Fragile connections. How wounded narcissism prevents us from living in peace with ourselves and others

Julia Pirumova

Fragile Connections

From the author

In Pursuit of Healing

One day, while casually re-watching an old lighthearted TV series, I caught myself thinking: “How simple, sincere, and unaffected their lives seem! No endless analysis, no buzzwords like 'abuser' and 'narcissist', no constant discussions about personal boundaries or independence. Just life.” Indeed, those old stories were so full of life.

It struck me then how much we have been “spoiled” by modern psychology (there really should be a little smiley face here, but the editor will not allow it). It became painfully clear that most people I meet today are preoccupied with how “unhealed” or “immature” they still are – as if, somewhere along the way, these became necessary prerequisites for living, loving, building friendships, or having relationships. And so, we all rushed into endless self-work, hoping to one day earn that coveted ticket to the paradise of the healed and normal.

I found myself wondering: When did we fall so deeply in love with the idea of self-perfection? When did self-work start to look more like a moral obligation than a living process of seeking ourselves? It feels like we have turned our inner lives into projects with strict deadlines, where every “immature” feeling is a missed milestone, and every unresolved pain is a failed assignment.

Paradoxically, in our desperate race for healing, we often lose life itself – interrupting it at every step with self-monitoring: “Am I mature enough now?” “Am I still too unhealed?” Instead of simply feeling, loving, making mistakes, we analyze ourselves, scan every emotion for “trauma”, and keep thinking: “Just a little more work on myself and then I can finally be happy…”.

But life is not a checklist waiting for all boxes to be ticked. The maturity we will reflect on together is not a prize for good behavior, not a status awarded after mastering every psychological level. It is a path, a movement shaped by how we meet reality and weave it into the fabric of who we are.

At the very start, it is important to remember:

Life does not wait for us to solve all our internal conflicts or reach “full maturity”.

It is already happening – right here, right now.

And perhaps, our task is not to “fix ourselves” but to learn to live within this imperfect human experience – to coexist with our inner paradoxes, with that strange mix of love, fear, desire, and anxiety that makes us alive, instead of endlessly postponing life under the pretext of self-improvement.

Let us think about this together. Without rushing. Without judgment. Simply observing the remarkable puzzle of our Self slowly coming together.

You are holding a special work in your hands – a book that brings together knowledge from different fields of psychology. This information will help you better understand your mental life. It will help you find words for your inner processes and states, those vague sensations you may have felt but never clearly named.

This book is an invitation to a deep dialogue with yourself. It will help you understand the structure of your relationships with the world, with others, and, most importantly, with yourself. You will see how wounds, disappointments, and internal conflicts have shaped your personality and how you can begin the journey back toward your own integrity.

As you read and reflect, your unconscious will awaken. Your dreams may grow richer, your fantasies bolder, your memories more vivid. You will start noticing inner patterns that previously lived quietly in the background. It will not always be easy, but that is how we begin to truly know ourselves.

In every chapter, you will find life stories, which do not provide theoretical explanations but help you recognize yourself in other people. You will see that your background is a part of the shared human experience, and this realization will bring you closer to others.

Practical exercises, reflection prompts, and checklists encountered throughout the book are not simple tasks to complete but a gentle way to build a deeper connection with yourself. Gradually, you will learn to recognize where harsh, critical voices dominate your inner world, and how you might soften their hold.

This book will guide you through essential stages: from acknowledging your wounds and vulnerability, to discovering the strength hidden within your authenticity. You will see how your Adult Self can become a guide for your Inner Child, helping them leave their lonely inner exile. You will begin to sense freedom from the destructive inner filters that make the outside world seem so unbearable to you today.

Together, we will work on changing your internal dialogue, so that, over time, the stern voice of self-criticism gives way to a voice that is respectful and supportive. By the end of this journey, you will feel closer to yourself —

more alive, more whole, more real. This is not a journey of “fixing yourself”. It is a journey of discovering and accepting the self that, perhaps, you have never truly known.

Introduction

The Epidemic of Narcissistic Loneliness

Hello. It's me, your narcissism

Yes, the very same you might have read about in books and articles, usually portrayed as some kind of inner enemy. But what if I, your narcissism, have always been on your side? I'm not about arrogance or selfishness. I am your protection. A subtle, complex mechanism that helped you cope with hardships and preserve yourself when the world seemed not to see you or worse, to reject you.

Once, I was simply a part of your inner childhood world. Born alongside you so that your sense of self could emerge. I helped you feel: “I exist. I matter.” But then I saw how often you lacked acceptance, safety, support. So, I stepped in stronger.

I began creating roles and masks for you so that you wouldn't have to face the pain of your real self being unseen, uninteresting, or unwanted. Those roles helped you survive, but over time, they started getting in the way of living. I see how you sometimes wake up feeling the day is already lost. How every action turns into a tiny test: Was it good enough? Fast enough? Smart enough? How even rest becomes a competition: who got more done, who was more productive? That's not you. That's me whispering that if you just try a little harder, you'll feel worthy. But that voice – it's not your true essence. It's just an echo of the old pain I tried to muffle but only made louder.

You know, I always wanted one thing: for you to feel significant. Remember how, as a child, you craved being noticed? How you lit up when someone praised your drawing, your schoolwork, your bravery or kindness? That was me, whispering: “You can do it! You're important!” My task was to make sure you never forgot that feeling.

I wanted you to see yourself through the eyes of those who loved you. I worked so hard hoping you'd find such eyes and reflect yourself in them! So that you could say, “I exist. And that's enough.” I could have been the cement holding together the fragments of your self, helping you realize you are unique, worthy, whole. But sometimes, the world didn't respond.

Often, those whose acknowledgment you longed for turned away or criticized you. Even those closest to you couldn't always give what you needed. I whispered: “Hold on. Don't show weakness. You can do it!” I tried so hard to shield you from new wounds, new rejections that, without noticing, I became more of a captor than a supporter.

And now, when I see how my protection brings you resentment, anger, and exhaustion, it hurts me too. I never meant for it to end up this way. I just tried to keep you from falling, feeling worthless or not enough. And it seems, I overdid it. Instead of inspiring you, I began to control you. Instead of freedom, I built endless checklists: good enough, right enough, fast enough.

I see how hard it is for you. How you look in the mirror and feel unsure. How you hold back bold steps, afraid of making mistakes. How you close off when you want to show true feelings, because you're afraid of judgment. This is not what I wanted for you. This is not what you deserve.

I'm here to say: it's time for me to stop being your overseer. I want to become your ally, helping you see that even with all your imperfections, you are already good enough. Let's rewrite the story of our relationship in order to cooperate for your better future.

Narcissism: A Story of Our Relationship with Ourselves

In psychoanalysis, narcissism is not just a character trait and certainly not simply a mental disorder. It is a fundamental structure that shapes our relationship with ourselves and others. At its core lies the ability to feel one's own value and significance, which is an essential part of psychological health. It is how we build our sense of self, balancing internal experiences with external expectations.

In early childhood, narcissism is natural: the child sees themselves as the center of the world, and that grandiosity helps their Self to grow. The “narcissistic piggy bank” gathers together the history of our relationship with ourselves. It holds all traces of love and rejection, joy and sorrow, unexpected discoveries in relationships with our close ones and devastating losses. Narcissism is designed by nature precisely to allow our Self to first emerge within the field of relationships with parents. Like connecting cement, it binds the scattered puzzles of our Self into a holistic view of ourselves, so we can rely on it and navigate our inner world.

From the very beginning, narcissism was on our side. Thanks to it, we felt significant, coped with early challenges, and learned how to relate to the world.

But not everything went smoothly. When there was not enough attention, acceptance, or simply the safety to be oneself, narcissism had to work differently. Sometimes, it reminds me of that song: “I made him out of what was at hand…”. It stitched our self-image together from the chaotic fantasies and the reflections we caught in the eyes of those around us. Sometimes, there were not enough reflections. Sometimes, they were colored too darkly, showing only our flaws. Sometimes, they were distorted by parental expectations we could never quite meet.

Thus, narcissism sewed us a costume not tailored to our Real Self but to the pattern we were handed. And it helped preserve the vital connections we needed so desperately – more than we needed to stay loyal to ourselves.

At the heart of this kind of narcissistic work, there is always the fragility of the construction of what we can consider our Self. As if it wants to emerge but keeps hiding in its childhood costume, still unable to find a healthy form of living in today's world.

We do not know whether we should flaunt our strengths, hide our flaws, or, on the contrary, obsessively embrace everything in ourselves so that it becomes an egoistic message to the world:

“Accept me as I am. I don't care what you think of me.”

It is not possible to always fully feel what our Self actually is, and we do not know how to replenish the missing pieces of that fullness. So, we decide: “Maybe I'll feel it through achievements and success?” “Or through enthusiastic responses – or at least through any attention at all?” “Or maybe I should stop needing it altogether, so I won't be so vulnerable and dependent?”

A New Model of Narcissism

One day, a client of mine, a very successful woman by modern standards, complained about an unfair comment she had received on social media. A comment that, in my view, was borderline abusive. I asked her how she felt about it. I was not surprised when she said she was angry with herself. Since every pop-psychology outlet she had encountered had already explained that “if you have high self-esteem, nothing can hurt you”. So, logically, she wanted to get rid of her feelings – her woundedness, which revealed her vulnerability to others.

I think I would be right if I say that most of my clients think the same.

Some believe they must forbid themselves to feel “inappropriate” tenderness toward anyone who has not yet “earned” loyalty. Others think they must purge anger from themselves to show they have total control over their mood and emotions. Some wish to become utterly free of needing care or support. “Why does this affect me so much?” “Why do I care so much?”, they ask me, convinced that it is abnormal. They believe that our work together must help them to finally rise above all this everyday fuss and human relationships filled with feelings for each other.

What is being glorified today as personal growth model is, in fact, a new form of social narcissism. Everyone thinks it is about constant striving for success and craving recognition. But it is subtler and more insidious. Detached from our Real Self, unsure of who we really are, our “narcissistic costumes” now disguise us as “healed” and “well-therapized”.

Now, vulnerability is seen as a mistake. Feelings, even the most natural and sincere ones, are treated as weaknesses, as signs of immaturity. And it is not just a personal conviction. It is practically a rule in the culture of “successful” people. We think real maturity is about being above emotions, mastering them, controlling them. About not feeling pain, offense, longing, or dependency. And certainly, about never showing anything like that to others.

It is fitting to recall Ayn Rand's words here: “In an absolute sense, an egoist is not someone who sacrifices others. He is someone who stands above the need to use others. He does without them. They are irrelevant to his purposes, motives, thoughts, desires, or the sources of his energy.”[1] But if you look closer, you will not see strength in this “absolute egoist” – you will see fear. Fear of showing feelings. Fear of needing others. Fear of being misunderstood or rejected.

It is that fear that drives us to hide behind “healing” and stoicism.

We learn not to feel – because feeling hurts.

We learn not to need – because needing makes us vulnerable.

We learn not to want anything from others – because they might reject us, and we might get hurt.

We learn to keep our distance – because closeness always carries risks.

When my client got angry at herself for feeling hurt, she was actually angry at her Self for refusing to fit into this new model. Her feelings were real, but the model demanded that they disappear. And in this conflict between the Real Self and their “narcissistic costume”, she is not alone.

Many of us live trying to be invisibly vulnerable and perfectly indifferent at the same time.

Since that is sold to us as success in personal development.

Confused People

New social models (by the way, with the help of pop-psychology) have reprogrammed our defensive narcissism. It is as if it received new instructions on how to protect who we are – and simultaneously create the illusion that we are manifested authentically.

Self-presentation has become more refined and subtler: morning coffee snapshots, sunset jogs, snippets of daily life. We crave being seen but must not show that we crave it. In this model, emotions stay behind the scenes; desires are tightly controlled. As if we play roles pretending that it is our real life and that we are truly present in it. But everything feels… fabricated.

In this new reality, the rules are different:

We must be here – but behind the glass, untouched and unmoved.

We must show ourselves – but only just enough. Brightly and sometimes even obtrusively – but pretending that it is natural.

We must evoke emotions – but not directly feel them toward those who evoke them in us.

We must create distance, always leaving space, so that no one can come too close.

And in that silence, your narcissism does not scream, “I'm the best!” It whispers: “I don't know if I'm really here. I don't know what I'm supposed to be like. I'm completely lost about how to manifest myself, because the way I am feels not enough. And pretending to be someone else is exhausting.”

It is the voice not of strength but of confusion. It is not controlling but searching for control. It is not dominating but trying to find itself in a world where the right answer to “Who am I really?” is always somewhere else, outside, and in the future.

And the heaviest part: we feel we must quickly get rid of this confused, vulnerable self. The moment we discover ourselves to be confused, vulnerable, or unsure, we split into pieces and sweep the unsuitable parts under the rug. Instead of a whole Self, our narcissism keeps piecing together a shifting mosaic, whose shape and colors change depending on the lighting. Today we might see the bright, captivating colors of our Self. Tomorrow, after one indifferent glance from someone – we shatter, like tiny glass fragments in a child's kaleidoscope.

Black-and-White Coloring Books

The world we live in increasingly resembles a childhood coloring book. But a simplified one. Black-and-white. There is no room for nuance, complexity, or anything that cannot be described in a single word. All the immense media power of countless mentors, curators, coaches, and psychologists has handed us uniform pictures where nothing can be changed.

You are either “healed,” having conquered yourself, your emotions, and preferably your need for others – or you are a loser-neurotic, stewing in your contradictions, while everyone else has “already figured it out”. You are either manifested – in the feed, in stories, in the other people's mind, or a procrastinator who cannot pull themselves together to “make it out into the world”.

This is a reality where answers are simple and criteria merciless. You are either strong or weak. Either you know how to set boundaries, or you have let the whole world walk all over you. Either you are free or still dependent on the opinions of others. Either you are utterly confident and know exactly how to react in every situation, or you simply have not worked hard enough on your self-esteem yet.

And most importantly: you must always know exactly which side you are on. Because in this crisp picture of the world, there is no space for searching, for not knowing something yet. Uncertainty is not appropriate. It looks like a mistake. We ourselves become mistakes…

But what exists beyond this coloring book? Color that cannot be named. Feelings that cannot be squeezed into a quick checklist. Complexity. Something bigger than a simple answer, something deeper than mere approval or rejection. Complexity demands time. It demands reflection. It demands psychic effort, where our soul could slowly sharpen its own colored pencil. And most inconvenient of all, complexity demands admitting: you do not always know what is right, normal, or enough.

It is complexity that makes us real, and it is precisely what we fear most. Because complexity cannot be quickly sold, cannot be packaged into a flashy product, cannot be captured in a single post. Complexity is always contradictory, always a bit awkward. No one is entirely right in it, but no one is entirely wrong either. In complexity, you are neither a perfect hero nor a broken neurotic.

You are just a person: who sometimes manages and sometimes does not.

The world that tries to turn us into coloring books is comfortable because it is predictable. But in that comfort, we lose the most important thing: the ability to be complex. To be both strong and vulnerable at the same time. Both successful and still confused. Bright and sometimes invisible. It is terrifying – but it is out of this very complexity that real color is born. Color that is not distorted by filters.

The Epidemic of “Adulthood”

I once saw a picture that was both hilarious and sad. It read: “Ah, these new relationships, where you aren't allowed to ask for affection, support, or warmth because you are both ADULTS. Might as well replace 'I love you' with 'I don't need you' – just to make sure you're truly independent.”

To my mind, it perfectly captures a modern trend. We no longer tolerate abuse, we no longer agree to discomfort, we no longer bend to demands of other people. We have a language now to name what hurts us: toxicity, gaslighting, codependency. We know exactly how things should be, and anything outside those bounds is immediately tossed into the trash. “You're abusive? Goodbye.” “You aren't self-aware enough? Goodbye.” “You're dependent, unstable, too complicated? Go fix yourself first, then come back.” And we diligently work on maturity, where vulnerability, weakness, and sensitivity are labeled as childish flaws.

And you know what? This is a pure narcissistic dream: to need no one, depend on no one, and purge yourself of vulnerability as something that decent people have long since gotten rid of. Thus, our narcissism has learned to become socially acceptable. It no longer looks grandiose or demanding. It has learned to say all the right words about self-worth, boundaries, and toxicity. But its essence remains unchanged: we are still afraid of being vulnerable, of being complex, of not being accepted as we are. Instead of learning how to be in relationships, we learn how to avoid them.

It is narcissism that says: “If something is uncomfortable – get rid of it.”

“If someone causes complications, they're not right for you.” “If something goes wrong, it is not your responsibility.” This kind of narcissism sounds like self-care, but in reality, it is a way to cling to the illusion of invulnerability. A protection behind which we hide from real life and real relationships.

Because it is true that real life is uncomfortable.

People are complex.

Relationships demand effort, compromise, the ability to hear and accept not only the other but also your own imperfection alongside them.

It is not about tolerating abuse or ignoring your needs. It is about being ready to accept that intimacy is always a risk zone.

Yes, sometimes relationships truly destroy us, and it is vital to leave them in order to save ourselves. But the problem is, we start seeing danger where there is none. We stop giving people a chance. We stop learning how to be with others in their complexity, just as they are learning to be with us in ours.

Narcissistic Loneliness is about remaining trapped in the idealized version of life, where no one can hurt us, but no one truly sees us either.

We cannot negotiate. We stop trying to understand. We cannot bear disappointments.

We diagnose, but we no longer connect.

We fear admitting that we are also complicated, dependent, vulnerable.

We are looking for ease in areas where ease cannot exist.

We choose to stay in this “lonely invulnerability”, clutching the illusion of control.

We hide in these narcissistic shelters, believing it to be self-work. And every day, I see the consequences: the deep, hopeless feeling of being cut off from the world and from ourselves. And it feels as if there is no way out…

Wait, Was That Even Possible?

Once I was talking to an acquaintance who, like many, had a habit of attacking himself whenever he felt unsure. He said, “I just want to rest. I'm so tired. I'd love to not work for a year to sort everything out.”

“That's an interesting fantasy,” I said, slipping a little into psychologist mode, “that a break from work could calm your inner battles. In fact, it would probably be the opposite. As soon as you have free time, the anxiety will surge even harder for you not to leave yourself alone. Your exhaustion isn't from external pressure. It's the grip of self-aggression pressing down on you. If you give yourself a break, that pressure might even increase.”

“But then how can I feel calm?” he asked.

“You know,” I said, “I think you're confusing calmness with something else. What you call calmness isn't about the absence of external stress. It is about making peace with yourself. Look, right now I'm writing a book (yes, this very one) and it's not going well. I can't figure out how to weave together all the things I want to say. There are so many ideas that I feel overwhelmed. I get angry, anxious, tense, trying to improve it. But it didn't occur to me once that I'm stupid or worthless because it's not working. Not once. It's just not coming together yet, that is all. But I'm trying. And of course, I get tired, but it is a different kind of tiredness. In this tiredness, my Self is alive and feels normal.”