I was 24 when I met the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with.
He completely swept me off my feet, showering me with attention and gifts and, when we had only been together for three months, he sealed his commitment by proudly revealing a tattoo of my name on his arm.
It seemed rather an extreme gesture but, after going through a string of toxic relationships, I was delighted to have found a man who clearly loved me. However, he did have a dark, cold side to his nature, and as we prepared for our wedding two years later I remember feeling twinges of doubt and wondering whether it was normal for your true love to be so distant and disconnected. I should have listened to my instincts.
The 14 years we spent together turned out to be a toxic roller-coaster of abuse and manipulation which inflicted lasting damage, driving me to self-harm and ultimately to have suicidal thoughts.
It was only when a marriage counsellor told me I had married a person with narcissistic tendencies that the pieces fell into place.
Through research, I discovered that there’s an important distinction between ‘overt’ narcissists who exhibit grandiose behaviours and really don’t care what other people think of them – like Vladimir Putin or Donald Trump – and ‘covert’ narcissists who are skilled at hiding their true nature behind a facade of vulnerability and victimhood, which means you may not realise you are being abused until it’s too late.
The intensely romantic gestures and that crazy tattoo? All classic signs of ‘love bombing’, a big red flag for narcissistic behaviour. His manipulative nature, frequent use of gaslighting and violent mood swings? More red flags. If I crossed any imaginary line, the arguments would be furious and I lived on eggshells, never knowing how he was going to react or what would inflame him.
Caroline Strawson was 24 when she met the man of her dreams, but she had twinges of doubt as her wedding day drew closer, wondering whether it was normal for her true love to be so distant and disconnected
‘Overt’ narcissists exhibit grandiose behaviours and really don’t care what other people think of them – while ‘covert’ narcissists are skilled at hiding their true nature behind a facade of vulnerability and victimhood. Posed by a model
I now consider myself very lucky to have survived those years, and when I eventually recovered, I retrained as a therapist specialising in a form of nervous system regulation which integrates ‘trauma-informed practice’ with positive psychology. I now use this in my work to educate, inspire and teach people how to recover from deeply damaging relationships with narcissistic men.
Given that my podcast Trauma & Narcissism Redefined has had more than five million downloads and my YouTube channel has had over two million views, I have clearly struck a chord.
Although official medical statistics show that narcissists make up around 6 per cent of the population, I’m convinced that the problem is much bigger. There’s no point trying to count up the narcissists because they are the last to admit they might have a personality disorder, and they would never seek psychiatric help. In their minds, it is other people who are the problem. Never them.
I met my husband when we were working as cabin crew. Some of our colleagues tried to warn me off him, saying he was a ‘player’ (he was only two years older than me, but already had one divorce under his belt), but he was extremely persistent.
When I became pregnant with our son in 2003, his mood swings seemed to intensify. I gave up my job to focus on motherhood because it brought me so much joy and the sense of fulfilment made it easier to cope with this man’s irrational behaviour.
He reassured me that I wouldn’t have to worry about money because he would look after me, but I’ve since learned that manipulating things so your partner is financially reliant on you is another red flag for narcissism.
It soon became clear that my husband was an outrageous and accomplished liar who specialised in generating drama for maximum attention from the sycophants he gathered around him.
To work colleagues he painted an elaborate (and false) picture of himself as a fantastic father and husband. But at home he was deeply jealous of the attention that was directed towards the baby rather than him.
One night when he was very late back from work (I was so worried, I’d called the police), he spun a fantastical story about a passenger who had tripped and died despite his desperate and heroic attempts at CPR.
When I asked him a few questions he became angry and said he was too upset to discuss it. I put a discreet call into the airline who confirmed that they had no record of a death. His response? ‘Guess what? The team have just called me – that lady survived!’
Another time when I was really very unwell, I begged him to take a day off work to look after me and keep an eye on our son. I knew the airline protocol – you just had to send an email saying you were unavailable for work, no explanation required.
But, after much resistance, he phoned his boss and – right in front of me – told them our son was desperately ill and on a life support machine in hospital. He had zero scruples and was willing to use complete fabrication for maximum impact.
Caroline met her husband when they were working as cabin crew. Some of our colleagues tried to warn her off him, saying he was a ‘player’
To work colleagues, Caroline’s husband painted an elaborate (and false) picture of himself as a fantastic father and husband. But at home he was deeply jealous of the attention that was directed towards his son rather than him. Posed by a model
As a covert narcissist (one of the most dangerous types – a wolf in sheep’s clothing), my husband would throw in just enough ‘good’ days to keep me ‘keen’ and to fire up my urge to keep him happy and avoid conflict.
Narcissists often swing between kindness and cruelty, and studies show these cycles trigger the release of brain chemicals in a pattern which can be addictive.
A few kind words can stimulate dopamine, a neurotransmitter associated with pleasure and reward; and anger or abuse will stimulate the stress hormone cortisol. The science now shows that the extreme highs and lows of stress-reward-stress chemicals swimming around the body can become addictive – which helps to explain why women, like me, stay in toxic relationships (it’s called the ‘trauma bond’).
I was also deeply insecure, and, like so many women in my position, I convinced myself that his crumbs of affection were better than none.
We spent many years trying for a second child but suffered the agony of four miscarriages. I gained quite a bit of weight and took to wearing baggy grey tracksuits and would often drink wine and eat unhealthy food in a bid to numb myself. Then I fell pregnant with our daughter. Six months into that pregnancy I discovered he was cheating. When I confronted him, he made elaborate excuses about feeling so helpless when I was going through the miscarriages that he had turned to another woman for support. Stupidly, I found myself comforting him and we went for marriage counselling.
Of course, he put on a great show, heavily implying (through clouds of fake compassion) that all our relationship problems were caused by me, not him.
Luckily, the therapist saw through his charms. On one solo visit I became really upset about my husband’s flat refusal to say sorry for his affair. The counsellor put his hands on my shoulders and said ‘Stop waiting for him to apologise – he never will’ – and then he told me to look up ‘narcissistic sociopath’.
As I started to read about narcissism, lightbulb after lightbulb went on in my mind.
I learned that a narcissist is only happy when you are feeding their ego, and living with them means you morph into a strange version of what you think they want you to be, suppressing your emotions in a bid to keep things harmonious between you. Your typical narcissist will be a deeply insecure and wounded individual who projects their pain outwardly through various abusive behaviours.
Every article I read advised me to leave but I felt trapped – we had children together, I had no income, and the constant stress of our relationship had left me weak and depressed.
Then, in August 2010, when the children were six and two, he announced he was leaving me. He assured me there was no one else (I didn’t believe him) and within five minutes of telling my son, he had left under the guise of not wanting to put me through any more pain because clearly I was unhappy – the classic false altruism of a narcissist.
Only after he had gone did I start to find out the state our finances were in. We were in over £70,000 worth of debt. I was now a single mother with barely any income in a house with a big mortgage. Over the next two years I sank deeper and deeper in debt.
In 2013 this culminated with me being made homeless with my two children.
I was so angry that this man had robbed me of my best years, and utterly ashamed that my life had become such a train wreck. My mother had died the year before and I really did feel desperately alone. My heart felt empty and numb. I began self-harming – cutting the tops of my thighs. This continued for around 18 months.
I confess that there were times when I felt like my life was over, perhaps everyone would be better off without me, and, on many occasions, in the darkness, I thought about ending it all. There was a constant struggle with an internal battle of not wanting to be here but desperately wanting to stay for my children. No matter how awful I felt, I knew I could never leave them. On my 40th birthday I felt I was at a crossroads: I could either feel angry at the world and blame everyone else or I could do something about it – even though I didn’t know what I could do.
I had gone back to my previous career as a podiatrist and took on a bit of extra work doing phone sales for healthcare products. I started listening to podcasts, watching YouTube videos and seeking out support groups for women like me.
I had a zero credit rating, so begged my father to be my guarantor and found a tiny three-bedroom terrace to rent. I worked really hard – earning money to chip away at my debts and building my confidence, bit by bit.
But it struck me that there was a huge lack of professionals who properly understood the impact of narcissism from a victim’s point of view. So I decided to retrain as a therapist. Through my studies and nearly a decade of working with other trauma survivors, I now understand that you can never change the narcissist, but you can change how you respond to their methods. You can heal the damage and trauma they instigate. By recognising those behaviour patterns and seeking support, survivors can break free from the cycle of abuse, reclaim their sense of self, and build healthier, more fulfilling relationships.
I hope to help women escape their toxic relationships but, even if that’s impossible, there are exercises and toolkits which can provide pockets of safety, a means of controlling your stress response to mitigate the damage that can have on your mental and physical health. It can help you start to build confidence.
And, thankfully, I am living proof that there is life after a narcissistic relationship. It look me a long time to trust anyone but six years ago I married a lovely, kind and thoughtful man. He is a brilliant stepfather to my children, now 16 and 20, and a positive male role model in their lives.
Their father remarried within a week of our divorce and now has two young children. I feel sorry for his new wife. I can only assume the pattern continues for them.
How To Heal After Narcissistic Abuse by Caroline Strawson (Hay House UK, £12.99) is out now. © Caroline Strawson 2024. To order a copy for £11.69 (offer valid until September 2, 2024; UK P&P free on orders over £25) go to mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937.
Adapted by LOUISE ATKINSON