6 Survival Strategies Narcissistic Abuse Teaches You

Once, in a relationship that had been slowly eroding my sense of self for months, I did something I would never normally do.

I posted provocative photos of myself online. Publicly. Deliberately. To make them jealous.

They had been making me feel invisible for so long — controlling, suspicious of everyone around me, constantly implying I wasn’t enough. And one day something in me needed to prove that I existed. That I was seen. That I had some kind of power in a situation where I had none.

I deleted them later. But not before many people saw them. And not before my ex found out.

They used it against me for a long time after. As proof that I was unstable. Shameless. Not who I had presented myself as.

What I didn’t know then — and only understood much later — was that while my ex was calling me shameless, they had been messaging other people online. And seeing some of them in person.

They manufactured my instability. And then used it as evidence.

What nobody tells you

Here’s what nobody tells you about being around a narcissist for a long time.

You will do things that don’t look like you.

Not because you’ve changed. Not because something is fundamentally wrong with you. But because your nervous system has been under sustained pressure, and at some point it finds a release vent. Whatever’s available. Whatever works fastest.

And then you look at what you did and think: what was that?

The narcissist, of course, has an answer ready. You’re unstable. You’re difficult. You’re not who you presented yourself as.

What they don’t tell you is that they created the conditions for exactly that reaction.

1. The explosive reaction

This is what I did. A sudden, impulsive act. Something that releases the pressure in one sharp movement. It feels like power in the moment. It often produces shame afterwards. And it sometimes hands the narcissist exactly the evidence they needed.

But understand what’s actually happening: your brain has been running on cortisol for months. Your self-control is depleted. Your nervous system is looking for the fastest possible way to change its own state. The explosive act is not a character flaw. It’s a pressure vent.

“The impulsive thing you did wasn’t who you are. It was what happens when a regulated person is kept in an unregulated environment for too long.”

2. The freeze

This looks like nothing from the outside. Apathy. Procrastination. Not caring anymore. You stop fighting, stop responding, stop engaging.

This isn’t weakness. It’s the nervous system conserving whatever energy remains. When there’s nothing left to fight with, the system shuts down non-essential functions and focuses on just getting through the day.

My experience of this came near the end. When I had already been through months of the other reactions. When I had no energy left for anything sharp or impulsive. I just existed. And waited.

3. The fawn response

You smooth everything over. Avoid conflict at almost any cost. Agree to things that go against you. Absorb things that shouldn’t be absorbed because the alternative, rocking the boat, feels worse.

My husband used this coping mechanism. Both with his narcissistic boss and, I realised later, with his own mother.

When I asked his mother uncomfortable questions at family dinners, he would quietly signal me to stop. Not consciously. Almost as a reflex. He had learned early that the safest position was to keep everyone comfortable, even at his own expense.

He brought that same reflex to work. It cost him a lot.

4. The rationaliser

You find a million explanations for why what happened was actually reasonable. They were having a hard day. You misread the situation. Next time you’ll handle it better, which really means next time you’ll be more convenient.

This was one of my most frequent responses. It kept me inside the dynamic much longer than the explosive reactions would have.

“Rationalising is self-sabotage through self-erasure. You’re not losing your temper. You’re losing yourself.”

5. The body

Sometimes none of the above happens. You don’t explode, you don’t freeze, you don’t fawn, you don’t rationalise. You just hurt. Physically. Chronic fatigue. Headaches. Joint pain. Digestive problems. The kind of exhaustion that makes you feel a hundred years old.

This is the body saying what the mind isn’t allowed to say. The nervous system has to discharge the tension somewhere. If it can’t go out through behaviour, it goes inward.

I took ibuprofen before certain meetings. Not for a headache. For the pain that appeared every time I knew I was about to walk into a room with them.

6. The withdrawal

You go quiet. You stop engaging. You find reasons not to be present, miss meetings, avoid one-on-ones, answer as briefly as possible.

I started declining meetings with my boss. My therapist pointed out something I hadn’t considered: the regularity of one-on-one meetings should be agreed by both sides. You are not required to show up and make yourself available to be abused on a schedule.

That reframe helped more than almost anything else.

These aren’t fixed types

These aren’t fixed types. They’re not personality categories. Most people cycle through several of them, sometimes in the same week. When you have more energy, the reactions are sharper. When you’re depleted, they become quieter. Towards the end of my situation, I had almost no explosive reactions left. Just the freeze and the body.

What they all have in common is this: your nervous system is trying to manage chronic tension in an environment where normal regulation isn’t possible.

The form changes. The underlying need is always the same.

“It’s not self-destruction. It’s a fast attempt to get back to yourself.”

What I want you to take from this

The things you did that you’re ashamed of, the impulsive messages, the outbursts, the moments where you behaved in ways that handed them exactly what they needed to call you unstable, those things didn’t come from nowhere.

They came from somewhere real.

From months of absorbed pressure with nowhere to go. From a nervous system that was doing its best in conditions it wasn’t designed for. From a person trying to stay intact inside a dynamic that was specifically designed to make that impossible.

You’re not unstable.

You were in an unstable situation.

There’s a difference. And it matters.

– Christine Sander

Part of a series based on It’s Not Love — a guide to understanding narcissistic systems. Subscribe if this resonated.

Originally published at https://christinesander.substack.com.