Such a paradox. They called you too sensitive as if it were something to be ashamed of, as if feeling deeply were a flaw. But it was your sensitivity that made you special. It was the part of you that noticed the tiny shifts in their energy, the change in their eyes, the tension in their voice when they were pretending everything was fine. You picked up on things before they even understood them themselves. You asked if they were okay when no one else noticed. You sat with their silence and gave them the space to exist without pressure. You felt their moods in your body. You adjusted your tone, your words, your entire presence because that is what empaths do. You were not reacting; you were responding in a compassionate way, from a place of love.
But they hated it. You were a mirror, a person they could not control. So they mocked you. They called you dramatic and too emotional. They said you overthought everything, but inside, they needed you. They craved that emotional intelligence, that softness, that deep intuitive presence that made them feel safe even when they were drowning in shame. They never said thank you, but they anchored themselves to your nervous system like it was the only thing keeping them grounded. And now that you are gone, now that you have gone quiet, now that your presence no longer wraps around them like safety, they feel it. The flatness, the dullness, the lifeless energy of people who do not really see them. They laugh, but it feels forced. They speak, but no one hears what is underneath, and suddenly, you’re too much. It feels like everything they have ever needed is gone. When they tried to shrink the most beautiful part of you, they lost the only person who made their world feel alive.
Number Four: Depth vs. Superficiality: The Narcissist’s Struggle
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