"It's fine."
Two little words. I said them more times than I could ever count.
Over the dishwasher. Over plans. Over schedules. Over things that seemed insignificant to everyone else but somehow became another source of tension in our home.
I said "it's fine" because it was easier than explaining why something bothered me. Easier than dealing with the defensiveness, the arguments, and the inevitable pushback that came whenever I expressed a concern.
I told myself I was keeping the peace.
But I've come to understand something important: There is nothing peaceful about keeping the peace when it means sacrificing your own emotional well-being.
The Front Pew: A Picture of Peace That Wasn't Peaceful
Let me tell you about church.
He always wanted to sit right up front, in the first two pews. He wanted his family there with him, his arm around me or one of the boys, everyone looking their best and behaving appropriately.
And then, almost every Sunday, when the sermon began, his phone came out.
He would sit there scrolling through his phone throughout the service, right in front of the pastor. For weeks and months, I said nothing. I already knew what would happen if I brought it up.
The phone was an ongoing issue in our marriage. I had explained many times that I didn't want to talk to the back of a phone. It made me feel ignored, unimportant, devalued, and dismissed.
His response was always that he could listen and be on his phone at the same time.
But if he could hear everything, why did he repeatedly tell me I had never told him something I had already explained?
Eventually, I couldn't ignore the church situation anymore. I told him how I would feel if I were the one speaking from the pulpit and someone in the front row spent the entire sermon on their phone.
As expected, I was met with defensiveness. He explained that he was reading other Scripture or researching the pastor's examples.
And just like that, my concern became the problem.
He dug in, so I gave in.
To keep the peace.
I sat in that front pew week after week, his arm around my shoulders, looking like the picture of a happy family.
But inside me was a storm.
Unspoken emotions. Swallowed words. Dismissed opinions. The embarrassment of knowing other people were likely noticing his behavior. And the lingering question of why my concerns didn't seem to matter.
From the outside, everything looked calm.
On the inside, it was anything but.
When Disagreement Stops Feeling Safe
Think back to the early days of your relationship.
When you disagreed about something, where to eat, how to spend a weekend, or how to handle a family situation, it probably didn't set off alarm bells.
It was just a disagreement. A difference of opinion. Maybe a misunderstanding or miscommunication.
You expected to talk it through. You expected that somewhere in the conversation, you would find your way back to each other.
Maybe you'd compromise. Maybe one of you would say, "I hadn't thought about it that way." Maybe you'd agree to disagree and move on.
That's what healthy disagreement looks like.
In a healthy relationship, disagreement isn't a threat. It's one of the ways two people get to know each other. You learn what matters to the other person, how they see things, and how you can support each other.
There's a rupture, and then there's a repair. Often, that repair brings you closer than you were before.
Disagreement, handled with care, is a form of intimacy. It says, "I trust you enough to tell you the truth about what I think and how I feel."
But in a relationship with a covert narcissistic person, that isn't necessarily what happens.
Instead of conversation, you encounter defensiveness.
Instead of compromise, you encounter blame-shifting. Somehow, a conversation about something they did becomes a conversation about your tone, your timing, your attitude, or how you always bring things up at the wrong moment.
You came into the conversation with one concern and somehow walked away defending yourself against five.
Instead of resolution, you find circular conversations. The same argument goes around and around without ever reaching a meaningful conclusion.
And instead of being heard, you encounter gaslighting.
"That's not what I said."
"That never happened."
"You're remembering it wrong."
"You're too sensitive."
Eventually, you begin questioning whether your concern was ever valid in the first place.
It's not necessarily one conversation that changes you. It's the repetition.
After enough experiences, something begins to shift inside you. Your body learns what your mind hasn't fully recognized yet:
Disagreeing with this person doesn't feel safe anymore.
An ordinary disagreement becomes a perceived threat.
And when your body senses a threat, it responds the way it is designed to respond: through survival.
Fight, flight, freeze, or fawn.
You begin bracing for danger over everyday things. A dishwasher. A phone. A restaurant. A schedule. Something that should be an ordinary conversation suddenly feels like something you need to survive.
What Keeping the Peace Actually Feels Like
Let's talk about what keeping the peace feels like.
Not what it looks like from the outside. What happens inside you.
From the outside, it looks calm. You said "it's fine." You went along with the plans. You let things go. Nobody raised their voice. Everyone moved on.
But did you?
For many survivors, the physical and emotional effects of these interactions can be overwhelming.
It might begin in your stomach. That heavy, sinking feeling. A knot that seems impossible to loosen. Maybe you feel nauseous, lose your appetite, or find yourself eating to settle an anxiety that never quite settles.
Your chest feels tight. Your breathing becomes shallow. You catch yourself holding your breath without even realizing it.
Your jaw is clenched. Your shoulders are tense. Your neck aches. You develop headaches.
And then there's your mind.
You replay the conversation over and over.
What did he say? What did I say? What should I have said? What will I say next time?
You rehearse the perfect explanation, hoping that somehow you'll finally find the words that make him understand.
Then you start questioning yourself.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it wasn't that big of a deal. Maybe I am too sensitive.
Back and forth. Argue and doubt. Argue and doubt.
You might find yourself cleaning an already clean kitchen, reorganizing a drawer, or constantly picking up your phone because you can't settle.
Or maybe you experience the opposite. You can't function. Every little task feels exhausting. You're going through the motions of your day without really feeling connected to any of it.
And then nighttime comes.
You lie down exhausted, but your mind won't stop. You replay the conversation while lying next to the very person you just made peace with.
They're sleeping peacefully. You're wide awake, feeling a loneliness that reaches deep inside you.
Maybe you finally drift off, only to wake up in the middle of the night with your heart pounding and the conversation starting all over again.
By morning, you're bone tired.
Not regular tired. The kind of exhaustion that sleep doesn't seem to fix.
And underneath all those physical experiences is an emotional storm.
Fear. Hurt. Anger you're afraid to express. Grief over a relationship you thought would feel safe. Shame about why you can't seem to let things go as easily as they do.
And loneliness. The loneliness of having something important to say and knowing it probably won't be heard.
Does any of that sound like peace?
There is nothing peaceful about keeping the peace.
The Eye of the Storm
Think about the eye of a hurricane.
Have you ever heard that the center of a hurricane can be calm? Blue sky. Little wind. An eerie stillness.
But that calm exists because of the powerful, turbulent winds surrounding it.
Sometimes, that's exactly what happens when we keep the peace in our homes.
The house becomes the eye of the storm. It's quiet. Nobody is arguing. Everyone appears to have moved on.
But you are still carrying the storm inside you.
The other person might feel peaceful. They got what they wanted. The disagreement ended. You stopped bringing it up.
But you paid the price.
Their peace was purchased with yours.
What Are We Teaching Ourselves and Our Children?
In my home, I always wanted things to be peaceful.
When tension showed up, I hurried to smooth things over. I wanted everyone to return to a happy place as quickly as possible, even if that happiness wasn't genuine.
I truly believed I was doing something good.
I thought I was being the bigger person. I thought I was protecting the boys from conflict. I thought I was keeping our family together.
But I've come to realize that constantly smoothing things over can reinforce an unhealthy pattern.
I was teaching him that he didn't have to consider my concerns because I would eventually drop them.
And I was teaching myself that my feelings and opinions were negotiable. That they could be set aside whenever keeping the room happy became more important.
The happy room was a performance.
And I was the one working hardest to keep it going.
I was also teaching our children what relationships looked like. They were watching. They were learning that peace meant somebody stayed quiet. Somebody swallowed their feelings. Somebody gave in.
That wasn't the lesson I wanted them to carry into their own relationships.
I didn't recognize any of this while I was living it. I didn't wake up one morning and understand what was happening.
The changes were gradual. So gradual that I barely noticed how much of myself I had set aside.
It took becoming completely frustrated and worn down before I could begin to see things clearly.
And if that's where you are right now, I want you to consider something:
Your frustration might not be a sign that you're failing. It might be the first sign that you're starting to see clearly.
What Happens to Everything We Swallow?
Where do all those unspoken emotions go?
They don't simply disappear.
There are several ways that repeatedly suppressing your feelings can affect your life.
1. Your body carries the stress.
Chronic stress can contribute to physical tension, headaches, digestive discomfort, sleep difficulties, and exhaustion. The body can remain on alert long after a difficult interaction has ended.
Those tight shoulders, clenched jaw, and restless nights deserve attention. They aren't something you should have to dismiss.
2. Resentment builds.
Every time you say "it's fine" when it isn't fine, another unresolved hurt may be added to the pile.
Over time, resentment can make it difficult to feel close to someone. You're trying to maintain a relationship while carrying a growing collection of things you've never been able to express.
3. You begin losing your voice.
When you spend enough time considering what's safe to say, you can eventually lose track of what you actually think.
Someone asks for your opinion, and you don't know how to answer.
Not because you don't have an opinion, but because you've become accustomed to checking whether it's safe to have one.
4. Your children learn from what they see.
Children are watching how adults handle disagreements, emotions, and conflict.
They may begin to believe that keeping a relationship means keeping quiet, that one person's feelings matter more than another's, or that avoiding conflict is more important than addressing hurt.
These are not the lessons we want them carrying into their future relationships.
5. The problem never gets resolved.
Perhaps the biggest cost is that keeping the peace doesn't necessarily create peace.
It creates quiet.
And those are two very different things.
The hurt is still there. The concern hasn't been addressed. The relationship hasn't necessarily become safer or healthier.
We've simply stopped talking about it.
A Ceasefire Is Not a Peace Treaty
Think about a ceasefire between two countries.
Nobody is shooting. That's important. It creates a pause in the violence.
But a ceasefire doesn't necessarily mean the conflict is resolved. Both sides may still be watching for the next move. The underlying issues remain.
That's what keeping the peace can become in an unhealthy relationship.
You back down. The argument stops. The house gets quiet.
But nothing has actually been repaired.
A ceasefire can serve a purpose. Sometimes, stepping away from conflict is necessary, especially when continuing the conversation could make things worse.
But it's important to understand what that pause means.
A ceasefire is not the same thing as genuine peace.
And in a relationship where your concerns are repeatedly dismissed, the other person may interpret your decision to stop arguing as proof that they were right all along.
You may be thinking, "I can't do this anymore. I need some peace."
They may be thinking, "Finally, you understand that I was right."
Those are two very different experiences.
So, What Do We Do?
I don't want you to walk away from this thinking the answer is to go home tonight and say everything you've been holding inside.
If you're still in this relationship, that may not be safe or productive. Speaking your truth to someone who repeatedly refuses to hear it isn't necessarily going to bring the resolution you're looking for.
The goal isn't to find the perfect words to finally make them understand.
The goal is to stop carrying the storm alone.
Find supportive people. Connect with resources that help you understand what you've experienced. Explore tools for healing and recovery that resonate with you.
Give yourself permission to acknowledge what you're feeling, even if you aren't ready to express it to the other person.
And begin paying attention to what peace actually feels like.
I want to share a passage from a book I highly recommend, Don't Believe Everything You Think by Joseph Nguyen:
"These feelings (referring to love, joy, peace, freedom and fulfillment) are what we truly want; the psychological trap lies in believing that only external things will give us those feelings. The key is focusing on the feelings themselves and realizing how our emotions can be independent of our environment."
This doesn't mean your environment doesn't matter. I'm certainly not suggesting that you stay in an unhealthy relationship and simply work harder to find peace within yourself.
Your environment matters. Your safety matters. Your emotional well-being matters.
But I do want you to begin recognizing peace as something more than the absence of an argument.
What does peace feel like inside you?
What would it feel like to express an opinion without bracing for an argument? To lie down at night and actually rest? To make a decision without worrying about how someone else might react?
Even the smallest glimpses of that peace matter.
As you reconnect with yourself, those moments can help guide you toward the decisions you may need to make to bring your external world into better alignment with your internal one.
You don't have to keep swallowing your feelings to prove that you're a good person. You don't have to sacrifice your voice to maintain the appearance of a happy home.
And you don't have to confuse silence with healing.
Real peace isn't simply the absence of conflict on the outside. It's the absence of the storm on the inside.
It's being able to say what you think and still feel safe.
It's being able to disagree without fearing what comes next.
It's knowing that your feelings matter, even when someone else doesn't agree with them.
There is nothing peaceful about keeping the peace at the expense of yourself.
You deserve something better.
I wish you so much peace on your journey of healing.
— Renee Swanson
The Covert Narcissism Podcast | CNG Life Coaching
Educational Disclaimer: The information provided by Renee Swanson, the Covert Narcissism Podcast, and CNG Life Coaching is for educational purposes only. It is not intended for diagnostic purposes or as a substitute for clinical care. Please consult a qualified healthcare provider for guidance specific to your circumstances.
This material discusses narcissism in general and includes stories from Renee's personal experiences and conversations with others. It does not claim that any specific person has narcissism and should not be used to label or diagnose another individual. Permission is not granted to link to or repost this material to support an allegation or claim that a specific person is a narcissist. Such use is unauthorized.
