The Accidental Narcissist: A Philosophical Reflection on Relationships

‘Narcissist‘ is a heavy and dark term. It refers to someone with a harmful pattern of behaviours that can cause real damage. But there’s a difference between an actual narcissist — someone who has Narcissistic Personality Disorder —and someone who displays narcissistic tendencies in specific situations due to unresolved trauma, emotional struggles, or other pressures. Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) is (NPD)a clinical diagnosis involving a deep-seated pattern of grandiosity, a need for admiration, and a lack of empathy. However, in recent years, the term narcissist has become blurred and overused, with people casually diagnosing any behaviour that feels inconvenient or hurtful as a disorder worthy of exile.

Understanding this distinction can help us respond with both empathy and appropriate boundaries. So, let’s explore the difference between those who have NPD and people who develop narcissistic behaviours for other reasons, and shed light on the difference between intentional harm and reactions that come from a place of pain.

What Is an Accidental Narcissist?

Accidental narcissist is a term I use to describe someone who starts acting selfishly or doesn’t think about other people’s feelings, but not because they are void of empathy. Often, it’s because they feel insecure, scared, or like they’re not good enough. They might be looking for approval or attention from others to make themselves feel better.

I’ve seen this in my own life, in my own relationships — relationships that felt like they were unravelling even as we tried to hold them together. Each time, it felt like I was replaying a story I couldn’t quite change the ending of. The more pressure we were under, the more desperate I felt, like I needed to hold everything together by any means necessary. And I saw how, when under enough pressure, both my partner and I turned into people we never thought we’d become.

This struggle can be understood through Nietzsche’s concept of ressentiment, where a person’s suffering and insecurity becomes the source of the negative emotions they direct outwards. In On the Genealogy of Morality, Nietzsche describes how people who are unable to confront their own pain and powerlessness tend to project it onto others. In my context, my neediness and his withdrawal were both expressions of our inner conflicts. Neither of us could face our own vulnerabilities, so we projected our fears onto each other, creating a dynamic that felt inescapable.

How These Behaviours Show Up in Relationships

Narcissistic behaviours can sneak into a relationship little by little. Here are some ways this can happen:

• Needing Constant Attention: Someone might become dependent on their partner to make them feel good about themselves. They could start expecting their partner to constantly cheer them up or make them feel important. This can put a lot of pressure on the relationship. I know this feeling all too well—after a year of loss and grief (I was attacked outside my house, re-abandoned by my mother, fell out of my teaching career due to mental health difficulties and not fitting into the mould of the traditional primary school teacher, moved to a new part of the city where I didn’t know anyone), my own sense of worth started to feel tied to whether my partner was still there, still choosing me. Sartre’s idea of bad faith (mauvaise foi) from Being and Nothingness captures this well. He describes how we sometimes deceive ourselves, believing that our sense of identity and worth must come from others. By clinging to my partner’s validation, I was avoiding the harder truth of finding my own sense of self-worth.
• Trying to Control the Other Person: If someone is scared of losing their partner, this can come across like jealousy or wanting to know everything their partner is doing, which can feel controlling even though it comes from a place of fear and helplessness. In my last relationship, I saw myself trying to hold on tighter as he pulled away, afraid that if I loosened my grip even a little, he’d be gone for good. Kierkegaard’s concept of anxiety (Angst), explored in The Concept of Anxiety, can help explain this. He suggests that anxiety arises when we confront the uncertainties of existence—like the uncertainty of whether someone will stay or leave. My attempts to control my partner were a response to that anxiety, a futile attempt to create stability in the face of life’s inherent unpredictability. He wrote, ‘If at the beginning of education he misunderstands the anxiety, so that it does not lead him to faith but away from faith, then he is lost,’ which sheds light on the difference between seeing uncertainty as an opportunity to choose what to believe, and deciding that uncertainty erases the point or value in belief.,
• Putting Their Partner Down: At first, the accidental narcissist might think their partner is perfect, seeing them through the lens of their own desires and expectations—what Martin Buber would call an I-It relationship. This stage is common early on, when we see our partner as a source of admiration or validation, imagining them as the answer to our needs. But if the relationship doesn’t evolve into an I-Thou dynamic, where each person is seen and valued in their full complexity, frustration can build as reality falls short of these idealised expectations. The accidental narcissist might begin to criticise or put their partner down, not realising how deeply it hurts. I’ve been on both sides of this: watching my partner grow disdainful of my discernment, frustrated with what he saw as my neediness; and seeing myself lash out in ways that didn’t feel like me. My criticisms of my partner were not just about him; they were reflections of my own dissatisfaction with myself and my struggle to reconcile the reality of who he was with the ideal I had projected onto him. I expected him to be at his romantic best even when it wasn’t humanly possible due to life events. I focused more on where we were headed towards as opposed to how we were travelling, and didn’t have enough appreciation for how perfectly human my partner was. When we both became stuck in an I-It mode, we lost sight of each other’s humanity, turning a space that could foster connection into one of frustration and unmet needs.

When these behaviours continue for too long, it can lead to what I call a narcissistic breakdown. This is when a person becomes even more focused on their individual needs, especially during a breakup, and their behaviour can become even more hurtful. I’ve lived through this cycle before, but this time, I was more conscious of certain patterns that were repeating in myself – past traumas that I hadn’t fully recovered from because it was easier to feel sorry for myself and avoid the emotional depth of romantic relationships. As a result, this time felt like karma, but a kind of unjust karma—seeing myself losing control, knowing he was doing the same thing, and watching us hurtle towards disaster in helpless slow motion.

How This Hurts the Partner

It’s really tough for the partner on the receiving end of these behaviours, especially because it can be hard to tell if it’s abuse or just someone struggling. Even if the person doesn’t mean to be hurtful, the effects can be really damaging:

• Confusing the Partner: Someone who uses gaslighting (making the other person question their own thoughts and feelings) can leave their partner feeling confused and doubting themselves. They might wonder if they’re overreacting or if the problem is really their fault. I know I questioned myself so many times—wondering if I was being too sensitive, or if the coldness I felt from him was something I somehow deserved.
• Feeling Stuck: When the person switches between being nice and being critical, it creates a kind of roller-coaster relationship. This makes the partner feel stuck, hoping things will get better even when it hurts. I’ve seen how the cycle of push and pull can make it almost impossible to let go, even when you know it’s not healthy anymore.
• Loss of Confidence: Over time, the partner might lose their confidence and start to feel like they aren’t good enough. This can make it even harder for them to leave a relationship that’s hurting them. I’ve been there—watching myself shrink, feeling like I was always the problem.

Do Narcissists Really Know What They’re Doing?

One of the biggest questions is whether the person acting this way knows how much they’re hurting others. Here’s what makes it complicated:

Acting on Impulse: Sometimes, a person’s behaviour is driven by strong, unprocessed emotions like rejection, fear, or deep insecurity. In these moments, they react impulsively, letting their emotions dictate their actions rather than taking a step back to consider the impact. In The Sickness Unto Death, Kierkegaard describes this kind of despair as a state where a person knows they should change or act differently but feels powerless against their own impulses. It’s like being stuck in a loop, aware that one’s reactions are unhealthy yet lacking the inner strength to break free from them.

For instance, I saw this in myself when my partner pulled away emotionally. Even though I knew that giving him space would be better, the fear of abandonment took over, and I found myself reaching out and demanding more attention. It wasn’t that I didn’t know this might push him further away—on some level, I did—but the immediate panic over losing him was so strong that it felt impossible to hold back. This kind of impulsivity was not about disregarding his needs; it was about my struggle to manage my own emotions when they felt overwhelming. I felt like some contact was better than no contact, that I would lose him completely to the mental and emotional prison he had become trapped in. The reality is, hurt people hurt people – so as I hurt him by imposing myself on him, he hurt me by being extra critical and diminishing. We ended up having to break contact and just like that, I brought about my worst nightmare.

Selective Awareness: There’s another layer to this, which is the idea of selective awareness—times when a person is aware that their behaviour is hurtful, but only in certain contexts. For example, they might hold back their anger or frustration in public settings but let it all out in private, with their partner. This reveals that, to some extent, they can control their actions and choose when to express their emotions more appropriately.

In my own case, the private space I shared with my partner felt safer, a place where I could express my emotions without worrying about judgement from the outside world (at first). There was a lethal combination of thinking it was my partner’s role to absorb everything I felt, and the fact that I hadn’t yet worked out what should be private to me and only me. I believed that if my emotions were valid, then expressing them freely must also be valid. It took time to realise that this kind of thinking overlooked the impact my unrestrained expression had on the space we were both trying to make safe.

Self-Serving Bias and Emotional Exhaustion: When the emotional strain became too much, I slipped into more dysregulated patterns of behaviour. At my most unrestrained, I found myself mirroring the level of effort I perceived in my partner, even though it conflicted with my deeper values. It wasn’t out of spite, but more out of a self-serving bias that whispered, “If he thinks it’s okay to operate on that level, then so can I.” Self-serving bias is a psychological tendency where we interpret situations in a way that favours ourselves. It allows us to take credit for positive outcomes while blaming negative outcomes on external factors, protecting our self-esteem even when our actions might contradict our deeper values.

For me, this bias became a way to rationalise my reactions to my partner’s emotional distance. Instead of acknowledging how my own choices were contributing to the growing disconnect between us, I focused on his perceived lack of effort and used it to excuse my own. By doing this, I allowed my exhaustion and frustration to justify actions that went against the kind of partner I truly wanted to be. I convinced myself that matching his distance and perceived apathy with my own was a fair response, but in reality, it only deepened the divide between us. The self-serving bias might have offered temporary relief from guilt, but it ultimately kept me from seeing how my own behaviour was shaping the dynamics between us.

Implications of Selective Control: When someone can control their behaviour in some situations but not others, it shows that, even when emotions feel overwhelming, they aren’t completely powerless. It means they have some control over how and when they express their feelings. This matters when we think about accountability. While their impulsive actions might come from fear or pain, there are moments when they choose to hold back. This makes it difficult to argue that they’re entirely unaware of the impact their actions have.

This links to Sartre’s idea of Radical freedom—the idea that we always have choices, even in the face of difficult emotions. Sartre would argue that even when someone feels overwhelmed by their own feelings, they still have a responsibility to recognise the impact of their actions on others and to act in a way that considers those consequences. While empathy for their struggle is important, so too is the expectation that they exercise this freedom to make better choices.

In my experience, I found myself caught in this very contradiction. I could recognise, in moments of calm, how my actions might be pushing my partner away. Yet, when the fear of abandonment hit, it felt like that awareness disappeared, replaced by a desperate need to reconnect. My partner, on the other hand, could hold his distance in public but would shut down emotionally when we were alone, leaving me to confront a wall that no amount of pushing could break through. He and I were each fighting our own battles within the private space we shared, but those battles became entangled, turning our safe space into a battlefield, and us against each other.

This isn’t just about losing control; it’s about knowing when to use that control and when to let it slip. Even though the emotions behind those actions are strong, being able to manage them shows a difference between unintentionally causing harm and making choices that affect others. Understanding this can help us see both the struggles behind those reactions and the responsibility that comes with deciding how to express them.

Understanding Boundaries and the Role of Private Space: One of the hardest things I had to learn was that not every emotion needs to be shared, even if it feels real and important. I used to think that just because my feelings were valid, I needed to express them every time. But I didn’t realise that sometimes it’s better to handle some feelings on my own and share others in a more thoughtful way. Learning how to set those boundaries would have meant figuring out which feelings to keep private and which ones to share openly—something that required the kind of emotional work so immense that it couldn’t happen within the relationship.

Are Accidental Narcissists Responsible for Their Actions?

Even when someone is struggling internally, they remain responsible for how they treat others. The concept of radical freedom reminds us that, no matter the challenges we face, we retain the ability to make choices. Sartre believed that our circumstances—however difficult—do not absolve us of responsibility for our actions. While it’s true that our past experiences and emotional wounds shape our reactions, we still have the freedom to decide how we respond to those feelings. This freedom means that, even when acting from a place of pain, a person must reckon with the impact of their actions on those around them.

Understanding Doesn’t Excuse Actions: Recognising that someone is acting out of hurt can help us approach the situation with empathy, but it doesn’t justify ongoing harm. It’s crucial to understand the reasons behind someone’s behaviour, but equally crucial to set boundaries that protect one’s own well-being. Empathy can guide how we respond to someone’s pain, but it should not lead to tolerating behaviours that are damaging.

Finding a Way Forward

Changing these behaviours is possible, but it’s a difficult journey that requires time, therapy, and deep self-reflection. It’s a process that involves recognising harmful patterns, learning to manage impulses, and developing healthier ways of relating to others.

Conclusion

Being in a relationship with an ‘accidental narcissist’ is complicated and deeply painful, especially when these behaviours become extreme during a breakup. It’s during these moments of crisis that the hurt can intensify dramatically—when the fear, the defensiveness, and the desperation seem to take over completely. The person you once knew as caring and gentle may lash out or retreat entirely, leaving you feeling like you’re facing a stranger. And yet, behind those behaviours is still a person who is struggling, often just as much with themselves as with the relationship. It feels even worse to look back and see that is who I became also, and it horrifies me to think he’s out there thinking about me in that way.

This is why it’s so important to resist the urge to label people simply as narcissists. Such labels can oversimplify a complex situation, ignoring the underlying pain and vulnerability that might be driving their actions. It’s not about excusing harmful behaviours—those behaviours still need to be addressed and boundaries must be set to protect oneself. But labelling someone as a “narcissist” risks overlooking the humanity beneath their struggles, making it harder to see the possibility for change or healing. When we understand that their actions may come from a place of unresolved trauma or a desperate attempt to regain control, we can approach the situation with a greater sense of empathy.

Compassion, then, becomes a guiding principle—not in the sense of allowing oneself to be mistreated, but in recognising that people are more than their worst moments. Compassion means acknowledging that even those who hurt others are often trapped in their own cycles of pain. It’s about understanding that they might need to grow, just as we all do, and that growth requires the space to confront their own actions without the burden of stigma.

At the same time, compassion must be balanced with self-care and firm boundaries. It’s possible to hold space for someone’s struggle while still protecting yourself from further harm. In the end, the hope is that both people can find the room they need to heal, whether they continue their journeys together or apart. And perhaps, through this process, we can build a world where understanding and empathy are stronger than the impulse to judge and dismiss—where we see each other’s struggles without losing sight of our own needs. It’s a difficult path, but one that allows us to recognise the potential for change in each other, even in the most painful moments.