Now let’s talk cycles, because that’s how narcissists move—round and round: idealize, devalue, discard, rinse and repeat. Not because it’s right, but because it’s what they know, what they cling to. They think it’s normal, and they can’t see the wreckage they leave behind. You could pour oceans of compassion into them; you could build them a staircase made of second chances. It won’t matter. The outcome will always be the same, because they don’t want to heal; they want to control.
Now, let me peel back the mask. There’s one tactic I call the ghosting. It’s the grand illusion. One moment you’re flying, laughing, dreaming, feeling alive in their presence—it’s like a movie, euphoria. Then boom—silence. Nothing. Not a word. Just gone, like they never existed. And you’re left staring into the void, wondering what on earth just happened. That silence—it’s not forgetfulness; it’s strategy. You begin doubting everything: “Was it something I said? Did I push too hard? Maybe if I had just stopped.” No, friend, don’t go down that road. That’s exactly what the narcissist wants—confusion, self-blame. That’s how they keep you tethered.
They don’t ghost you because they lost interest; they ghost you because they got what they came for—your heart, your loyalty, your belief in their illusion. And once they have that, they pull away. They leave you starving for answers, so when they pop back up, you’re wide open.
Then there’s the blame shifter. Oh, this one’s crafty. One day everything seems fine, then suddenly they’re throwing accusations like daggers: “You don’t try hard enough. You’re too emotional. You ruin everything.” They spin a storm and toss you right into the center of it. Why? To knock you off balance, to tear you down right before they leave. Because if you feel like the villain, you’ll keep chasing their forgiveness and beg for the connection again. And that gives them power.
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