But friend, hear me on this: your joy is not optional. It’s not selfish; it’s sacred. The narcissist builds their dominion on fear. Their power lives in the silence between your breaths, in the tremble of your decisions, in the hope that you’ll shrink small enough to stay in their cycle—love bombing, withdrawing, praising, punishing—just to keep you dancing in uncertainty. Because if you’re always anxious, always overthinking, always afraid, you’ll cling to them for emotional survival.
But the moment—the holy moment—when you begin to find joy outside of them, in a sunrise, in a hobby, or in a conversation that has nothing to do with them, that’s when something begins to shift. That’s when your spirit begins to rise. Your laughter declares something bold: “My life is bigger than your approval.” Your smile says, “I’m choosing life over fear.” And that is spiritual warfare to a narcissist.
You see, the narcissist depends on you being dependent. The moment you detach, the moment you root yourself in something deeper, something divine, they feel it slipping. And instead of rising to meet their own pain, they lash out at yours. They teach you—intentionally or not—that being happy is unsafe, that joy comes with punishment.
But don’t you believe it. Here’s the other side of it, one that’s often whispered but rarely shouted: the narcissist’s hatred of your happiness has nothing to do with you. It’s about their own broken mirror. Your joy exposes the cracks in theirs. You become a living contrast to everything they fear: strength, freedom, love—and it drives them mad. They’ll minimize it, mock it, undermine it. “Oh, that’s not that impressive. You always quit anyway.” Sound familiar? Sometimes it’s loud and cruel; other times it’s quiet but manipulative. They’ll guilt you, make you feel like celebrating is betrayal, like your smile is selfish. “Well, I guess I’m the only one who’s miserable here.” Or, “Ooh, must be nice to have everything work out for you.
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