The red flags had, in reality, been present in my marriage for years. Take the fact I was only allowed to work around school hours and not in the holidays, despite my thriving career as a clinical psychologist.
Why would I want to do such a thing anyway, my then husband asked me, when he provided so well for us through his various business interests?
I was such a good mother to the children anyway, he said, so wasn’t it for the best that I did that while he managed the family finances?
And while it was true that we lived well – our ample home was comfortable, we had domestic staff, au pairs to help with the children, and regular holidays to wonderful exotic destinations – still, something wasn’t right.
Other warning signs became obvious over time. For example, the many occasions where I couldn’t hug or cuddle the children in his presence without him then requiring my immediate attention – something in hindsight I could only put down to envy. Instead, I resorted to getting all my hugs in when he wasn’t around.
Certain other behaviours were also a sustained drip, drip, drip of torment – like the fact he always suddenly needed me when I tried to seize a rare moment to relax in our home swimming pool or sauna.
Over years of constant interruptions at these precise moments, I realised the pattern and took to going for a run instead, just to escape for a few moments.
My ex consistently had to be the centre of attention, whether it was through being the funniest, most charming man in the room; deliberately emphasising his financial success and status; or overtly displaying his vulnerability through tears and emotion.
In short, I was just a bit-player in his life, while he was the star.
Officially, Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) is defined as someone showing a pervasive pattern of grandiosity, need for attention or admiration, and a lack of empathy
Dr Dakshi Hirani: As I know only too well, abuse in a relationship needn’t be delivered with a punch or kick, she says
Yet despite my years in my successful clinical career – in which I worked across senior roles in the NHS, offering services to the UN and the British High Commission abroad – it was only after undertaking professional training in supporting victims of narcissistic control that I began to understand I was in that very same situation myself. This was in 2014 when I’d already been married for 15 years.
At last, the scales fell from my eyes. It certainly helped explain his rages – explosive, dramatic and unpredictable – which are so often used by those with narcissistic traits to control their victims.
Anything could spark him off. If I had taken a bit too long to ask for the bill in a restaurant. If I had misplaced something small at home. If I had stacked the dishwasher wrongly.
His anger wasn’t limited to the house. He raged at me in fancy hotels, on trains, at theme parks. I would be called stupid, mad – and, if I showed my emotions, overly sensitive. Little wonder I was a nervous wreck, filled with guilt, shame and self-doubt.
In response to my husband’s narcissistic control, I had become hyper-vigilant and fearful of having difficult conversations with him. Instead I accommodated him, appeased him and, all in all, performed the role of a perfect, amenable wife with aplomb. Anything to avoid provoking him.
Officially, Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) is defined as someone showing a pervasive pattern of grandiosity, need for attention or admiration, and a lack of empathy. They can also manipulate or take advantage of others, be arrogant or believe others are envious of them (while often being envious themselves).
However, someone can have narcissistic traits and still not meet the official threshold for NPD. Rather than looking at a ticklist, one need only to notice how you are left feeling in the presence of someone with narcissistic traits – generally, you don’t feel safe.
Yet, as I know only too well, abuse in a relationship needn’t be delivered with a punch or kick. My ex used to boast he never had to raise a finger, and still always got his own way.
And while I was never hit, I was screamed at, his face an inch away from mine, more than once. Fists were banged off walls, doors were slammed – on one occasion during the period in which we were divorcing, he even kicked one in.
In the final years of my marriage, I felt like a slave to my ex’s needs and dreams. I was veering towards a nervous breakdown – I felt I couldn’t breathe when he was around, and if I stayed in the marriage, I would have no part of me left for myself.
When I finally realised that no amount of love, understanding, therapy (be it individual or couple’s counselling – we tried both) or anything I did was going to change his behaviour, I was filled with immense sadness for myself and my children.
But I had no regrets because I knew I had given my everything to make this marriage work. With dread and feelings of terror, I initiated divorce proceedings soon after in 2014. It was singularly the most courageous thing I have ever done.
After being born and brought up in Kenya, I had moved to England at 19 to study psychology at university. I met my ex through family connections when I was 25 and studying for my doctorate in clinical psychology at Royal Holloway, University of London.
Dr Hirani says her relationship with her husband started with an intense ‘love bomb’… but that this gradually stopped when children came along
Back then, I felt the world was my oyster and was determined to make a success of my life.
Our relationship started with an intense ‘love bomb’ – he would call me anywhere between five to 25 times in one day just to make sure I was having a lovely day and that I was ‘happy’. Not having much dating experience, it never occurred to me that this was too much. I naively liked it, thinking someone actually cared so much about my wellbeing.
He would go over the top in demonstrating his love for me in front of others – parties thrown for me, holidays or gifts – and praised me incessantly in public, telling everyone how lucky he was to have got me.
To his audience, he made much of showing what a great boyfriend he was, and how grateful he was for my love. Believing I had found my soulmate, I felt very fortunate that he saw my worth. We married when I was 27.
For the first three years of our marriage, I was the breadwinner, working hard in the NHS and paying the bills for our London home. I helped him set up his first business, and did everything I could to lift him up emotionally and financially.
The children were born a few years after.
Then, gradually, the love-bombing stopped. Abusive behaviours crept in, and his grandiosity increased in line with his financial success. For example, we lived in a home way bigger than we ever needed and with more staff than I knew what to do with. It was bonkers.
When I moved into private practice, determined to make something of my career, his controlling behaviour escalated. To my mind, his insistence I work around school hours – despite us having an au pair – was down to him being threatened by me achieving more independence.
Dr Hirani has written a guide on how to spot narcissistic behaviours… and survive them
Daily, he tried to decimate my confidence. For example, he lavishly praised my cooking when we met, yet after four years of marriage he decided I was an awful cook. To the day I divorced him, he never ate food cooked by me, making a great show of either eating out or only eating what our domestic help, others or he cooked.
In 2014, I finally plucked up the courage to tell him I was leaving and stuck to it. He appeared devastated in public, claiming his undying love for me, while all the time doing nothing to change his behaviour to me in private.
I had tried to leave five times previously. Every time I told him it was over, there was the same playbook of reactions: tears, apologies and promises of change that kept me living in hope. None of it held good.
I was buckling under the strain: I had become a nervous wreck, jumped when I heard loud noises, and my body felt like it was in constant danger.
As our divorce progressed, he reported me to social services, saying I was an unfit mother; the police, claiming he feared for his safety from me; and my professional regulatory body, for supposedly not honouring my client confidentiality, which would have made me guilty of misconduct.
All accusations, needless to say, were untrue – and no services found any of the allegations of improper or unsafe behaviour to be founded.
After this, the same police who had investigated me referred me to the Freedom Programme – a domestic abuse education scheme. I attended these sessions in secret every Thursday while my children were at school, and the organisation helped me plan my departure from the family home in as safe a manner as possible.
I had a police presence while I packed my clothes into black bin liners, and was told to take only two sets of clothing for the children. The police later allocated me an individual domestic violence adviser.
In 2018, I ended up having to file for a non-molestation order. The undertaking (signed by my ex-husband and witnessed by a magistrate) meant he was no longer allowed to come near me or my home, email or contact me other than through solicitors or an official online parenting portal. This was invaluable given his incessant breaking of any boundaries.
He had delivered legal documents to my new home with the children present despite having been instructed to communicate all matters via solicitors, and then had forcibly kicked open the door during the disagreement that ensued, all while I was entertaining guests.
This had been the last straw. Unpredictable rageful behaviour had always kept me on edge and walking on eggshells. My ex-husband was subsequently not allowed to contact me for a year. No contact continued after the year ended, and was maintained.
The remaining divorce process itself was brutal for me and the children. But today, I can look back and say I am pleased I saw it through to the end – and I have dedicated my career to trying to help people who find themselves in a similar situation.
Now, I specialise in helping people trapped in relationships with individuals who have narcissistic traits, and have written a new book, Healing from Narcissistic Abuse, on the subject. Sometimes it’s a relationship with a parent, sibling, friend or boss. But generally it’s with a romantic partner – and usually, it’s men who present with overt grandiose narcissistic traits.
The clients I assist include CEOs, VPs of City firms, barristers and all-round high achievers – women who are at the top of their professional game, yet whose private lives are falling apart. They have little power and control over that part of their life.
I am also living proof that you can find happiness again.
Today I am 54, and happily married to John, a man I met a year after leaving my ex. We married two years ago, after six wonderful years of being together. He has never shown me anything but respect and empathy. It’s poles apart from my first marriage.
Not many people speak out about such experiences, because of understandable fears and insecurities. And few know how to spot an individual with narcissistic traits – much less how to heal from any interaction with one.
Here, then, is my guide to spotting the five types of narcissistic characteristics – and how you can recover from abuse at a narcissist’s hands…
1. Vulnerable narcissism
This is when the individual positions themselves as a victim, failing to take responsibility for their own circumstances. They can be arrogant and often come across as being depressed, irritable or even physically ill when things don’t go their way. The extent to which they can be disagreeable and argumentative can be exhausting.
2. Neglectful narcissism
The name says it all: this individual will neglect anyone who is of no use to them, and will only extend warmth or attention to you while you serve a purpose to them. They care about appearances and like to be in control. In order to maintain control, they can become obsessive – for example, taking great care about how things are done at work or at home. If this system – be it filing, cleaning or organising – is not followed, they can become irritable or even rageful.
3. Malignant narcissism
This kind of narcissistic person destroys everything around them. If their lies are found out, they can become extremely antagonistic, aggrieved and incredulous that you would even think to question them. Indeed, a conversation with them can leave you more confused than when you started, questioning everything you thought you knew.
4. Grandiose narcissism
Often holding down senior roles in industries where material success is key, people with these traits believe they are important. They are extravagant, pretentious and pompous. They can also be very charming and charismatic, too, but if they face actual or perceived threat of any kind, they can become rageful and resort to bullying to get their way. People with these traits find it difficult to regulate and manage their emotions.
5. Communal narcissism
People with communal narcissistic traits get their validation from praise within their community, particularly when their generosity, kindness and charity are hailed. They can appear extremely selfless and empathic, but only when there is a potential audience. In private, their contempt for others can become evident.
They like to take credit for good work that is not theirs, and they often speak about overcoming great adversity in order to evoke empathy or adoration for their resilience. They will argue all their wrongdoings are for the greater good.
… AND HOW TO HEAL
Clients often ask me why a person in their life with narcissistic traits won’t leave them alone.
But the fact is the only way people with narcissistic traits know they exist is if you are affected by their existence. It doesn’t matter if it is a positive effect, with loving feelings (which may get boring for them over time), or a negative effect, such as anger, fear or any other emotionally charged feelings.
When I was going through my narcissistic abuse, I was convinced it was personal. Until one day, the penny dropped, and I realised it was never personal.
These individuals would have done the same thing to anyone, be it their parent, child, sibling, friend or colleague – anyone who threatened to reveal their fake persona and move away from their ‘narcissistic supply orbit’, jeopardising their false sense of self.
To truly heal, I had to learn to trust my body. I was anxious and panicking because my body was warning me I was in a dangerous position. My physical and mental responses weren’t a sign that something was wrong with me – they were a sign something was right with me. They were communicating wisdom, telling me to extricate myself, and that it wasn’t safe. Happiness lay elsewhere. It is not your job to save someone else. The only person we can rescue is ourselves.
* as told to Maureen Brookbanks
Healing from Narcissistic Abuse: The Path to Coping, Surviving and Thriving published by Little, Brown Book Group (£19.99) is out now.
