The Narcissist Does Not Love You: And You Are Not the Exception

“True healing cannot begin in the presence of the poison.”

My mother triangulated our relationship from the very beginning. And because of that, my oldest child never had a real chance to receive the love I tried to give. The love was there—but it was constantly poisoned, twisted, and rerouted by a narcissist who never loved anyone but herself.

Before I understood how dangerous narcissists truly are—how deeply they manipulate, confuse, and destroy—I had already lost my daughter. Not to death, but to the slow erosion of self that comes from being molded in a narcissist's image. And now? She's become one herself. Another mask-wearing echo of the same sickness. It breaks my heart. It's my only regret.

I see people make the same mistake every single day—keeping toxic parents, partners, or caregivers in their lives out of guilt, loyalty, or the misguided belief that “they mean well” or “they love us in their own way.”

No. They don’t.

Narcissists don’t love you. They love how you make them feel. They love your usefulness, your praise, your submission, your admiration. And when you stop being useful to them? You become trash. Disposable. Forgotten.

It doesn’t matter if it’s your mother or father, your child, your partner. Narcissists are predators of the soul. They say the right words. They mirror your light. But what they offer isn’t love—it’s control wrapped in illusion.

My oldest child has now been discarded by the very grandmother she once defended with fire. And now, stripped of the illusion, she plays the victim, crying about abandonment and rewriting her past on social media to justify her pain. Meanwhile, anyone who dares to tell the truth gets painted as “toxic,” as the villain in her new self-made tragedy.

And the most painful truth? I allowed it. Not because I was evil—but because I was wounded, unaware. I didn’t know how to love myself yet. I hadn’t learned how to protect my energy, how to keep my own mother’s venom away from my child. And that lack of knowledge cost me everything.

Paige—the daughter I knew—is gone. This new identity, this persona that now exists, is not someone I recognize. That’s her choice, and I accept it. But it doesn’t mean I don’t grieve what’s been lost. It doesn’t mean I don’t see the bloodline wound repeated again through her actions.

This is how the cycle continues: through silence, denial, and hope that maybe this time, it will be different.

Let me be clear—it won’t be.

They do not love you.

They cannot.

And they never will.

Stop hoping. Stop trying to fix them. Stop sacrificing your children’s safety or your own mental health for the fantasy of healing with someone who refuses to look in the mirror.

Cut the cord. Not from hatred—but from truth.

Create the boundary they cannot cross.

Love them from afar if you must, but do not let them in.

And to those of you still convinced you’ll be the exception—please hear me:

You are not.

They are the same disease, wearing a different face.

True repentance comes in actions, not words. True healing begins when we stop expecting love from those who never learned how to give it—and start choosing ourselves.

Before it's too late.