Vulnerable Narcissism in Relationships
They're hurting again. You said something innocuous, a casual observation or a gentle suggestion, and suddenly they're wounded, retreating into that familiar place where you're the villain and they're misunderstood. Again.
You apologise. You clarify. You adjust your tone, your words, your whole approach. And for a moment, it seems to work. They soften. You connect. You remember why you care so much.
Then it happens again.
If you've ever loved someone who constantly seeks reassurance yet deflects accountability, who feels deeply hurt by minor criticism yet somehow makes your pain about them, who appears fragile but leaves you feeling like you're walking on eggshells, you might be in a relationship with someone who exhibits vulnerable narcissistic traits.
As a therapist specialising in relationship dynamics, I found Jesse Eisenberg's film "A Real Pain" (2024) to be one of the most authentic portrayals of vulnerable narcissism patterns I've seen on screen. Through Benji (Kieran Culkin) and his complex relationship with his cousin David (Jesse Eisenberg), the movie shows what it's like to love someone with these traits: the genuine connection, the exhausting confusion, and the bittersweet reality of relationships that can't be easily categorised as “all good" or “all bad".
This isn't a diagnosis of a character or a person you know; it's a way of describing a pattern that can show up in relationships.
When Narcissism Looks Like Insecurity
When people think of the word "narcissist," they usually imagine someone who is arrogant and full of themselves - the charismatic boss who dominates conversations, the partner who constantly talks about their achievements, the parent who makes every family gathering about their accomplishments.
In practice, vulnerable narcissism looks completely different. Rather than showing off, those with vulnerable narcissism often display feelings of self-doubt and insecurity, yet they still need constant validation and attention from others. Their narcissism doesn't announce itself with grandiosity; it hides beneath a cloak of emotional fragility.
Benji embodies this perfectly. He speaks softly, seems deeply affected by others' suffering, and constantly expresses insecurities, yet everything still becomes about him and his emotional needs. He's not the loud, boastful narcissist we've learned to spot. He's the sensitive one, the wounded one, the one who needs you to tread carefully because he feels everything so intensely.
Why Vulnerable Narcissism Is Harder to Recognise
This subtype of narcissism is particularly confusing for partners, family members, and friends because it masquerades as something we're taught to respond to with compassion: emotional sensitivity and pain.
It looks like empathy, but functions as self-focus. They seem attuned to suffering, their own and others', but somehow every conversation circles back to their experience. When you share your struggles, they immediately relate them to their own, often in ways that make their pain seem more significant.
Their pain is real (and that's what makes it so confusing). Unlike overt narcissists who might fake emotions strategically, people with vulnerable narcissistic traits genuinely feel slighted, hurt, and misunderstood. The pain isn't manufactured, but the pattern of making everything about that pain is what creates the narcissistic dynamic.
They position themselves as the perpetual victim. No matter the situation, they find a way to be the wounded party. If you're upset with them, they're more upset that you're upset. If you set a boundary, they're devastated by your “rejection". The conversation never quite lands on your experience because theirs always feels more urgent.
You end up feeling like the perpetrator for having needs. When you try to express your feelings or set boundaries, you're met with such hurt and defensiveness that you start to feel cruel. Suddenly, your reasonable request for space becomes evidence of your insensitivity to their struggles.
The covert nature makes you doubt yourself more than overt narcissism does. With grandiose narcissism, the problem is often visible to others. With vulnerable narcissism, you look like the harsh one. They're so visibly fragile that your frustration seems disproportionate. Friends and family might not see what you're experiencing, leaving you wondering if you're imagining the whole thing.
This is why vulnerable narcissism is often more emotionally destabilising than its more obvious counterpart. You're not just dealing with someone's difficult behaviour; you're constantly questioning whether you're being unfair to someone who seems genuinely in pain.
Lost in the midst of self-doubt: loving someone where vulnerability and narcissism intertwine.
Loving a Benji: The Push-Pull Experience
If you've ever loved someone like Benji, you know the emotional rollercoaster it creates. In the film, David's experience mirrors what many of my clients describe: a confusing mix of genuine affection and chronic exhaustion, real connection and relentless emotional labour.
The Genuine Connection
Like David, you probably haven't stayed because you're “trauma-bonded" or lack boundaries, but because there are moments of real connection. You stay because there are genuine qualities you love:
Their enthusiasm can be contagious. When Benji gets excited about something, his energy lights up the room. People with vulnerable narcissistic traits often have a childlike passion that pulls others in. We see this when Benji makes connections with strangers on their journey. His eagerness can be genuinely charming when it's not demanding your constant attention and validation.
They can be incredibly fun and engaging. David clearly enjoys Benji's company at times; they laugh together, share meaningful moments, and have a genuine family bond. There are scenes where their natural rapport shines through, like when they reminisce about childhood memories or share quiet moments in their hotel room. These moments aren't fake or manipulative; they're real, which is precisely why the relationship feels so worth fighting for.
Their sensitivity can create beautiful moments. People with vulnerable narcissistic traits often notice details others miss and can express genuine care (even if it's inconsistent). Benji occasionally shows flashes of real insight into others' experiences that remind us there's depth beneath their self-focus. When they do turn their attention outward, it can feel special precisely because it's rare.
They're often creatively gifted. Benji's artistic sensibilities and emotional intensity make him perceptive and expressive. His desire to write and create comes from a genuine wish to understand human experience. Many people with these traits are drawn to art, music, and writing, all of which are ways of processing their inner world that can produce genuinely moving work.
The moments of genuine connection feel particularly precious. When they truly see you and connect without self-interest, it reminds you why you care so deeply. The film captures several quiet instances where Benji momentarily steps outside his own narrative and authentically engages with David. These glimpses of reciprocal connection are what keep people like David hoping things might change.
The Exhausting Reality
So why does it feel so hard? Because alongside these genuine qualities exists a pattern that makes the relationship emotionally depleting. At the same time as you're experiencing real connection, you're also navigating dynamics that leave you exhausted and confused.
The emotional weather is always shifting. One moment, everything is fine; the next, they're deeply hurt by something you barely noticed saying. David never knows which Benji he'll meet from moment to moment: the insightful, sensitive cousin or the emotionally demanding one who makes everyone walk on eggshells. You find yourself constantly scanning their mood, adjusting your approach, trying to predict what will land well and what will trigger hurt.
Their pain always seems bigger than anyone else's. During the Holocaust memorial tour, Benji focuses on his own emotions in moments that should transcend personal issues, leaving David torn between compassion and frustration. Confronted with historical horrors, Benji finds ways to make it about his own suffering. This pattern repeats across contexts: your grief, your celebration, your struggle, somehow it becomes an opportunity for them to centre their own experience.
You become responsible for their emotional state. David is continually adjusting, checking on Benji, shifting plans, and walking on eggshells. We see him making countless small accommodations throughout their journey, from where they eat to how they interact with others on the tour. You start pre-emptively managing situations to avoid their reactions. You become their emotional thermostat, constantly adjusting the temperature of interactions to keep them stable.
Your needs often get sidelined. When you try to express your feelings, the conversation somehow boomerangs back to their experience. There are several moments when David attempts to share something important, only to find himself managing Benji's reactions instead. You learn to make yourself smaller, to need less, to wait for the "right moment" that rarely comes. Eventually, you might forget what your needs even are.
You're constantly second-guessing yourself. Did I really say it that harshly? Am I being unreasonable? Maybe I am too critical, too demanding, too insensitive to their pain. The confusion itself becomes part of the pattern — you lose confidence in your own perception. You replay conversations obsessively, trying to figure out where you went wrong, how you could have phrased things better. This self-doubt is often the most corrosive element of the relationship.
You're cast into roles that support their narrative. Sometimes you're the ideal audience for their emotional performances; other times, you're the heartless villain who fails to grasp their unique sensitivity. David navigates both roles, occasionally shifting between them within a single conversation. You can be their saviour one moment and their persecutor the next, and the shift often depends not on your behaviour but on their internal state.
Can They Change?
This is often the question beneath all others: if I love them enough, explain clearly enough, set better boundaries, or wait long enough, will they change?
The honest answer is complicated, and it's important you hear it clearly: sometimes people with vulnerable narcissistic traits can change, but rarely without professional help and genuine motivation from within themselves.
What Change Actually Requires
Vulnerable narcissism often develops from early experiences of emotional neglect, inconsistent caregiving, or environments where the person's authentic self wasn't safe to express. These patterns become deeply embedded in how someone relates to themselves and others. Addressing them requires:
Specialised therapy. Not just any counselling, but approaches specifically designed for personality patterns like schema therapy, mentalization-based treatment, or transference-focused psychotherapy. Couples counselling alone typically doesn't address the underlying issues; it might help with surface-level communication, but won't touch the core patterns.
The person must recognise the pattern themselves. This is the hardest part. Vulnerable narcissism comes with a built-in defence mechanism: the person genuinely feels like the victim in most situations. They're not consciously manipulating; they truly believe their version of events. For change to happen, they need to develop the capacity to see their own role in patterns, not just feel hurt by others' reactions.
They must want to change, not just promise to change. Many people with these traits will promise to work on things when faced with consequences (you threatening to leave, for example). But wanting to change because you'll leave is different from wanting to change because they recognise the pattern is hurting both of you. The motivation needs to be internal, not just about avoiding abandonment.
The process is slow and often non-linear. Even with genuine effort and good therapy, change happens in small increments. There will be progress and regression. They might develop insight in therapy but struggle to apply it in real-time. Your relationship will likely remain challenging even as they work on themselves.
And even with help, progress doesn’t automatically translate into a safe or satisfying relationship for you.
What Your Love Can and Cannot Do
Here's what you need to understand: your love alone cannot heal someone's narcissistic traits. You can offer compassion and support if they pursue growth, but you cannot want their healing more than they do.
You cannot love someone into self-awareness. You cannot explain their patterns so clearly that they suddenly see themselves differently. You cannot sacrifice yourself enough to fill the emptiness they feel inside. That work is theirs to do, with professional support, over time, with their own commitment to change.
What you can do is decide what you're willing to experience while they do (or don't do) that work. You can set boundaries around what's acceptable to you. You can offer support for genuine efforts at change while protecting yourself from patterns that harm you. You can love them and still acknowledge that the relationship might not be sustainable if nothing changes.
Many of my clients struggle with this reality. They've invested so much: emotionally, temporally, sometimes financially, and the idea of accepting that change might not happen feels like giving up. But recognising what's within your control and what isn't is not giving up. It's seeing clearly.
When Connection Is Complex (Not Just Trauma Bonding)
Some relationships with narcissistic traits do involve trauma bonding, a psychological attachment formed through cycles of abuse and intermittent reinforcement, where fear, hope, and dependency create a powerful bond that's difficult to break. But not all relationships with people who have narcissistic traits fit this pattern, and the nuance matters.
What we observe between David and Benji isn't trauma bonding in the clinical sense. It's something more complicated: a genuine human connection made difficult by problematic personality patterns. Understanding the difference can help you assess your own situation more accurately and reduce self-blame.
Why David's Bond With Benji Isn't Trauma Bonding
They share genuine family history and memories that build an authentic foundation. Their relationship didn't begin with manipulation or control. They have decades of shared experiences, family connections, and moments of real care that existed before and alongside the difficult patterns.
David recognises and appreciates Benji's positive qualities without idealising him. In trauma bonding, there's often an idealisation phase where the person seems perfect, followed by devaluation. David has a realistic view of Benji — he sees both his charm and his difficulties clearly.
Their relationship includes moments of mutual enjoyment when Benji doesn't require emotional labour. Trauma bonding relationships are characterised by cycles of tension, explosion, and reconciliation. While David's relationship with Benji has challenging moments, there are also extended periods of genuine, reciprocal connection.
David is aware of the problematic patterns. Unlike trauma bonding, where awareness is often clouded by fear, hope, and confusion, David knows what he's dealing with. He's not making excuses for Benji or minimising the impact. He sees it clearly, which is different from the cognitive dissonance that characterises trauma bonding.
Their dynamic isn't built on fear or control. Benji's behaviour is demanding and self-focused, but David doesn't seem afraid of him. He's frustrated, exhausted, and sometimes resentful, but not fearful. This distinction matters.
How to Assess Your Own Relationship
If you're wondering whether your connection is complicated love or trauma bonding, consider these questions:
Do you feel afraid of the person's reactions, not just frustrated by them?
Are there cycles of harm followed by intense reconciliation that create a high you can't get elsewhere?
Do you make excuses for behaviour you wouldn't tolerate from others?
Has the relationship isolated you from friends or family who express concern?
Do you feel like you can't leave even though you know you should?
Is there an element of unpredictability that keeps you off-balance and hoping?
If you answered yes to several of these, you may be experiencing trauma bonding rather than (or in addition to) a complex but genuine connection. Understanding this difference isn't about judgment — it's about recognising what kind of support and response your situation needs. If you think trauma bonding might be at play, my blog on Why You Miss Them (Even Though They Hurt You): Understanding Trauma Bonds explores this dynamic in depth.
The Film's Truth: Complex Love Is Real
The film illustrates something important: you can genuinely love someone while also recognising that their difficult traits make the relationship unsustainable. This complex reality is far more common than the all-or-nothing thinking that dominates social media psychology, where relationships are either “healthy" or “toxic" with no space for nuance.
Benji's magnetic personality is central to his allure. He effortlessly draws people in with his charm, sensitivity, and ability to mirror others' desires. This makes him deeply compelling yet emotionally elusive, as his identity is shaped by external validation rather than internal stability. The pull David feels toward Benji is real, and so is the toll the relationship takes on him. Both can be true.
Are You David in Someone's Life?
If you recognise yourself in David's experience, you might feel a mixture of relief (“I'm not crazy!") and sadness (“This isn't going to fundamentally change"). Here's what I tell my clients in similar situations:
It's Not Your Imagination
Trust your instincts. The confusion these relationships create often leads people to question their reality. The film beautifully captures those moments when David looks around, wondering, “Is anyone else seeing this?" So please remember:
Your emotional exhaustion is a real reaction to a real situation, not a character flaw or lack of resilience
The perplexing blend of love and frustration is entirely logical, given the circumstances
The patterns you're noticing are real, not something you've made up or exaggerated
Your need for space and self-protection is healthy, not selfish or mean
If you've been questioning your perception for a while, you may find my blog on Gaslighting vs Miscommunication helpful in making sense of why these dynamics can distort your reality.
You Can Love Someone and Still Set Boundaries
The film shows David's struggle to maintain his separate identity while still being there for Benji. This balancing act is possible, though not easy:
You can appreciate their positive qualities while limiting your exposure to their hurtful behaviours
You are not responsible for their emotional reactions when you set reasonable boundaries
It's okay to step back when they're trying to draw you into their emotional vortex
You can choose not to engage when conversations inappropriately centre on their feelings
You don't need to apologise for your own experiences or perspective
If setting boundaries feels impossible or terrifying, that's information worth paying attention to. Boundaries shouldn't feel dangerous in healthy relationships. If you struggle with this, my blog on Setting Healthy Boundaries: A Guide to Respectful Relationships offers guidance on building boundaries that protect without requiring you to disconnect from your compassion.
Their Behaviour Comes from Real Pain (But Isn't Your Responsibility to Fix)
One of the most challenging aspects of these relationships is recognising the deep pain at the core of vulnerable narcissistic behaviour. These traits don't arise in isolation; they often develop from childhood experiences where emotional needs were ignored, neglected, or inconsistently met. Perhaps they grew up with parents who were emotionally unavailable, or in environments where their authentic feelings weren't safe to express.
We see hints of Benji's pain and insecurity throughout the film. His need for constant reassurance isn't just frustrating; it's a response to a deep inner emptiness that no amount of validation can truly fill. Recognising this can foster compassion, but it doesn't mean you have to take on the role of their emotional caretaker.
Understanding where someone's behaviour comes from is different from accepting ongoing harm. Compassion for their pain and protection of your own well-being can coexist. In fact, they must coexist for any relationship to be sustainable.
If you're noticing how early family dynamics can shape adult attachment and safety, my blog on Adult Children of Alcoholics explores how those environments can leave lasting relational patterns.
When to Consider Professional Support
While many relationships with vulnerable narcissistic traits are manageable with boundaries and self-awareness, some tip into emotional abuse territory. The line isn't always clear, but there are signs that indicate you need more support than boundary-setting alone can provide.
Consider seeking professional support if you're experiencing:
Fear of their reactions - not just frustration or exhaustion, but actual fear of what will happen if you disagree, set a boundary, or prioritise yourself
Consistent blame for their emotional state - you're held responsible for their feelings, and nothing you do is ever enough to keep them stable
Isolation from friends or family - whether through direct pressure or the subtler dynamic of them being hurt when you spend time with others, you've become increasingly isolated
Financial control or manipulation - they control money, make financial decisions that impact you without your input, or use money to create dependency
Threats - whether to harm themselves, end the relationship, or expose you in some way when you try to set boundaries or create distance
Your mental health is significantly declining - you're experiencing depression, anxiety, panic attacks, or physical symptoms that didn't exist before or have worsened dramatically in the relationship
These signs indicate a dynamic that's moved beyond "difficult personality traits" into coercive control or emotional abuse. If this resonates, my blog on Emotional Abuse Without Bruises can help you understand these patterns and what support might look like.
You deserve a relationship where you can be yourself without fear, where your needs matter, where conflict doesn't feel like an existential threat. If your current relationship doesn't offer that, it's worth examining why and what it might take to change that or exit safely.
Finding Your Way Forward
If you see yourself in this dynamic, here are some steps that can help you navigate the relationship while protecting your well-being:
Practice Noticing Patterns Without Judgment
When the focus shifts to their feelings inappropriately, simply notice it happening: “There it is again. We're talking about my work stress, and somehow it's become about how stressed they feel watching me be stressed."
This awareness alone creates space for choice. You don't have to call it out in the moment. You don't have to fix it. Just noticing it helps you maintain your grip on reality when the conversation tries to rewrite itself.
Build a Support Network That Validates Your Reality
Find friends, family members, or a therapist who can help you maintain perspective when you start doubting yourself. David lacks this in the film, which makes his experience even more difficult. He has no one to check in with, no one to say “Yes, that was a lot" or “No, you weren't being harsh."
External validation is crucial when someone's internal narrative keeps trying to recast you as the problem. Choose people who understand relational complexity, who won't just tell you to leave, but who will help you see clearly what's actually happening.
Experiment With Small Boundaries
Try simple phrases like: “I need to step away for a bit" or “I hear you're upset, but I can't talk about this right now" when interactions become overwhelming. Start small. You don't need to have a massive boundary-setting conversation. Just practice saying no to one thing, taking space when you need it, and not apologising when you haven't done anything wrong.
Notice how the person responds to even minor boundary-setting. It often reveals the depth of the narcissistic pattern. Do they respect your need for space, even if they're disappointed? Or do they escalate, become more hurt, or find ways to make your boundary about their pain? Their response tells you a lot about whether the relationship can accommodate your needs.
Remember What You Are Responsible For (and What You Are Not)
You are responsible for:
Your own behaviour and communication
Setting and maintaining your boundaries
Deciding what you can and cannot tolerate
Getting support for yourself
Being honest about your own feelings and needs
You are not responsible for:
Their emotions, insecurities, or need for validation
Managing their reactions to your boundaries
Fixing their childhood wounds
Making them feel secure when their insecurity comes from within
Staying in a relationship that harms your well-being out of guilt or obligation
This doesn't mean being cruel or dismissive. It simply involves recognising the limits of what you can and should provide.
Create Space for Your Own Experience
Make room to process your feelings about situations without centring on their reactions. Journal, talk with trusted friends, or work with a therapist to stay connected to your own reality. You need space where you're not managing, predicting, or accommodating their emotional needs. Space where your experience gets to be primary.
Many people in these relationships forget what it feels like to just exist without scanning for someone else's mood shifts. Creating that space, even if it's just 10 minutes of journaling or a weekly therapy session, can be profoundly grounding.
Cherish the Genuine Connection Without Overextending Yourself
You can appreciate the real moments of joy and connection without sacrificing your well-being. Notice and treasure authentic interactions without feeling obligated to endure the difficult ones. The relationship doesn't have to be all or nothing. You can hold space for complexity: “I love these parts of them, and I can't sustain these other parts anymore."
Many people feel they must choose between total acceptance of everything (including the harmful patterns) or cutting the person off completely. There's often a middle path, though finding it requires honesty about what you can realistically sustain long-term.
When Boundaries Don't Work
If you've tried setting boundaries and consistently find them ignored, dismissed, or turned back on you as evidence of your “meanness," that's crucial information. If your attempts at self-protection are met with escalating emotional intensity, threats, or manipulation, the question may need to shift.
At that point, you're no longer asking “How do I maintain this relationship?" but “Is this relationship safe for me?"
Signs that boundaries aren't working:
They agree in the moment but the behaviour doesn't change
They punish you emotionally for having boundaries (withdrawal, guilt-tripping, weaponising their hurt)
Your boundaries are reframed as you being “harsh," “unforgiving," or “not understanding what they've been through"
You feel worse after asserting boundaries than before
The effort of maintaining boundaries becomes its own exhausting job
When this happens, it's often a sign that the narcissistic traits have crossed into more controlling territory. The person may not be capable of respecting boundaries because boundaries threaten the dynamic that keeps them feeling secure. This doesn't make them evil, but it does mean the relationship may not be sustainable in its current form.
If you're in this place, you're not failing. You're recognising a reality that's painful but true. Sometimes love isn't enough. Sometimes, the best thing you can do for both of you is to stop trying to make an incompatible dynamic work.
Why the Ending Works So Perfectly
If you'd rather skip spoilers, jump to The Bittersweet Truth section below.
What makes “A Real Pain" ending so powerful is its refusal to offer easy closure. There's no dramatic confrontation, no sweeping resolution, just the quiet, complicated reality of human relationships. After their emotionally charged journey through Poland, David and Benji achieve an unspoken understanding that feels profoundly true to life.
In the final scenes, David asserts his boundaries without completely cutting off Benji. He steps back emotionally while still preserving the family bond. Benji, for his part, displays fleeting moments of self-awareness and small glimpses of growth, though there is no miraculous transformation.
This ending captures several essential truths about relationships with vulnerable narcissists:
There's Rarely a Clean Break or Complete Healing
Real relationships don't resolve easily. Instead, they develop through gradual adjustments. David learns to care for Benji without being overwhelmed by him. Benji, in turn, remains true to himself but with a somewhat deeper understanding of his impact on others. It's not the Hollywood ending where everything gets fixed. It's the realistic ending where people learn to coexist with more honesty and less expectation.
Acceptance Isn't the Same as Approval
David accepts Benji for who he is, flaws and all, but he stops taking responsibility for managing him. This distinction is key: acceptance doesn't mean excusing or enabling harmful behaviour; it means recognising what is and adjusting your relationship accordingly. You can accept that someone has these traits without accepting that you must tolerate their impact indefinitely.
Genuine Moments of Connection Can Still Exist
Despite the boundary violations and frustrations, the film reminds us of the reasons people remain connected to those with narcissistic traits. There are still moments of genuine connection, fleeting but meaningful. The relationship doesn't become all bad just because you've recognised the problems. The good moments remain good. You're just not sacrificing yourself for them anymore.
Real Change Happens in Small Increments, Not Dramatic Epiphanies
The film defies the Hollywood trope of a narcissist's grand redemption. Instead, it presents a more honest portrayal: Benji doesn't fundamentally change, but there are small shifts in self-awareness. He has moments where he catches himself, where he recognises his impact. It's not enough to transform the relationship, but it's something. This nuance is both frustrating and realistic.
The Final Scene: A Perfect Metaphor
The final scene, where Benji lingers at the airport, serves as a perfect metaphor for his existence. Airports symbolise transition, impermanence, and longing. Benji is perpetually searching for a connection but never truly attaining emotional security. His last moments encapsulate the core paradox of vulnerable narcissism: an overwhelming fear of abandonment alongside an inability to maintain the very closeness he desires.
He's always in transit, always between places, never quite landing anywhere that feels like home. And that, ultimately, is what makes loving someone with these traits so heartbreaking. You can see what they need — genuine security, authentic connection, peace within themselves — but you can't give it to them. Only they can do that work if they choose to.
The Bittersweet Truth
“A Real Pain" doesn't provide a neat resolution to David and Benji's relationship, and that's precisely what makes it so genuine. Relationships with vulnerable narcissists seldom conclude with either total healing or complete severance. Instead, they often develop into something more sustainable through clearer boundaries, adjusted expectations, and small moments of self-awareness on both sides.
The film's strength lies in its nuance: you can recognise a person's difficult traits while still valuing the relationship. This appreciation isn't because you're trauma-bonded, co-dependent, or lacking boundaries; rather, it stems from the understanding that human relationships are messy and imperfect, yet can be worth navigating despite their challenges.
If you have someone like Benji in your life, your mixed feelings are completely valid. You're not crazy for staying, you're not heartless for stepping back, and you're certainly not alone in trying to find balance. Like David, you can find a way that honours both the relationship and your wellbeing, a path that creates space for both the pain and the love that so often coexist in these complicated connections.
Sometimes that path means staying with clear boundaries. Sometimes it means loving from a distance. Sometimes it means accepting that the relationship can't continue in its current form. All of these responses are valid. What matters is that you're making the choice consciously, with support, with your eyes open to what is rather than what you wish it could be.
You deserve relationships where you don't have to constantly adjust yourself to keep someone else stable. You deserve love that doesn't require you to become smaller. And you deserve to trust that your perceptions, your needs, and your boundaries are valid — even when loving someone with vulnerable narcissism makes you question all of that.
FAQs:
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Vulnerable narcissism is a subtype of narcissism characterised by hypersensitivity, insecurity, and a constant need for reassurance. Unlike overt narcissism, it's not loud or boastful; instead, it's marked by emotional fragility and self-focus that often looks like low self-esteem. People with vulnerable narcissistic traits genuinely feel slighted and hurt, but the pattern of centring their own pain in all situations creates the narcissistic dynamic.
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Classic (or grandiose) narcissism is associated with arrogance, confidence, and entitlement. Vulnerable narcissism, on the other hand, often hides beneath self-doubt, shame, and emotional sensitivity. The behaviour may seem empathetic at first, but is driven by a strong need for external validation. Where grandiose narcissists demand attention through dominance, vulnerable narcissists demand it through displays of suffering and sensitivity.
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It often feels like a rollercoaster: moments of deep connection followed by emotional neediness, defensiveness, or blame. You may feel simultaneously drawn in and emotionally depleted, constantly adjusting yourself to manage their reactions. There's often a confusing mix of genuine care from them alongside patterns that leave you exhausted, walking on eggshells, and doubting your own perceptions. You might find yourself thinking, "I love this person deeply, so why do I feel so terrible?"
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Not necessarily. While some relationships with narcissistic traits do involve trauma bonding (a psychological attachment formed through cycles of abuse), many are more complex. There may be shared history, moments of real care, or mutual affection. The key difference: trauma bonding typically involves fear, unpredictable cycles of harm and reconciliation, and difficulty leaving despite knowing you should. With vulnerable narcissism, you might stay because of genuine connection and love, not fear — though the exhaustion is real either way. Recognising whether your relationship includes genuine connection or trauma bonding (or both) can help you understand what kind of support you need.
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You can practice what therapists call compassionate detachment. This means you can love and care without overfunctioning or taking responsibility for someone else's emotional regulation. Key strategies include: setting clear boundaries and maintaining them even when met with hurt, building a support network that validates your reality, creating space for your own needs and experiences, and recognising what you are and aren't responsible for. If boundaries consistently don't work or are met with escalation, it may be time to reassess whether the relationship is sustainable in its current form.
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Change is possible but requires specialized therapy (such as schema therapy or mentalization-based treatment), genuine recognition of the pattern, and motivation that comes from within rather than fear of consequences. The process is typically slow and non-linear. Your love and support alone cannot create this change, the person must want to do the work themselves. Many people with these traits struggle to see their role in relational patterns because their internal experience is genuinely one of being hurt by others. Without professional help to develop this awareness, meaningful change is unlikely.
Contact Me
If this article resonated with you, please know you're not alone in this experience. Many people find themselves loving someone with vulnerable narcissistic traits, caught between genuine connection and chronic exhaustion, between compassion for their pain and protection of their own well-being.
If you'd like support in navigating this complexity, understanding your own patterns, or deciding what's sustainable for you, I'm here. You deserve space to process your experience without judgment, to validate your mixed feelings, and to figure out what comes next, whatever that looks like for you.
You can contact me at:
📧 kat@safespacecounsellingservices.com.au
📞 0452 285 526
