Over-explaining is one of the quiet survival strategies many people develop in relationships marked by covert narcissism. It doesn’t usually start as insecurity. It starts as protection.

If you’ve ever found yourself explaining why you were quiet, why you didn’t respond immediately, why you changed your mind, why you’re tired, why you need rest, or why something small mattered to you—this pattern may feel painfully familiar. Often, the explaining begins before anyone even asks. Not because you owe an explanation, but because your nervous system is trying to prevent a reaction.

When “Maybe This Is Just Marriage” Keeps You Stuck

Many people quietly ask themselves this question: Is what I’m experiencing just normal marriage difficulty, or is something deeper going on?
That question alone can keep you stuck for years.

Because “marriage is hard” is true.
But it is not meant to explain away ongoing harm.

This post explores the difference between normal marital struggles and covert narcissistic dynamics, not through labels or diagnoses, but through how interactions feel in your body, how conflict moves or freezes, and whether grace is mutual or one-sided.

Most people don’t arrive here because they gave up too easily on a relationship.
They arrive here because they tried—over and over again.

They reflected on their communication.
They softened their tone.
They chose better timing.
They worked on themselves.

And still, it felt like hitting a wall.

If that sounds familiar, there is a reason for it. And it isn’t because you didn’t try hard enough.

Today we’re talking about why covert narcissistic dynamics don’t respond to effort the way healthy relationships do—and why that realization can feel both devastating and clarifying at the same time.

If you are quietly asking yourself, What is actually wrong in my marriage?—this episode, and now this blog, is for you.

This is an incredibly difficult question when covert narcissism is part of the dynamic—especially when you can’t point to one clear incident. Especially when nothing sounds dramatic enough when you try to explain it. Especially when you feel confused, unsettled, and unsure why ordinary moments seem to carry so much emotional weight.

This journey is not about diagnosing your partner. It’s about building language—language that gives you words for what you are experiencing. And it’s not even really about the term covert narcissism. It’s about the confusion. The lack of emotional safety. The inability to work through issues. The self-doubt that quietly grows over time.

This is about confusion—the kind that builds when normal interactions don’t behave normally.

When the Holidays Stop Feeling Safe

The holidays with a covert narcissist are hard to describe unless you’ve lived them. This season is supposed to feel warm, grounding, and safe—a time for connection, rest, and maybe even joy. Yes, there may still be disagreements or moments of stress, but overall there’s usually a sense of togetherness.

When you live with a covert narcissist, however, the holidays don’t feel like this at all. They feel like survival. Like a performance. Like a high-stakes emotional balancing act where the rules keep changing and the consequences are quietly severe.

From the outside, most people never see it. They see the decorated house, the cooked meal, the wrapped gifts, and the smiling photos. What they don’t see is the emotional cost being paid behind closed doors. In homes like this, the holidays don’t revolve around shared joy—they revolve around them.

People often ask me, “How do I know when I’m healed?” And that’s a great question. What I love about it is how it shifts the focus away from the covert narcissist and back to yourself. You don’t need them to acknowledge it, change, or give you closure to heal. Most of the time, closure with a covert narcissistic person is like chasing the end of a rainbow—you will never catch it. Healing is about you.

Healing doesn’t arrive as a clear milestone. There’s no moment where everything suddenly feels resolved, where your past no longer touches you, or where triggers disappear entirely. Healing isn’t the absence of emotion or struggle. The answer lies in something quieter: your internal sense of safety. Not safety from the world, not because others behave well—but safety within yourself.

Becoming Careful With Words

Have you ever noticed how cautious you’ve become with your words? Not silent exactly—but careful. You think things through before you speak. You test the waters. You decide what’s worth saying and what’s better left alone. And somewhere along the way, staying quiet began to feel safer than being honest.

Maybe you see this in your kids too. They give shorter answers. They retreat to their rooms. They say “it’s fine” and “never mind” more than they used to. And you’re left wondering what changed. Was it something you did? Something you didn’t do? Or something they learned—quietly—about what happens when you speak up?

If you’ve lived with covert narcissism or chronic emotional invalidation, this didn’t happen by accident. You didn’t stop talking because you stopped caring. Your nervous system learned that honesty came with consequences. Conversations felt risky. Silence began to feel safer.

“If your body has been acting like it’s in a horror movie even though your life looks normal to the world around you — this post is for you.”

Many survivors of covert narcissistic abuse experience physical symptoms that seem random or mysterious — jaw tension, chest tightness, digestive issues, sleep problems, eye twitches, and even buzzing in the ears. What most people don’t realize is that these symptoms aren’t random at all. They’re your body’s way of communicating: a map of what you have survived.

Even if your mind hasn’t fully recognized the abuse, your body certainly has. And while doctors may run tests and say, “Everything looks fine,” your symptoms are telling a different story — one of survival and adaptation.

Many survivors of covert narcissistic abuse are told—by therapists, friends, books, or even themselves—that they’re codependent. But what they were actually doing… was fawning.

Fawning is a trauma response—a survival mechanism your nervous system uses in unsafe or unpredictable environments. Confusing fawning with codependency keeps many survivors stuck in shame and self-blame. Today, we’ll break down the difference and explain why it matters for your healing.

Why We Confuse Fawning With Codependency

At first glance, fawning and codependency can look similar:

• Both involve people-pleasing.

• Both appear compliant from the outside.

• Both prioritize another person over yourself.

• Both can make you lose your sense of self.

But the why behind these behaviors is completely different.

Have you ever experienced something intense or frightening and wanted to share it… only to have the person in front of you dismiss it? This is one of the most subtle and confusing ways relationships shape our reality — and how some people can either restore your trust in yourself or make you doubt your own experiences.

This story isn’t just about a scary moment I had on the water — it’s about what happens after danger, and why the people around us matter so much.