understanding Situational Vulnerabilities
   Recognizing that stress, illness, addiction, or sudden power can all activate narcissistic tendencies helps us see that narcissism is not always an ingrained personality trait. Sometimes it’s more a temporary retreat or inflation that arises from circumstances. This distinction can be crucial for compassion as well as boundary-setting.
   
   
   
3. Preserving the Relational Field
   The “third space” concept is vital if we are to cultivate healthy relationships. Without it, human interactions collapse into echo-chambers or complete isolation. Psychoanalytic and relational models teach us that genuine engagement is not only possible but essential for psychological growth and well-being.  This is a space we can consciously aim for with practice, knowledge and intention.
   
   
   
4. Illuminating “Power Corrupts”
   Celebrity narcissism reveals that even a person with no prior indicators of narcissistic personality might morph under constant adulation or authority. Social structures feed the Greek Narcissus need for reflection, just as the inverse, a lack of power and accurate reflection, can also have a corrupting influence.

1. Guiding Therapeutic Approaches
   By seeing narcissism as a spectrum from the womb-like enclosure to more outwardly directed but still self-focused states, therapists (and loved ones) can tailor interventions. For example, a celebrity in a bubble might need reality-testing from trusted peers, while a womb-retreated individual might need gentle, gradual reintroduction to genuine relationships, starting with empathic acknowledgment of their pain.
   
   

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.

​

Most of us like to think our self-esteem is securely our own. We take pride in believing we stand on a firm internal foundation—confident, calm, and self-sufficient. Yet in certain relationships, especially where narcissism or coercive control is present, we can lose that internal anchor so quickly it feels as though we’ve been tossed into a washing machine: one moment stable, the next moment disoriented and shaken. This article explores how that subtle but devastating “flip” from internal stability to external dependency happens, why it’s so confusing, and how learning self-esteem as a practice is vital to recovery—especially for those who find themselves in the Narcissist Survivors’ Club.

The Flip: From Self-connection into Unsafe Disconnection

An internal sense of self can feel quite solid until a partner’s disapproval or sudden withdrawal of warmth triggers guilt, shame, and a frantic desire to “fix” the relationship. What was once grounded self-confidence dissolves into a desperate quest for outside confirmation: “Maybe I just need to be more understanding,” “Maybe I’m the problem,” “I’ll do whatever it takes to get back in their good graces,” “I’m hurting them by leaving and ruining everything.” That moment of turmoil—like the spin cycle of a washing machine—is the “flip” from an internal locus of esteem to an external one.  
Psychotherapist Melody Beattie, in her work Codependent No More, describes how this external shift can happen unconsciously when we start basing our worth on another person’s moods or needs. She writes, “The hardest part of recovery is coming to accept we cannot control or fix other people, no matter how compelled we feel.” Unfortunately, for many, the compulsion to fix or appease can override our self-trust, unraveling the internal resources we thought we had.  Self-doubt thereby overrides the self, and we favour the external locus of esteem: a locus which, when narcissistic, is unsafe.

Narcissistic Sun, Wobbling Planets and Gravity

In healthy relationships, each person has gravity of their own, and together, they create a respectful dance of give-and-take. In a narcissistic dynamic, however, one person becomes the “narcissistic sun,” pulling the other into a forced orbit. Rather than freely dancing as an equal partner, the “planet” wobbles into a position of perpetual submission or support, its path now dictated by the gravitational force of a person who’s addicted to dominance.
The narcissistic puppeteer may even be unaware of their own self-preoccupation. They believe (or pretend to believe) their controlling behavior is justified, loving, or even “for your own good.” Meanwhile, the recipient becomes disoriented, unable to see just how much their self-worth is being eclipsed. As Karen Horney noted in Neurosis and Human Growth, people who “move toward” others out of fear often do so in hopes of receiving love or security. Before they know it, their internal sense of esteem is surrendered to the other’s whims or approval.

Trauma Bonding and Coercive Control

Psychologist Patrick Carnes, writing in The Betrayal Bond, coined the term “trauma bonding” to describe the powerful attachment formed when a person who experiences abuse is also given occasional doses of affection or recognition. “Trauma bonds,” Carnes writes, “are chains that link a victim to someone who is or was dangerous to them.” These chains form precisely because the victim begins to hinge their worth on the abuser’s unpredictable acts of kindness.
Sociologist Evan Stark, in Coercive Control, explains how an abuser systematically creates an environment of fear, isolation, and dependence. The victim vacillates between feeling sure of themselves and feeling terrified of losing approval—a prime setup for that quick flip from internal to external “esteem-locus.” Once shame or guilt is triggered by the abuser’s withdrawal of affection, the victim scrambles to restore the bond, rejecting their own perspective in favor of the narcissistic partner’s worldview.
It’s worth noting that these relationships often bemuse concerned friends who, on learning of the dynamic, cannot understand why a person keeps returning to a partner who so regularly plays victim, blaming, creating drama and manipulating self-esteem.  The cycle of misery is confusing and disorienting as the Survivor is pitched into wobbly orbit time and time again, and it’s very difficult for them to understand what is happening.  After all, if feeling worthy, feeling good is dangled on the outside, like a carrot, you can understand why it’s chased.  For people who’ve grown up conditioned to deny the self, it’s second nature to gift the power of esteem into other hands.
​
Shame, Self-doubt and Washing Machines

The confusion is profound—people often describe feeling like they’ve lost themselves, or they’re “walking on eggshells,” never certain which version of their partner they’ll face. John Bradshaw, author of Healing the Shame That Binds You, underscores how shame is the engine driving this dynamic: “Toxic shame is experienced as the all-pervasive sense that I am flawed.” When shame and guilt rear their heads, we’ll do almost anything to regain acceptance. We abandon our inner compass, chasing that moment of warmth or approval. It’s a perpetual spin cycle—exhausting and deeply destabilizing.  It’s a cycle that relies upon a lack of self-respect.
Brené Brown echoes this sentiment in her research on vulnerability and shame. She points out that when we fear disconnection from those we value—even if they are harming us—we’ll often betray ourselves to feel that temporary sense of belonging. It’s in that desperate moment that the internal anchor is replaced by someone else’s approval, and our sense of identity bends around their gravitational pull.

Childhood Priming and Reactive, Dependent Esteem

For many survivors, these patterns of relying on external esteem began in childhood. If a child grows up in a family where love is conditional—dependent on meeting the parent’s emotional needs or appeasing the parent’s judgement—that child learns a deep, unconscious lesson: “I’m only worthy if I please you.”
Carl Rogers, the pioneering humanistic psychologist, emphasized the damaging effects of “conditions of worth” imposed on children. Over time, those conditions shape an individual who is primed to respond to external validation and approval. Karen Horney observed similar dynamics, noting how children adapt to unsafe environments by learning to “move toward” (placate) or “move away” (detach) from others, losing a cohesive sense of self in the process.

Self-Rejection and the Narcissistic Puppeteer

When you “flip” to an external locus of esteem, you’re in essence rejecting your inner self and adopting the narcissist’s worldview, even if it’s harmful or distorted. You see yourself through their eyes.  This is the ultimate triumph of the “narcissistic sun,” who—intentionally or not—manipulates your orbit. It’s not merely that you’re subordinating your preferences; you’re subordinating your entire sense of worth. It’s as if your inner voice is muted, replaced by the narcissist’s opinion, instruction, or expectation.
Heinz Kohut’s concept of the “selfobject” offers insight here: a person with shaky self-esteem seeks out external figures to maintain a cohesive sense of self. In an abusive relationship, the abuser becomes the selfobject, feeding or starving the victim’s self-esteem at will. Over time, it’s easy to forget that a self was ever separate from the abuser’s gravitational field.

Self-Esteem as Practice

The good news is that self-esteem can be cultivated. Rebuilding from an external locus of esteem to an internal one is a gradual, dedicated practice—very much like learning a new skill. In therapy, health coaching or groups, survivors often do the following:

1. Recognize the Cycle
   
   
   
   • Awareness is key. Seeing how approval-seeking or “fixing” behaviors hijack your self-worth is the first step to reclaiming your center.
2. Confront Shame & Guilt
   
   
   
   • Mindful intention can begin to combat toxic shame and guilt, replacing it, once recognized with self-compassion and acceptance. This is the difference between becoming absorbed/entering orbit, and witnessing the self doing so.  Be amazed.  How did you- in your own perception- suddenly become so bad, so awful?  See point 4.
3. Set Boundaries
   
   
   
   • Whether with a narcissistic partner or family member, boundary-setting begins to loosen the chains of trauma bonding. Over time, consistent boundaries bolster internal esteem.  Remember: the Self is the boundary.  Without a self, you cannot set on.
4. Practice Self-Validation
   
   
   
   • Journaling your own truths, acknowledging your feelings, and celebrating small victories help you rely less on external nods of approval. As Carl Rogers encouraged, learning to trust your “organismic valuing process” is critical.  But more than this, know that a rigorous practice of self-respect is vital.  In truth- and we should adhere to honesty here -you need to practice love (in this case self-love).  Nothing more, nothing less.  Practice hard.
5. Build Support Networks
   
   
   
   • Recovery groups or trauma-informed therapy can provide a safe container for people to heal old wounds, recognize manipulative patterns, and reconnect with a stable sense of self.  The best therapists won’t be flaky.  They won’t bullshit you.  They won’t shame you or miss you.  They won’t minimize you.  They’ll look you in the eye and be. right. there.  They’ll do that because they’ll know that’s also where you need to be. Taking you seriously is the beginning of the practice of love.

​Conclusion: Return from Orbit to your own Gravity

Recovering from narcissistic control or other forms of emotional manipulation often means learning to trust yourself again—removing yourself from the gravitational field of an unstable sun. It involves gently but firmly re-centering your self-esteem so that no one else’s approval can topple your internal worth. This is not a one-time event but a series of small, courageous decisions taken day by day.  It’s a practice in which we expect failure, but learn how we’re failing, building determination and know-how so we can get better.
In the Narcissist Survivor’s Club, and in the broader journey of healing, the ultimate goal is to break free from the washing machine spin cycle, to step away from being that wobbling planet, and rediscover what it means to stand firmly on your own ground. Little by little, you can re-establish a gentle, loving connection to your true self—one that won’t flip when another person withholds their warmth. And that, in the end, is what genuine self-esteem is all about.

I once worked with a client in his early 60s who had a habit of saying, “You get your report card by this age.” It was his way of concluding that the world had sized him up—judged his life’s work, his accomplishments, his worth—and found him wanting. Over the course of our sessions, I came to see this statement as a window into a much larger set of beliefs about identity and success. He wasn’t merely disappointed with certain professional outcomes; he believed there was a cosmic or divine ledger, disguised in corporate HR trappings, tallying his deficits and handing down a final verdict: “Subpar.”
This notion of a cosmic “report card” is an unsettling hybrid. It carries the moral weight of old religious ideas of being judged by an omniscient deity, yet it borrows language and imagery from the modern, performance-based world of career metrics. It suggests a higher authority—a God in business-casual attire—who weighs our worthiness and stamps us “pass/fail.” And what I found most troubling was how my client used this metaphor to silence any discussion of life’s complexity, any acknowledgment of chance, and any place for self-compassion. His psyche was, in essence, outsourcing - or projecting - the role of an inner punisher to an imagined external authority that he believed knew all and judged him accordingly.

The Temptation of a Simplistic Verdict

I’ve often reflected on why such a harsh, dualistic mindset holds so much sway, as I recently spoke about: splitting is something we should all be more aware of. In a related sense, perhaps it’s comforting, in a paradoxical way, to imagine a scoreboard that sums up our entire existence. If the “score” is low, we can at least cling to a sense of order: Things are the way they are because I wasn’t good enough. Chaos and randomness, by contrast, can feel disorienting and unreliable. Many people I’ve worked with find unpredictability more anxiety-provoking than the bleak certainty of “I failed.”
But reducing our lives to a grade—or an eternal “A” or “F”—is to oversimplify the extraordinary mix of influences that shape who we are. In truth, we’re enmeshed in a swirl of genetics, family narratives, unconscious motivations, and yes, plain old luck. Equating self-worth with worldly success is not just unfair; it distorts the human experience into an all-or-nothing test rather than an ongoing process of evolution.


The Myth of a Fair and Omniscient World

What made my client’s conviction so tenacious was his belief that “if I were really deserving, I’d have been recognized by now.” He assumed there existed an equitable global order—like a giant HR department in the sky—that tallied his virtues and flaws without error. From my vantage point, such a view overlooks the countless structural, social, and familial factors that affect our trajectories.
The world doesn’t operate like a fair-minded teacher grading math quizzes. People are born into wildly different circumstances. Their opportunities hinge on upbringing, cultural norms, economic resources, and timing. Luck, in fact, looms larger than we like to admit. In the realm of possibility, a single conversation or random event can open doors or close them forever. The idea that we receive precise cosmic feedback about our moral and existential worth is, in many ways, a projection of longing—a desire for an orderly universe that we can make sense of.


Not Masters of Our Own Castle

Sigmund Freud’s famous line--the ego is not master in its own house—often echoes in my mind when I hear clients talk about failure. We like to believe our conscious self is at the helm, steering the ship. Yet psychoanalytic and Jungian approaches remind us that our actions, desires, and sense of identity are shaped by unconscious forces. My client’s “report card” fixation, for instance, likely developed from early life experiences and internalized family judgments. We might call it a punitive superego that demands perfection while ignoring the fact that much of what we do is driven by roots buried out of sight.
Jungian psychology goes even deeper, suggesting that we inherit certain archetypal patterns, and if we remain unconscious of them, they tend to direct our lives behind the scenes. When we awaken to these deeper layers—perhaps through therapy, dreams, or creative expression—we reclaim some measure of agency. But until then, the illusions of total control and total responsibility for every outcome continue to feed that feeling of cosmic condemnation when things don’t go our way.


Inheriting the Family Narrative

One of the hidden drivers of the “report card” mentality is the family legacy: the unspoken scripts about success, failure, love, and worth passed down through generations. If a family line has experienced trauma, displacement, or chronic marginalization, certain pressures or anxieties can be deeply internalized without conscious awareness.
For example, if a family has historically hinged its identity on outward status—college degrees, fancy job titles, or social standing—then a descendant who doesn’t measure up may come to feel they are not just disappointing their parents but tarnishing the entire lineage. This amplifies the sense that “the world’s verdict is final” because it becomes entangled with ancestral expectations and unprocessed collective grief.


The Burden of Personal Responsibility—and Its Liberation

Lest this all paint too fatalistic a picture, it’s important to remember that we do hold some measure of responsibility for our actions. We shape our lives through daily choices, relationships, and our willingness to face inner conflicts. I believe deeply in the Humanistic notion that we have an innate capacity to grow, to move toward self-actualization, and to find meaning despite adversity.
That said, true responsibility should not be confused with taking on the entire weight of cosmic judgment. It’s a delicate dance: accepting we have agency while recognizing the complexity of what shapes us. In my experience, when someone shifts from “I am wholly to blame” to “I am a co-creator of my life, navigating luck, unconscious patterns, and societal factors,” they begin to break free from the tyranny of the cosmic HR department. They can hold themselves accountable without surrendering to condemnation.


A Crisis of Love and Self-Respect

The deeper I delved into my client’s story, the more I realized that his report-card mindset was not just a flawed world-view—it was also a failure of love and respect toward himself. A self-described cultural Christian who was exasperated by religious literalism, he came to a startling insight: He was Old Testament in need of the New. His vision was obscured by despair; he could not see that beneath the harsh self-judgment, he was a person of genuine warmth, curiosity, and compassion—thoughtful and deeply caring to his family, eager to learn about the world, a “walking miracle” in his own fragile yet magnificent humanity.
This recognition was accompanied by shame. He saw that, paradoxically, the greatest failure was not that he hadn’t been an incredibly rare member of his corporation to have worn the mantle of C-Suite doyen, but his inability to treat himself with the very tenderness and empathy he extended to, and valued in, others. In psychoanalytic terms, he was punishing himself for not measuring up to ideals he had never fully questioned. In more humanistic, spiritual terms, he had forsaken a basic commandment of love neighbour-as-self. His failure, at root, was more a failure of love and forgiveness than realized ambition.
Seeing this was painful but liberating. Suddenly, his focus shifted from external judgments—what a God-like projection of harsh judgement might think—to an inner reckoning: How do I care for myself in the face of life’s inevitable ups and downs?  What can I actually control? He realized his true responsibility was to monitor his own self-disrespect, to catch, in regular amazement, moments when he belittled himself, and to cultivate a principle of rigorous self-love that he had long neglected.


Toward a Curative Perspective

In working through these issues, I’ve found a blend of psychoanalytic, Jungian, and Humanistic approaches to be especially healing. This includes, crucially, a reorientation toward love—both divine and human, both spiritual and deeply personal:

1. Question the Outer Judge: When we catch ourselves believing in an external “scorekeeper,” we can pause to ask: Who exactly is judging me? Is it truly a binary simpleton, all-seeing judge, or a one-sided internalized parent, cultural ideal, or old religious framework that no longer serves us?
   
   
   
2. Honour Complexity: Our life outcomes emerge from a dance of genetics, environment, unconscious drives, personal choices, and random chance. Acknowledging this complexity can loosen the hold of the “report card” mindset and open space for forgiveness—of self and circumstance.
   
   
   
3. Reimagine Self-Worth Through Love: We are more than our jobs or any metric of success. From a Humanistic angle, our worth derives from our capacity to love, to connect, to create. In spiritual terms, we may view ourselves as fragments of a divine source, inherently worthy of compassion.
   
   
   
4. Confront the Punitive Superego: Therapy, journaling, dream analysis, or reflective practices can help us identify and soften that relentless inner critic. In the client’s case, this involved recognizing a neglected need to treat himself with kindness—the biblical “love thy neighbor as thyself” made real, starting with the self.  Ask yourself: “would you hate anyone else like that?  Why is it okay to hate and judge so viciously?”
   
   
   
5. Embrace Lifelong Growth: Midlife is not a stopping point. We continue to evolve—emotionally, relationally, and spiritually—until our very last breath. Seeing ourselves as “walking miracles,” however fragile, invites us to respect our own journey in its fullness rather than freeze it into a single, reductive evaluation.  Keep going, no matter what.  You have no idea what may happen if you do.

Conclusion

My client’s phrase—“You get your report card by this age”—became a mantra for self-condemnation, masquerading as a clear-eyed acknowledgment of “reality.” Yet the truth is, this reality was heavily coloured by his own beliefs and deeply internalized cultural and familial scripts. In challenging these beliefs, he began to see that no single authority—be it a boss, a family legacy, or a cosmic divider—could possibly judge his entire being.

More importantly, he came to recognize that his greatest shortfall was, in fact, a shortfall of love and respect for himself. He had lost sight of his own humanity, failing to notice his inherent worth and beauty—the parts of himself that were caring, curious, and intelligent. In so doing, he was missing an existential truth: that every person is, in some sense, a fragment of the divine, a miraculous spark of being.

This shift in perspective did not magically solve all his struggles, but it did offer him a new kind of personal responsibility: to watch for and act on his own self-disrespect. He learned to catch himself in moments of harsh self-critique, to soften that punitive superego with empathy, and to reclaim the loving principle that he’d so often extended to others but denied himself.  He began to develop a practice of self-esteem.

In this way, breaking free from the “report card” mentality is about more than dismantling a flawed worldview and reorienting toward a growth-esteem mindset, which is necessarily loving, creative and curious. It is about reconnecting with the deeper wellspring of love—both within and beyond ourselves—that reminds us we are whole, evolving, and worthy of compassion. It is about recognizing that no cosmic leveller can reduce our humanity to a simple grade, and that our capacity to love, respect, and honour who we are may be the truest measure of success we ever find.

Interestingly, within a few months, this client had begun taking drawing and painting classes.  He never judged these in a harsh sense - they were never binary to him - and in parallel, that old report card of his gradually receded into the background, only sporadically returning to its previously rigid psychological dominance.

​

Narcissism, as conceptualized in psychoanalytic thought, is not merely the inflated self-regard of an individual. It is a deep-seated, pervasive force that can affect every level of human life, from our most intimate relationships to the grandest structures of global politics. While we often think of narcissism as a purely personal disorder—identified in individuals who bully, manipulate, or dominate those around them—its roots and ramifications stretch far beyond any one person’s psyche. It shapes our families, our communities, our cultural norms, and even our civilizations. Understanding narcissism on this macro scale is essential if we hope to address humanity’s many interlocking crises, from systemic racism and historical empires to modern ecological catastrophes.
On a personal level, narcissism can be understood as a struggle rooted in early developmental experiences, something psychoanalysts have described for decades. A baby’s earliest phase of relating to the world—often termed “primary narcissism”—is one in which the self is the universe, and all others exist solely to meet its needs. While this is a healthy and necessary stage for infants, problems arise when we fail to mature beyond this viewpoint. Adults who remain caught in narcissistic patterns treat the world as an object, a mirror reflecting only their needs, triumphs, and grandiosity. This can lead to subtle forms of emotional manipulation at home—spouses or children treated as “narcissistic supply”—or overt tyranny in the workplace or public sphere.
We see, however, that this same dynamic plays out on larger scales. Consider historical empires. The logic of empire, after all, often boils down to narcissism at scale: the empire’s needs, resources, and worldview are placed above all others, justifying domination and exploitation. Entire cultures can be infused with a collective narcissism—a belief in their inherent superiority or “manifest destiny”—that leads them to rewrite histories, commit atrocities, or rationalize profound social inequalities. The vile prejudice of racism and the cruelty of colonial expansion have roots in this same grandiose self-regard. Empires have not merely sought power; they have sought the right to define reality itself, a privilege that belongs to the narcissist who does not acknowledge the subjectivity and equal worth of others.
Cultural narcissism can also manifest more subtly: a wealthy nation insisting that its way of life is the only civilized route; a corporation behaving as though the market’s logic is the sole compass of human value; a political party that regards opposition not as fellow citizens with competing visions, but as enemies to be humiliated and destroyed. At every level, the narcissistic pattern repeats: one viewpoint, one group, one class, one nation enthrones itself and denies the full personhood and legitimacy of those on the margins.
The consequences are dire. On a global scale, our collective inability to see beyond the “self” leads us to degrade the environment as though it were an infinite resource bank existing only for us. We deepen global inequality as though the suffering of distant populations does not matter, as if they were mere props on our stage. We perpetuate ancient grudges, despite the overwhelming need for cooperation. Our species-wide mental health crises—rising anxiety, depression, a profound sense of alienation—are further fueled by this narcissistic mindset that isolates us from one another.
Addressing the problem of narcissism, then, requires interventions at multiple levels. Individually, therapeutic efforts—like those discussed in psychoanalysis and relational forms of therapy—seek to reintegrate a person’s capacity for empathy, help them see others as complex individuals, and restore a sense of humility in the face of one’s own limitations. But tackling narcissism at larger scales requires cultural and institutional work. We must ask: how can we construct social systems that discourage grandiose worldviews and reward empathy, humility, and genuine dialogue?
Religions have, in various forms, tried to provide the answer: by emphasizing transcendence and humility, by placing God or a higher moral order at the center of reality, many religious traditions aim to decenter the ego. Although religious institutions themselves have sometimes been corrupted by narcissistic dynamics, their spiritual teachings often include a profound critique of self-absorption. Similarly, the founding of democratic institutions and the rule of law are, in part, efforts to contain narcissism at the societal level. A robust democracy is structured to prevent any single faction from amassing too much power, and thus it reminds us that no one voice—no matter how charismatic, wealthy, or powerful—is entitled to dominate. Free press, separation of powers, and civil rights legislation work as checks against collective narcissism, insisting that each citizen deserves respect and moral consideration.
On the cultural front, we must learn to value multiplicity and complexity. Education that includes exposure to other cultures, languages, histories, and worldviews can mitigate narcissism by undermining the assumption that one’s own perspective is the sole, correct reality. Media, when not weaponized for propaganda, can challenge parochial views by highlighting stories of those on the margins, those who have been historically silenced. In this way, cultural production can become a mirror that reflects not just our own image back to us, but a world inhabited by many equally valid stories.
Even in modern attempts to address global problems, we see the seeds of anti-narcissistic thinking. The calls for international cooperation on climate change reflect an understanding that we must look beyond national interests. The principles of human rights law—though imperfectly upheld—proclaim the fundamental dignity of each human being. In essence, the greatest institutional and cultural advancements have all tried, in their own way, to contain or transcend humanity’s narcissistic tendencies.
If we are to genuinely reduce suffering and move towards a healthier, more sustainable future, we must grapple with narcissism at all these scales. Narcissism is not a peripheral issue; it is at the root of countless human miseries, from racial oppression and gendered violence to ecological devastation and authoritarian regimes. The task before us is immense: we must encourage individuals to break out of the mirror-maze of their own minds; we must build systems of governance and culture that promote genuine mutual recognition; we must question and reshape entrenched traditions that sustain the narcissistic illusion of one’s superiority over another.
Ultimately, the path forward involves honest confrontation with our past and present narcissisms. It means acknowledging that no tribe, nation, or civilization is inherently chosen or more worthy than another. It demands that we learn to see ourselves as part of a greater whole, one among many, dependent on each other and the planet. Only then might we outgrow the constraints of our narcissism—personal, familial, cultural—and approach one another with the empathy, fairness, and respect that a truly interconnected humanity requires.

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), widely promoted for its structured techniques and short-term outcomes, also harbors an unsettling potential: it can reduce psychotherapy to a form of mechanization and social management. When a therapy model simplifies the human mind to a system of measurable inputs and outputs—thoughts to be “corrected,” behaviors to be “modified”—it risks aligning itself with a broader cultural drift toward commodification. In such a scenario, psychological treatment can become a convenient instrument of societal norms or corporate interests, functioning less like a healing practice and more like an arm of a capitalist Human Resources department tasked with smoothing out inconvenient wrinkles in the workforce’s “mental productivity.”
The language of CBT itself—talk of “cognitive restructuring” and “thought correction”—conjures a top-down, almost surgical approach. It implicitly casts therapist and patient into a hierarchical dynamic: the expert and the subject. The therapist, equipped with a clinical toolkit and standardized interventions, “fixes” the patient’s faulty cognitions much as a technician might replace a defective part in a machine. While such precision appeals to those seeking clear-cut efficiency, it fails to appreciate the complex inner life of the person sitting in the room. Patients, in this view, are molded from the outside-in, with interventions administered like pharmaceutical doses rather than discovered collaboratively. Long-term, this approach tends to falter. People are not static systems; they are evolving, storied, and deeply contextual beings, for whom growth emerges through self-understanding, not mere compliance with an external script.
Nancy McWilliams, a psychoanalytic psychologist revered for her humane and nuanced approach, advocates for a therapy that engages with the patient’s subjective world in a more relational, empathic manner. She suggests that true psychotherapeutic work involves grappling with and integrating the many layers of the psyche—layers shaped by personal history, unconscious currents, relational patterns, and existential concerns. Such healing is a creative, “inside-out” process. It respects the individual’s inner complexity, the subtle interplay of emotions and meanings that cannot be captured by symptom inventories or corrected by cognitive dictates. In other words, it tends the soul rather than tinkers with the machinery.
This “inside-out” orientation values empathy and acute listening over pre-set interventions, fostering an environment where the self can emerge and flourish. It encourages patients to discover their own truth rather than internalize a therapist’s directives. Here, the therapist is not a cognitive surgeon cutting out “distorted” beliefs, but a companion in a shared journey toward wholeness. The emphasis is on integration: weaving together the emotional, intellectual, relational, and spiritual dimensions of a person’s experience into a coherent narrative that feels authentic and alive.
Contrast this with the potential endpoint of a CBT-dominated culture: therapy reduced to productivity coaching, where the nuance and individuality of patients is sacrificed at the altar of quick fixes and “evidence-based” maneuvers designed to keep people functional, compliant, and unquestioning. By privileging what can be measured and standardized, we risk erasing what cannot: the soul’s inner life, moral imagination, and search for meaning. Psychotherapy then ceases to be a sanctuary for personal growth and becomes another form of social control, producing docile individuals who think appropriately, behave acceptably, and never rock the boat. When therapy becomes just another means to render humans more efficient in a capitalist system, it betrays its original aim: to nurture human freedom, self-understanding, and profound well-being.
None of this is to say that CBT and its techniques have no place; exposure therapy, for example, can help alleviate certain phobias and anxieties. Nor is it to dismiss the value of having some structure or measurable outcomes in clinical practice. But we must remain vigilant. When the language of therapy drifts into the realm of managerial efficiency—words like “optimization,” “compliance,” or “restructuring”—and when the goals become indistinguishable from corporate mental hygiene standards, we are moving away from the transformative power of psychotherapy. True healing requires presence, depth, open-ended exploration, and a respect for the ineffable qualities of human experience that cannot be itemized on a behavioral checklist.
In the end, the soul does not yield to top-down corrections. It requires a setting in which the therapist’s humanity can meet the patient’s humanity, without the intrusion of rigid protocols or hidden agendas. Therapy is at its best when it is an art of listening, a craft of empathy, and a commitment to nurturing wholeness. By approaching our patients from the inside-out, we ensure that psychotherapy remains a space of liberation and meaning, rather than a cog in society’s machinery.

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) has often been lauded as the “gold standard” of evidence-based treatment, celebrated for its structured protocols and measurable outcomes. Yet, an increasing number of informed critics, including well-respected voices in the field, question the true depth and breadth of its efficacy. They argue that CBT can be limited, mechanistic, and insufficiently attentive to the complexity of the human psyche—particularly the nuanced dimensions of the Self. In this critique, I will examine the underlying theoretical assumptions of CBT, its approach to the therapeutic relationship, and its impact on both patient and therapist. Drawing on the work of Jonathan Shedler and other respected commentators, I will highlight the ways in which CBT’s positivist orientation may undermine the goal of psychotherapy: the integration and well-being of the whole person in a complex and meaningful world.
At the heart of CBT lies a logical-seeming premise: that by identifying distorted thoughts and practicing new behaviors, emotional distress will decrease. This focus on symptoms and their management is certainly pragmatic, and, in the right circumstances, can be helpful. However, the approach frequently treats the human mind as a kind of cognitive apparatus that can be recalibrated through discrete interventions. In other words, CBT’s founding metaphor is that of a “thinking machine,” reducible to inputs (cognitions), outputs (behaviors), and measurable states of distress. Such a perspective inherently veers toward reductionism. When human life is understood predominantly as a set of maladaptive thought patterns to be corrected, vital aspects of the person’s inner world—unconscious conflicts, complex emotions, relational dynamics, and existential yearnings—may remain unaddressed.
Jonathan Shedler, a clinical psychologist and a vocal advocate for psychodynamic therapy, has offered a thorough critique of CBT’s inflated claims. In his widely cited article published in American Psychologist, Shedler states, “The claim that only CBT and other ‘evidence-based’ therapies have scientific support—and that psychodynamic concepts and treatments lack empirical support—does not withstand scrutiny.” (Shedler, 2010). He points out that while CBT studies often highlight short-term symptom reduction, they rarely capture the longer-term growth, self-knowledge, and personal integration that more depth-oriented therapies can foster. This discrepancy suggests that CBT’s evidence-based reputation is, at times, built on a selective reading of research data, placing short-term, easily quantifiable outcomes above the richer tapestry of long-term mental health and the fullness of selfhood.
Such a selective lens is closely tied to CBT’s underlying positivist mindset, which privileges what can be observed, measured, and standardized. In clinical practice, this can unintentionally encourage therapists to become technicians applying standardized protocols rather than empathic companions engaged in a deeply relational process. The intricacies of the therapeutic relationship—such as the way patients grow through the trust, empathy, and presence of the therapist—are not easily captured by the manualized frameworks favored by CBT. When therapy becomes a scripted sequence of interventions, space for the patient’s individuality, subjective experience, and complexity can be diminished. Indeed, the task of discovering one’s Self—layered, contradictory, meaningful, and evolving—may be overshadowed by a relentless focus on “fixing” negative thought patterns.
Critics have also underscored CBT’s tendency to disregard or minimize the patient’s inner world. While exposure therapy, one of its acknowledged strengths, can desensitize individuals to frightening situations, it also risks glossing over the deeper reasons why certain fears emerge and how they relate to the patient’s core identity. Real psychological transformation often requires encountering, understanding, and integrating these internal truths, not merely neutralizing their symptomatic manifestations. Nancy McWilliams, a prominent psychoanalytic clinician, emphasizes that true psychological well-being involves “developing a richer, more integrated, and more humane understanding of oneself,” something that cannot be accomplished by cognitive restructuring alone. Therapy should not be confined to symptom management but extended into the domains of meaning, authenticity, and identity.
The consequences of a doctrinaire and pseudo-scientific approach go beyond the patient’s experience. Therapists trained predominantly in CBT risk intellectual and clinical impoverishment if they adhere uncritically to its frameworks. A rigid, protocol-driven stance can limit their ability to respond flexibly and creatively to the complexities of human distress. By centering a methodology that treats symptoms in isolation, a therapist may fail to engage with the patient’s capacity for growth, meaning-making, and self-integration. A more holistic approach, one that includes an understanding of unconscious processes, relational attachments, and existential concerns, is often necessary to foster deep and lasting transformation.
The goal of psychotherapy, as classically conceived, is not merely symptom reduction. It is the integration and flourishing of a whole self: a nuanced, multilayered being with desires, fears, dreams, and a relational existence in the world. This vision cannot be realized by a form of therapy that narrows its focus to quantifiable thoughts and behaviors. It demands approaches that acknowledge mystery, engage complexity, and embrace the profound relational work of healing. While CBT’s methods—especially exposure techniques—can offer useful tools and may serve as a valuable adjunct in certain clinical scenarios, we must not mistake its partial utility for an entire theory of mind and selfhood.
In conclusion, CBT’s emphasis on measurable outcomes, standardized protocols, and a flattened view of the human mind has understandably drawn both praise and critique. Figures like Jonathan Shedler have revealed how inflated claims of superiority and evidence-based certainty do not hold up under closer examination. Beyond these claims, the deeper problem lies in CBT’s philosophical underpinnings: its reductive conceptualization of the human being and its disregard for the complexity of the Self. Psychotherapy, at its best, is an endeavor to foster true integration, inner freedom, and meaningful engagement with the world. Any approach that sacrifices these broader aims for the comfort of measurable simplicity ultimately does a disservice to patients—and to the rich, evolving field of psychotherapy as a whole.

We have all been there: a friend makes an offhand remark, a family member forgets to do a small favor, or a co-worker slightly misreads the tone of an email. Suddenly, the room crackles with tension, and before we know it, a conversation spirals into a heated confrontation. The trigger might have been trivial—an unwashed dish, a missed text message—but the emotional intensity and severity of the argument feel entirely disproportionate. Why do we sometimes break down our world into stark extremes and become so quick to blame and attack?
This pattern of thinking and relating to others is often captured by the psychological concept known as “splitting.” Splitting refers to an unconscious defense mechanism where people view others, situations, or themselves as wholly good or wholly bad, with no middle ground. In essence, it is an all-or-nothing approach to interpretation, one that eliminates nuance. While splitting often appears in certain personality disorders—particularly Borderline Personality Disorder—it can manifest in anyone under stress. More importantly, it is not just an individual phenomenon; splitting has social implications that ripple through communities, organizations, and even the political sphere.
Understanding Splitting on a Personal Level
At its core, splitting emerges when we feel threatened, overwhelmed, or insecure. The mind seeks to impose order on chaos, and one way to accomplish this is through simplification. If someone hurts our feelings, instead of parsing out their intentions, their good qualities, and our long history with them, it can feel safer or more satisfying to paint them as entirely selfish, cruel, or “the enemy.” Similarly, in arguments, if we feel misunderstood, we may reduce the other person to a single negative trait—“He’s always so careless”—thereby justifying our anger and moral high ground.
This black-and-white thinking rarely leads to resolution. Instead, it can trap us in cycles of conflict. We become locked into roles: victim and villain, righteous and wrongdoer, hero and failure. The truth, of course, is far more complex. Few people are all good or all bad. Relationships are almost always multifaceted, shaped by context, stressors, past experiences, and countless shades of gray. By relying on splitting, we deny ourselves the opportunity to empathize, understand, and appreciate complexity. As a result, minor disagreements inflate into bitter rifts, leaving both sides feeling depleted and unheard.
From the Individual to the Collective
While splitting begins in our personal psyche, it doesn’t stay confined there. In fact, the collective expression of splitting is increasingly visible in our broader society. Cultural and political landscapes often mirror the psychological tendencies of the individuals who shape them. Consider the tenor of modern political discourse. We see parties and ideologies cast as wholly correct or utterly misguided. Opponents become caricatures to be mocked or demonized, rather than fellow citizens with legitimate, if differing, perspectives and life experiences.
This tendency is exacerbated by modern media ecosystems, particularly social media. Online platforms, built on algorithms designed to maximize engagement, often reward the most emotionally charged, polarizing content. Arguments over nothing—trivial misstatements, small cultural faux pas—balloon into movements of outrage that feed tribal lines. The anonymity of the internet makes it easier for people to slip into splitting: we turn our opponents into monoliths—ignorant, malicious, or “just stupid”—and our own camp as enlightened champions of truth. The effect is that the public sphere begins to look like a battleground of extremes, where nuance and empathy become casualties in the crossfire.
Consequences for Civic Life
When societies embrace splitting on a large scale, the implications are profound. Complex policy debates—on healthcare, environmental regulation, economic policies—become flattened into caricatures. Instead of grappling with intricate trade-offs, costs, benefits, and long-term consequences, public debates devolve into a chorus of simplistic slogans. Political opponents may no longer be seen as worthy of debate; they are unworthy, illegitimate, or even dangerous. Similarly, social issues become moralized with such intensity that any conversation that tries to find a middle ground is suspect. The result is deadlock, resentment, and a sense that we are arguing, often viciously, over issues that could be approached with more understanding and cooperation.
Ironically, these societal trends feed back into our individual behavior. When we witness leaders, pundits, and social influencers engaging in splitting, it normalizes the pattern. We come to expect—and even prefer—simple stories: heroes and villains, us versus them. This validates our own inclination to reduce complexity in our personal lives. The more we see splitting in the headlines, the easier it becomes to justify splitting in our homes, workplaces, and friendships.
Finding a Path Toward Complexity and Understanding
Breaking the cycle of splitting, both personally and collectively, requires conscious effort. On an individual level, we can start by practicing self-awareness. The next time a small disagreement flares into anger, pause and ask: Am I painting this person into a corner? Can I see another side to this story? We can also seek therapy or engage in conversations with friends who challenge us to consider alternatives. Mindfulness practices, which encourage observing our thoughts non-judgmentally, can help identify the early signs of splitting before it overtakes our interactions.
On a societal level, the remedy involves supporting institutions and media outlets that resist sensationalism. This means valuing journalism that embraces complexity and thoughtful debate. Encouraging open dialogue in our communities, schools, and workplaces fosters an environment where differences are acknowledged and respected. As citizens, we can demand leaders who refuse to reduce their opponents to simplistic stereotypes. Over time, with committed effort, we can cultivate cultures that reward nuance, depth, and patience rather than haste, outrage, and simplification.
Conclusion
Splitting is a psychological defense mechanism that, when left unchecked, can lead to needless conflict and misunderstanding. When magnified through media and cultural forces, it can transform our public sphere into one of polarization and acrimony. Yet, by becoming aware of our own tendencies, challenging the impulse to simplify, and nurturing environments that value complexity and cooperation, we can begin to heal these rifts. In doing so, we might just find that the things we once argued over—trivial or otherwise—can become opportunities for deeper understanding, not harder division.

Meaning “I”, ego is the moderating, deciding, discerning aspect of the mind.  It is, when strong enough, the part of you that relates to both internal and external worlds, and helps you take up space-time in your environment through a well-judged assertion of self.  

Narcissists are renowned for having weak egos, rather than strong ones.  When someone rolls their eyes at a narcissistic person, and says “they’re all ego!” they’re really saying that someone’s distastefully grandiose, that they do not relate horizontally, and instead compulsively dominate.  In effect, they’re actually experiencing someone who does not, and cannot, relate well because they don’t have the strong, mature ego that is a prerequisite of authentic give and take.  

The importance of the strong ego cannot be underestimated when we discuss surviving narcissistic abuse, because this is exactly the area of self that can be profoundly compromised in such environments.  Children who grow up in a narcissistic soup have, by definition, not had an environment conducive to internalizing a model that leads to self-respect.  Rather, they’ve been taught to dismiss themselves, to please, conform or rebel.  None of these correspond to healthy ego functioning.  Healthy functioning must result from healthy relating, just as plants require light to grow strong and healthy.  

We all start out from narcissistic origins, but as we grow, we discover that others are separate from ourselves. In health we find that this is safe and manageable, because the Other loves us, and we love in return. What was once experienced as an extension of ourselves, separates, and our ego allows us a sense of “I” and “You”.  Pathological narcissism occurs when this process goes wrong: the Other either remains a buoying extension of self, or must be put down as if it is unreal.   This is why the question of the ego is so profoundly important for survivors of such environments.  They are accustomed to an annihilating presence that claims, controls and manipulates them as if they were an extension, and no matter what they do, they cannot gain the relationship they need in order to stabilise their own sense of reality, grow their own self-esteem and mature their own ego. 

It is not uncommon as a result, to find survivors who have a very poor relationship to their own feeling states.  They may not be able to name particular emotions, or to be able to experience them as real, valid and meaningful.  They may encounter a lot of self doubt, or lack a sense of direction. Long term aims, based upon desire itself, can feel absent, confused or elusive.  If you’ve grown up in an environment in which your whole sense of the world, your feelings, and what you want are systematically invalidated, and confused with another person’s, you are highly unlikely to be able to form a strong, mature and stable ego.  In place of that mature ego, you might people please, or be reactive.  You might experience a lot of social anxiety or feel like an impostor.  You might dissociate and disappear into the background. You might become narcissistic and grandiose. In other words, you are likely to have to try to solve the problem of a weak ego, and struggle to know how.

The point I’d like to touch on is the widely-held societal belief that ego is bad.  Ego is not bad.  Ego is essential to healthy functioning.  Interestingly enough, a healthy ego inherently requires a healthy form of narcissism: “I” is important enough to be respected, to exist.  This healthy narcissism is not to do with grandiosity, compulsivity and fragility; instead, it’s to do with authenticity, horizontal relating, self-esteem, a sense of being balanced and solidly present, and that being so is a good, desirable thing.  A healthy ego, in essence, is primary narcissism that has been transformed into a respected relational node.  The “I” in maturity welcomes the Other and cares about its reality, just as it cares about the reality of the self.  In order to perform this task, it asserts the reality of “I” in time and space.  

All too often, I come across a cultural misunderstanding, whereby ego is equated with pathological narcissism or selfishness.  This misunderstanding tends to couple with poorly understood spiritual references to selflessness, or having “no ego”, as if these were simply desirable things.  They are not.  While it is true that self and ego can be transcended in mystical or spiritual practices, just as they can be through love in general, if the stage of healthy ego growth is skipped, authenticity is the casualty.  Noticing the ways we unconsciously continue the destructive influence of the internalized narcissistic parent, by dismissing, hating, doubting and undermining the emergent ego is a key part of therapy.  A therapist who’s able to challenge this internalized negation is vital in all senses of the word.  For these reasons, you need a therapist who’s very present and engaged, very attuned to the emergent ego, and not someone who mistakenly encourages the “spiritual bypass” (John Welwood), pleasing, diminishment of the Other, or similar interventions that actually mirror childhood relational traumas.

​

Trauma bonding can be a devastating and deeply confusing thing.  We can find ourselves, knowing we’re in abusive relationships, feeling dependent on those very relationships, and riddled with guilt, shame and uncertainty about actions that have the potential to move us on in life.  Sufferers often struggle to understand their feelings and confusion, and stay with what they know, even though they also know it’s awful and damaging to them.

Trauma bonding is a complex psychological phenomenon that occurs in abusive or manipulative relationships, where the victim forms a strong emotional bond with their abuser. This bond is characterised by a mix of fear, loyalty, and affection, leading the victim to feel deeply attached to the person causing them harm. Understanding trauma bonding is crucial for recognizing and addressing abusive dynamics in relationships.  This is especially true for narcissistic abuse environments.

At its core, trauma bonding is a survival mechanism that helps individuals cope with abusive situations. When someone experiences repetitive abuse cycles, their brain can adapt to the trauma by forming a bond with the abuser. This bond is often reinforced by intermittent reinforcement, where the abuser alternates between periods of kindness and cruelty. This creates a sense of unpredictability, which can actually strengthen the bond as the victim becomes more focused on seeking the abuser's approval during the "good" times.

To chase the “good” times, and the “good” relationship, trauma bonded individuals tend to prioritise pleasing and disappearing - physically, or through conformity.  They try to become what the abuser wants them to be, whether this is “wallflower” absence, or a prop to their ego, or a tool to their stability… anything to keep the peace, and ultimately, to exact some measure of control over the situation, and thereby, their own internal regulation.  

Trauma bonding can be reinforced by a variety of psychological factors. For example, the victim may rationalize the abuser's behavior, believing that they deserve the mistreatment or that the abuser is acting out of love. This can create a sense of shared suffering or a belief that the abuser is the only one who truly understands them, further strengthening the bond.

Breaking free from a trauma bond can be incredibly challenging. The bond is often deeply ingrained and can be reinforced by feelings of shame, guilt, or fear of retaliation. However, with support and guidance, it is possible to overcome a trauma bond and heal from the effects of abuse.

One of the first steps in breaking a trauma bond is recognizing and acknowledging the abusive dynamics in the relationship. This can be difficult, as victims may have internalised beliefs that justify or minimise the abuse. However, therapy can be a valuable tool in helping victims recognize these patterns and develop healthier coping mechanisms.

It is also important for victims to establish boundaries with their abuser and prioritise their own well-being. This may involve cutting off contact with the abuser, seeking support from friends and family, or accessing resources such as shelters or support groups for survivors of abuse. Developing a strong support network can help victims feel less isolated and provide them with the encouragement they need to break free from the trauma bond.

Understanding the way such environments have impacted self-esteem is crucial.  Survivors of such environments are often dependent on an abusive, manipulative individual(s) for any fragment of esteem, and their orientation for gaining esteem tends to be external: toward the dominating, abusive force in their lives.  Realising this, and wrestling a sense of true, reliable self-esteem into one’s own hands necessitates a form of intentional practice.  For clients, there’s frequently a form of mindful intentionality that we come to learn: recognizing cues, and reorienting our focus to break the cycle.  It is a dangerous thing to have one’s esteem entirely in the hands of an unwell or manipulative individual.  A renewed attention to self-respect, boundaries, assertion, interests and direction become crucial to the kind of work I do with survivors of such environments. 

Regular readers of this blog may recall the analogy of a solar system: narcissistic individuals find myriad ways to become the sun, and for others to become dependent, minimised, revolving planets.  Recovery from trauma bonding is nothing short of the recognition of self: a practice through which healthy reorientation can give you your own centre of gravity, progress and loving attention - both within, and toward desirable aspects of the world.  This is taking control, taking the wheel in one’s own journey, which breaks the trauma bond as it takes hold and gains permission, strength and resilience.  Survivors really do have to break out of powerful orbits that constantly try to draw them in, and down.

In conclusion, trauma bonding is a complex psychological phenomenon that can occur in abusive relationships. It is characterised by a strong emotional bond between the victim and abuser, which is reinforced by a variety of psychological factors. Breaking free from a trauma bond can be challenging, and takes time, but with support, guidance and practice, it is possible to overcome the effects of abuse and build healthier relationships.

​

Assuming "an Empath" as your identity can:

1. Mask hypervigilance, which is a trauma response
2. Mask being a “suppliant personality” - a specialist in giving narcissistic supply 
3.  Mask a loss or lack of self/social authenticity
4.  Mask a narcissistic, grandiose self-image.  
5. Mask passivity: being a sponge to others' emotions, or a chameleon, a defensive way of hiding






​By contrast, integrated empathy is:

• Enjoyable, flexible, useful.
• Not limited to hypervigilance, reactivity and threat deconstruction.
• Not only passive, but capable of being active, intentional.
• Coloured with love, care, concern.
• Is externally and internally directed.

For survivors of narcissistic environments, self-empathy is crucial:

• Survivors often need to reverse the lens, and think about self-empathy.
• Leads to greater self-respect, increased self-esteem, stability.
• Combats internalised toxic parenting, commonly known as harsh superego, inner parent or inner critic. 
• An increase in our capacity for love is never uni-directional.  It applies to our self, as well as others’.   

In fighting a war, you wouldn’t treat the opposing navy, air force, army and civil service as unrelated hostile phenomena...or rather, if you did, you might be missing a key component of the battleground.  But that’s exactly how we approach the effects of a single widespread psychological mechanism that is rampant in our society - as if each instance were entirely unrelated to the whole.

Some of the forces opposing dreams of a higher civility include: bullying, racism, xenophobia, sexism, toxic work environments, scapegoating, narcissistic abuse and homophobia.  Traditionally, we have fought each of these forces alone - as if there were no organizing principle behind the scenes, orchestrating the carnage before us.   But is it possible that an unseen and devious enemy might be lurking just out of our vision, or are these phenomena actually as unrelated as they appear?  The answer is yes, there is a common enemy, and that enemy has a name: devaluation.

We’re natural discriminators, and easily dismiss what is not important to us from a very early age.  If we didn’t, we’d be overwhelmed and unable to function.  Our brain discriminates all the time.  As we age, we purposefully increase our ability to discriminate, thereby devaluing aspects of our environment: we hone our disgust, language, categorization, ability to order, simplify and quantify.  As we enter adulthood, these unique human tools help us to gain more control of the environment around us than any other species on earth.

Our discriminating brains do not simply perceive the world as it is.  Rather, we perceive a reality that has been conditioned, filtered and filled by our imagination.  Contrary to popular myth, imagination is not only dreamy or expansive; it’s not something confined to creative writing or art.  It can run in the opposite direction too, and contextualize self and other alike as something lesser than they actually are.  This produces an abstract reality, rather than an “objective” one.  A good historical example of this occurred in Babylonia around 8000 years ago, when the first cities were forming.  Rather than physically counting animals in trade, and remembering who owed what, marks were made in clay tablets.  These marks stood in for the actual animal, and via the birth of accounting, arguably became more important to people than the real world creature that the marks represented: the marks were units in math, accounting and trade.  Separated from the animals, these abstractions could be considered and manipulated in any number of ways, without ever setting eyes on the life they described.

Human beings inhabit a unique middle ground, balancing the inner realm of imagination with the external other.  From an early age, we use the former to idealize and devalue the other, using these polarized narcissistic projections in order to deal with an outside world that is far larger than us and operates on rules we cannot understand.  In adult relationships, idealization is present in the blindness of first love, and in our idolization of celebrities and cultish leaders.  But as if these victories of abstraction over reality were not precipitous enough, we also have idealization’s ugly twin to deal with.  Devaluation is a powerful psychological mechanism, so powerful in fact that it can be addictive, and become a modus operandi for the way we approach the world, while we conveniently overlook the inherent sadism buried within it.

It’s hard for us to admit it, but we delight in our inherited power to devalue, just as we delight in our other powers of imagination.  The sadism that crooks up the bully’s smile exists in much of our humour; it’s more difficult to construct jokes that are expansive and generous toward the other than it is to offer a satisfying put-down.  Similarly, swearing relieves us of complexity and satisfies us because we are exercising devaluation over the Other.  Our ability to use imagination to reconstruct what is given into a competing abstract reality of our own making places us “above” the natural world, in a position where we’re vulnerable to hubris.

Our ability to survey, categorize and quantify from on high leads to successful prospecting of nature; it’s much easier to erase a portion of the Amazon once it is reduced to a set of numbers on a spreadsheet, shorn of awe, empathy, without the thunderstrike of love for the other and its infinite riches.  We might not be aware of the devaluation, or of the tingle of sadism this power commutes, but it is present nonetheless.  The dominance of both prospector and bully alike is based entirely on the power of devaluation. 

Jung was particularly disturbed by the devaluation that is inherent in scientific materialism, a trend that to this day seeks to abstract the individual into chemical components.  Jung knew that the allure of this reductive doctrine was irresistible, and could be turned inward in self attack.  As in his time, “nothing but…” and its variants remain classic indicators of devaluation.  I’ve lost count of the number of clients who have referred to their particular suffering as “nothing but a chemical imbalance in my head”, and likewise to themselves as “nothing but a loser”, “nothing but a whiner” or other reductive equivalent, even as they nestle into depression.

Many of our great modern societal movements are attempts to shrug off devaluation and the treatment that this psychological mechanism precipitates.  A racist, for example, has a worldview tainted by abstraction.  In a classic, narcissistic manoeuvre, they idealize their own skin and devalue others’.  The other is frequently reduced to a “nothing but” while the perpetrator elevates their own being into a position of manufactured superiority.   

Likewise, many survivors of familial narcissism have grown up surrounded by what I sometimes refer to as a fairground mirror - the one that shows you a grotesque reflection of yourself, often much smaller than your actual self, or impossibly large and exaggerated - projected images which present the real child with the unending accusation that they are “not good enough” and cannot measure up. Such survivors have experienced what amounts to a formative relational trauma, leaving many terrified of the judgement (devaluation) of others, socially phobic, depressed, anxious or without direction.  

The uprisings of our time, whether individual or cultural, are not only battles over rights or historical maltreatment.  They are also about self-esteem, self-image and about how we are imagined.  They are about the psychology of scapegoating and group narcissism, and in particular the mechanism of devaluation.  Societally, people are not only sick of being devalued, they want to shrug off its associated humiliation and shame; they have the newfound courage to speak encultured sickness out loud, even through their fear.  They want to free themselves of the distorted lens that society has placed on them.  They want to be recognized in the real, in the here and now, as legitimate human beings, worthy of respect.  The same is true for many of the clients I meet.  But the temptation is always there for individuals or groups, no matter who they are, to engage in negating spirals of devaluation toward one another - it’s a power we’re never taught we possess, let alone how to use it responsibly.  Instead, to this day it orchestrates from the background, just out of sight, immortal, unrestrained, forever readying its troops.

​

Working online is different from meeting in person, but here are a few tricks to make it easier - particularly if you’re sharing space with others:

1. Putting even quiet white noise, music or radio on by your door can help confuse noise and maintain confidentiality

2. Use headphones to “hide” one side of the conversation.  If your partner is with you in a small space, they can perhaps listen to media using headphones too - to create some extra privacy.

3. Coordinate therapy sessions with others’ outdoor exercise so you have the place to yourself.

4. If children have allocated screen time, coordinate this with your therapy sessions.  Better still if they too have headphones!

5. Be conscious of the “digital divide”.  If you’re aware that there’s an added layer that can restrict you from diving deeper into the work of therapy, there’s a better chance of overcoming it.  

​6. Don’t be afraid to ask for your time.  You need your own time for your own health.  Therapy time is a unique, directed and important part of your time - sometimes we need to verbalize this so we can make it happen.


Therapy relies in part on us having a safe, confidential place to talk.  It can allow us to let our guards down, and to drop into conversations we didn’t know we could have.  By mimicking as much as possible the confidential set-up of a therapist’s office, we can still allow for that to happen.

If you have other ways that help you approach online therapy, it would be great to hear them.

Best wishes to all, stay safe and stay well,

Tom



​

​The issue of identity is an important part of both life and psychotherapy.  


The following exercise is meant as a way to be curious about the way you conceive yourself and the selves around you, and to challenge what is preconceived.  

• What 3 words would you use to describe your identity?  

 

• Can you choose one of these as your primary identity?  

You may have found that easy!  If you didn’t, I think a great many people can empathize with you.  Choosing a word or 3 to define your identity can be simple for some, but to others it feels reductive and unpleasant.

Take a look at the list below.  Do your words fit into one of these categories?  Are there other ideas of identity that fit for you?  Are there any categories that don’t? Do your identifiers form a kind of hierarchy, with some more important than others?  Does this vary over space (environment) and time?

The following ideas are not definitive; they are only meant to provoke thought and consideration.  I’m sure there are others I haven’t mentioned, and many that I have mentioned may fit into more than one category.  Paying attention to whether concepts of identity are group/individual or material/non-material can also be helpful and illuminating.  Jung, for example, thought the Western world was fundamentally a materialistic one.  Do you agree?


Material — If your dominant identity is materialistic, you give a lot of importance to your physical being, to things and possessions. Examples include: skin tone, weight, beauty, height, money, possessions, a house, a reflection in the mirror.

Psychological — Eg.  Introvert, depressed, fun, rebellious, survivor, good, anxious, conscious, sad, optimistic, pessimistic, intelligent, creative, kind, conservative.

Religious —  A member of an organized religion.  Is this a dominant consideration for you?  Or perhaps you’re an atheist, or agnostic.

Spiritual — Do you think of people (or yourself) foremost as souls, or as aspects of a divine being?  

Job — Does this define you or others?  Do you introduce yourself by your job description, or identify others by their place on a work-based hierarchy?

Class — Would you think to describe yourself as blue or white collar, working-class, upper, or middle-class?  Is it important that you or others adhere to associated group values?

Culture & Community — Some examples here might be military, creative or regional.

Country — Is nation an important identifier for you?

Personal/Ineffable — This might be a general, unworded or unwordable sense of self  or character. Perhaps it’s associated with your name.

Familial/Relationships — Perhaps identity for you is defined by relationships, whether they’re good, bad, multitudinous or otherwise.

Age — Is “old”, “young”, “kid” or “middle-aged” a main identifier for you?

Sex/Gender — To you, is this an important aspect of identity?

Interests/Hobbies — Perhaps you define yourself by your tennis hobby, or being a recreational cyclist.

Desires — We can define ourselves by what we want, or define others by their desires.

Emotional — Perhaps how you feel defines you.

Health/Ill-Health — You may define yourself or others by their health, or by their sickness.

Beliefs — Veganism, for example, is an increasingly popular identifier.

Politics — Eg. John is a right-winger/Erin is a Marxist.

Memory & Narrative —  To what extent are we defined by our memories, our stories and myths?


The more I think about this subject, the more complex the question of identity becomes.  The projection of identity, or even an insistence that a person adheres to our own (conscious or unconscious) idea of identity is more problematic still. 

A point to remember: when we’re reductive about another’s identity; when we try to categorize it narrowly or with shallowness, we can expect a defensive reaction.  Reductive labelling disturbs many people, and is especially prevalent online. It’s a key characteristic of bullying and scapegoating as well as self-loathing.

Clue!

When used aggressively, the language of identity typically becomes reductive.  Look out for linguistic clues such as: only, just, nothing but.  Eg.  I’m nothing but a…

When conversations around identity are fraught, it’s usually because somewhere an attempt is being made to reduce the other to a category, or a narrow set of categories.  This dehumanisation is often hurtful, and met with defensive anger.