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

Both of these strategies, hustle and freezing, are just ways to cope with the absence of oneself in one's own life. Some seek proof they are still alive through constant activity, others – through complete stoppage and withdrawal from reality. The first envy the peace of the second, and the second dream of the life of the first. But both sense this unrealness, this constant question: “Am I living? Or just functioning?”

This feeling is familiar to many. It arises when our days are filled with tasks but not emotions. When, after a string of events, only fatigue remains, not joy or satisfaction. When inner tension and boredom mix into a strange cocktail, and you want either to run away or to hide.

Unrealness is pseudo-existence. Life in which we do not participate. Because there is no place for us in it as we are. And we will never become the selves we could manifest ourselves through…

Emptiness

The feeling of inner emptiness is so familiar and natural to many that it is almost the first thing people complain about. It causes most of the anxiety. And indeed, if inside me there is no “me” but only emptiness, you will turn to any means just to plug this feeling. You will throw in achievements, work, children, anything, just to calm down. But it is like stuffing yourself with vitamin C when you actually have an iron deficiency. Attempts to fill the wrong thing with the wrong means.

People talk about their emptiness differently. Some mention it in the way the abovementioned metaphor illustrates it, describing vague feelings of missing something important inside. Others feel real physical symptoms, they describe a hole in the chest or solar plexus area that aches and throbs. Some experience a constant feeling, resembling hunger, but not experienced physiologically – rather psychologically, pushing them to seek various ways to get rid of this painful discomfort.

And again, I want to say: it is not just our imagination that there is a hole inside us. Emptiness in our psyche is not just a poetic metaphor or a vague sensation. It is something much more real than one might think. It exists as part of our inner structure and can be described almost physically: a space devoid of our own content. An uninhabited room with nothing but walls.

It appears where something was supposed to be once. Where our real Self, their desires, feelings, interests, should have unfolded. But instead, their absence took root. The space inside us is not just “empty” in the usual sense. It was not filled because at some point in our development, the process of filling it was interrupted. And since then, it is as if the construction has never been finished: the walls are there, the floor and ceiling too, but the room is hollow, lifeless, and cold.

Emptiness cannot tolerate itself. Because it knows that this is not the normal state of our inner space. It forces us to search for at least something outside to fill it: new people, achievements, purchases, bright emotions. But no matter how hard we try, nothing brings lasting relief, since you cannot fill inner emptiness from the outside.

Emptiness is not the same as apathy or depression, though it can be connected to them. It is deeper. It is a structural, almost fundamental sensation of the absence of life where the energy of life should be. Where the feeling of our true, Real Self should be.

Emptiness again cries out about unrecognizedness. About the fact that we have no connection with who we truly are, and this loss must be acknowledged. And then we turn toward ourselves, toward the processes we must undertake for ourselves. Instead of trying to fix and repair what was never broken…

Case from Practice

Once, with a client, we were examining why she had absolutely no free time. She worked, studied, managed the house, raised children – she was always busy. Of course, she got tired, but allowing herself to rest was impossible for her.

I explained that no matter how unbearable the symptoms may seem, they are still easier to endure than to face what we are not ready to face.

At some point, I said, “It seems that even now you are rushing. As if you need to find the right answer.”

“Otherwise, why are we here?” she replied.

“What if you allowed yourself to slow down a little and not hurry?”

She thought for a moment and then said quietly, “Then I would feel too anxious.”

“I understand. But what would happen if you didn't try to fill our contact with quick words or actions? If you simply stayed in this state?”

“I don't know…” She fell silent, then added, “Maybe I would see the emptiness.”

This emptiness frightened her. She confessed, “I've worked so hard on myself, only to find this? How horrible!”

“I want to remind you that right now you continue to exist. You are here – confused and thoughtful. That is still you. What would happen if you allowed yourself to be like this and let me see you like this?”

“You would think I'm boring and stupid. And then you'd say it is not interesting to work with me and we would end therapy.”

We started to explore this fear. I asked, “It must be hard to always try to look like a 'proper' client?”

“Honestly, I don't even notice it anymore. It's become habitual for me.”

Then I clarified, “So, you fear that I won't be able to handle seeing you thoughtful, without ready answers?”

“Yes.”

“And if you could honestly tell me what you need, what would it be?”

“Probably, that I need more time. I'm not one of those who instantly grasp everything.”

Gradually, she began to remember, “When I was different, not like everyone else, I was mocked at. It hurt so much. I learned that it is better not to show anything of my own. 'Stay silent, and they'll think you're smart.' But now it feels like I not only don't speak but don't even feel anything of my own.”

“I understand. If every expression of individuality results in pain, risking being yourself becomes too dangerous,” I said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “It is sad: I was afraid of my feelings for so long that I stopped noticing them.”

“It is very sad. But I want to point out that of course you are always filled with something. But since you broke the connection with yourself for the sake of external contacts, it feels like emptiness.”

These words seemed to touch her. For the first time in our sessions, she dared to linger in this feeling, not running away, not filling it with something external.

Afterword to Chapter One

Remember the terrifying creatures in the Harry Potter books – the Dementors? Their presence made people feel as if all the light had disappeared from the world. It was not just a gloomy feeling but an unbearable, all-consuming cold that seeped into the very soul. As if it sucked not only joy but also hope itself, leaving only painful memories and fear.

People felt utterly powerless, defenseless, as if all the good moments of their lives had turned out to be a lie. The most terrible episodes, the most frightening losses, and forgotten grievances would surface in their minds. Dementors seemed to draw a person's past out of them, forcing them to relive the pain over and over again.

Physically, it resembled falling into icy water: the body would become heavy, breathing labored, and a sticky horror would spread all around. Moreover, with each passing moment, it seemed more and more that the cold would never end, that there was no way out, and that the darkness would last forever. Dementors robbed people not only of happiness but of the very sense that happiness was even possible. It felt like the awareness of absolute abandonment when it seems that no one will come to help and that salvation is just an illusion. And the scariest part – this feeling did not quickly fade. Even when the Dementors left, their imprint remained in human souls for a long time. People could sense emptiness, as if a part of them had been irrevocably lost.

Many of us, to a greater or lesser extent, carry both the mentioned symptoms and these deeper experiences. This does not make us narcissists. Such states can be caused by traumatic events where the psyche, trying to protect itself, walls itself off from both the inner and outer worlds.

But for those who have survived narcissistic trauma, these sensations are especially familiar: inside – darkness, silence, and emptiness, as if the connection with the living, life-seeking center has been severed. Moreover, the emergence of the warm, vulnerable part that could reach out to the world and to people becomes forbidden and aggressively suppressed. All this creates a feeling of disconnection from others, leaving a sense of isolation and unrealness of what is happening.

Let us set out on a journey of exploration and understanding of what exactly was lost in the process of the formation and development of our Self. And how narcissism, out of a normal defensive mechanism, turned into an instrument for halting our vitality and spontaneity. The goal of our journey is to feel again the connection with ourselves, with others, with the world. Because behind the outer armor, there is still light that is waiting to be noticed.

Chapter Two

Conditions for the Emergence of the Self

Getting to Know the Self

When we are born, we do not yet have a Self as a stable psychic structure capable of performing different functions. It will be formed later. But imagine that inside each of us, there is initially a “seed” or some kind of a prototype of our Self – a tiny but incredibly powerful core. It is like a bright little flame hidden deep inside, and whatever happens, it must remain untouched. This core is our essence, our true nature, what makes us unique. Let us call it the Self. It becomes the foundation of our personality and defines who we are and where our authenticity lies.

Born together with our body, the Self goes through a long journey to one day fully unfold its potential. At the beginning of life, it exists as chaotic energy that needs contact with parents. And not just any contact, but warmth, care, love. Like a little star born somewhere in a cold cosmic valley, it reaches out to the great suns to be nourished by their light. Receiving this parental “nourishment”, the Self acquires its own psyche, and we begin to form as personalities.

At first, we are completely dependent on our parents, and there is no question yet of individuality. We learn to feel ourselves as part of something steadier and more stable, identifying with our parents as examples of what we could become.

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Примечания

1

Ayn Rand. Fountainhead. – M.: Alpina Publisher, 2013.