For most people, the dinner table is a place of warmth, laughter, and connection. But with a narcissist, it becomes a total battlefield. Food is never just food; it’s a stage for power, criticism, and extreme control. They poison the atmosphere with negativity, dragging down every conversation. What should be lighthearted turns heavy as they badmouth relatives, complain about co-workers, mock neighbors, or resurrect old grudges. Joy cannot survive in their presence without being contaminated, and every bite feels coated in bitterness. They do not focus on their own plates; instead, they scrutinize everyone else’s. Their eyes dart from serving sizes to portion choices, waiting for the chance to shame you. Comments like, “Are you really eating all that?” or “No wonder you can’t lose weight with that portion” are meant to destroy you and humiliate you, reminding you that even the simple act of nourishing yourself is subject to their judgment. Everyone walks on eggshells around them, terrified of the next outburst. In a narcissistic family, the dinner table is never about connection; it’s about torture. What should be a ritual of comfort becomes a ritual of punishment. Every joke has an edge, every silence carries rejection, and every gesture is loaded with dominance. How do I know? I come from such a family, and I have shared many experiences in my other episodes about how food was weaponized in our narcissistic family cult.
Number five: during travel.
Travel shatters a narcissist’s illusion of control. Delays, queues, and rules they cannot bend strip away their composure. Airports and hotels reveal their entitlement in its purest form. They abuse staff, snap at you, and act as if the entire universe owes them a smooth ride. Travel does not just inconvenience them; it exposes their deepest fear, which is that they are powerless in a world far too big for them to control. You must notice their rituals: they refuse to read instructions, arrive late, and then blame you. They pick a fight at the gate to ruin the trip before it begins, sulk through sightseeing, and suddenly brighten when a stranger compliments them. At check-in, they charm a manager for upgrades while treating you with contempt. On day two, they often create a meltdown that becomes the headline of the whole journey. The destination does not matter; the real itinerary is dominance.
Number six: when technology fails them.
Continue reading on the next page
[adinserter block=”3″]
Sharing is caring!
