But listen carefully, oh beloved. That storm is not your burden. Because here’s what happens next—and this part is holy ground. When the tantrum doesn’t pull you back in, when the whispers don’t weaken your steps, when the smear campaign runs dry, the narcissist hits a wall—a breaking point. That’s when they crash headfirst into what some call narcissistic collapse, and it is not pretty. This is where the mask begins to rot, where the performance loses its script. The narcissist, stripped of admiration, stripped of control, is forced to face something they’ve avoided their whole life: themselves.
Now then, don’t expect tears in the open. Don’t expect a confession with trembling lips. What you’ll see instead is a frantic attempt to survive the emptiness. They’ll reach out for replacements—quick ones, shallow ones—anyone who can validate the illusion again. They’ll dress it up as healing, call it growth, but it’s desperation. Sometimes, when none of that works, they spiral. You might hear how they’ve been broken, how you abandoned them, how they’re the victim now. And here’s the dangerous part: they might even believe it. Because the narcissist’s entire identity was stitched together through control. Take that away, and what’s left? A hollow shell echoing with fear.
But don’t be fooled, and don’t be drawn back in by pity dressed as repentance. You are not the redeemer of someone else’s dysfunction. You’re not responsible for patching together what they refuse to confront. You didn’t cause their collapse; you just stepped out of its reach. And oh, how powerful that is. Because every time you stay silent in the face of provocation, every time you choose peace over panic, every time you let the door stay closed, you’re writing a new chapter in your own life—one where your worth is not up for negotiation, one where your boundaries are not seen as cruelty but as clarity.
So yes, with a narcissist, they will rage, sulk, lash out, and maybe even fall apart. But you? You rise. You rise because you finally understand something the narcissist never could: love without freedom isn’t love at all; it’s bondage. And you, my friend, were made for liberty.
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