And here’s the point the narcissist doesn’t like to face: the common denominator in every failed relationship is not you, not the new partner, not the one before that—it’s the narcissist. To accept that would mean facing a painful truth: “I am the problem. I don’t know how to love without destroying.” So instead of turning inward, the narcissist searches outward. The new partner is now too sensitive, too demanding, not enough. The cycle repeats. But along with the devaluation, another process quietly begins—comparison. Memories of you start to resurface, not as a moral awakening, but as a calculation. “Life was easier then. I had more control. The supply was better.” And that’s when miscalculation finally comes into focus.
Six, the cost of letting you go. When enough time has passed and the high of a new relationship wears off, reality starts sending bills. The narcissist realizes something: discarding that person cost me more than I expected. This realization comes in layers. First, the practical layer. Life was simple with you. You managed finances, you remembered the dates, you paid the bills, you juggled the schedules. You handled home, the routines, and the thousand invisible tasks that keep life from falling apart. Without that support, everything feels heavier. Tasks pile up; stress rises. The narcissist starts to feel the full weight of ordinary life and resents it. At this stage, the narcissist doesn’t miss you as a soul; they miss you as unpaid staff.
Then comes the emotional regulation layer. The narcissist has very little ability to calm their own nervous system—shame, anxiety, anger, fear. These inner storms feel unbearable. So what happened when you were there? You became the emotional shock absorber. The narcissist vented rage on you, then felt lighter while you carried the emotional bruise. The narcissist dumped insecurity on you, then walked away feeling stronger while you lay awake questioning yourself. The narcissist blamed you for mistakes, then felt relieved while you carried false guilt. You were the external regulation system. Now, in the new relationship, the new partner may refuse that role, may push back, may say, “This isn’t mine to carry.” Suddenly, the narcissist has to sit with feelings they used to dump on you. The discomfort rises.
Then comes the realization about the quality of supply. Not all attention is the same; not all loyalty is the same; not all empathy is the same. The narcissist begins to see that what you provided was rare. You tolerated more than most people ever would. You forgave what others would walk away from. You believed apologies that weren’t followed by real change. You stayed loyal even when loyalty was not returned. That created a world for the narcissist with almost no consequences—a world where the narcissist could behave recklessly and still feel secure. The new partner might have stronger boundaries: “I won’t ignore lies. I won’t defend what I know is wrong. I won’t carry the blame for what you chose.” To the narcissist, that doesn’t feel healthy; that feels restrictive.
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