It’s natural to ask, “Why do they seem to prosper while I’m left in pieces?” Survivors wrestle with that question every day. But divine justice is not always immediate, and it doesn’t always look like the revenge we crave. Sometimes it’s quiet, unfolding in unseen ways. God allows cycles to run their course, not because He approves, but because He knows that every step deeper into deception brings a narcissist closer to collapse. The eternal law stands: we reap what we sow. The narcissist has sown deceit, cruelty, manipulation, and destruction. Those seeds may take time, but they always grow. And the harvest cannot be outrun. Consequences will come, whether in this life or in eternity. What they did to you has not been hidden, and it will not go unaccounted for. But justice doesn’t only appear in their downfall; it shines in your healing. Every time you forgive—not to free them, but to free yourself—you taste divine justice. Every time you grow stronger instead of bitter, God is turning what was meant for harm into good. That is His judgment at work. And if the narcissist refuses to change, their mask may fool people, but it can never fool Him. Judgment is written into His plan, and nothing escapes His timing. That truth sets you free.
You don’t need to chase revenge or waste your strength proving yourself. You can walk forward in peace, knowing the final word does not belong to the narcissist; it belongs to God. So when it looks like they’ve won, remind yourself of this: while you rise, they run. While you heal, they circle the same empty cycles. God has already seen, already written the ending, and His justice is inescapable.
There comes a point when you begin to see the contrast clearly. The narcissist keeps running in endless circles, calling the same destructive patterns. But you? You are rising. They think they’ve left you behind, yet the truth is reversed. You’re the one stepping forward while they remain trapped in their own chaos. The narcissist doesn’t grow; they repeat. They don’t learn; they recycle the same tactics, the same lies, the same empty performances. You, however, are breaking free. You’re choosing healing over hurt, growth over stagnation, purpose over pain. That’s what it means to rise while they run.
At first, rising doesn’t look like rising at all. It looks like surviving. Nights with a pillow soaked in tears. Days filled with doubt, questioning if you’d ever feel whole again. Weeks, even months, spent piecing together your confidence like shards of broken glass. Meanwhile, you watch the narcissist walk away without a flicker of remorse, quickly draping themselves in the arms of someone new. It may have looked like they won, but appearances deceive. Their victory is nothing more than an escape attempt. Your slow healing is not weakness; it’s a foundation of lasting freedom. Rising means you’re no longer defined by what was done to you. You learn to guard your boundaries, to treasure your worth, and to demand respect in every area of your life. You discover wells of strength you didn’t know existed. Rising isn’t pretending the pain didn’t happen; it’s using the pain as fuel, turning every scar into wisdom. Each step you take toward wholeness is undeniable evidence that you are rising. And while you rise, the narcissist runs—running from truth, running from accountability, running from the emptiness inside.
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