The Slow Disappearance of Me
I never intended to shrink. It wasn’t a conscious decision, nor did I expect it to happen. It started subtly, almost imperceptibly, and before I knew it, I was someone I didn’t even recognize. The first time I noticed the shift was when I realized I was always walking on eggshells, constantly adjusting my thoughts, my voice, and even my body language to avoid upsetting them. It wasn’t about love anymore. It was about survival.
In the early days of the relationship, they seemed perfect—charming, confident, and incredibly attentive. I had never felt so wanted, so cherished. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, I started to shrink. It was like I was trying to fit into a mold, to become the person they wanted me to be. They didn’t ask me to shrink—I did it on my own. They didn't need to say a word; their actions, their criticism, their disregard for my feelings told me everything I needed to know. Slowly, I felt myself disappearing.
I’d say something, and the response was a dismissive glance or a change in subject. I’d share something important, and they’d turn it into a joke. And over time, I started to internalize the idea that my voice didn’t matter. That my thoughts and feelings were unimportant. The more I shrank, the less conflict there was. It was easier to disappear, to let them take up all the space. But I didn’t realize that in trying to avoid conflict, I was suffocating the person I used to be. I was shrinking myself to survive.
The Fear of Taking Up Space
It’s hard to explain the constant, gnawing fear that comes with being in a narcissistic relationship. It’s a fear that makes you question everything you do, say, and feel. Over time, I began to wonder if I was too much. Too loud. Too passionate. Too emotional. I started to believe that anything I did could be wrong. That every word I spoke had the potential to upset them.
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I began questioning my needs. I learned to suppress my wants because every time I voiced them, they were met with indifference or a passive-aggressive remark. It wasn’t just about me being ignored—it was about being made to feel as though I didn’t deserve to be heard. It was easier to keep quiet than to face the wrath of someone who would accuse me of being dramatic or selfish.
But the more I shrank, the more I lost myself. I began to feel like a shell of a person. I didn’t recognize the girl who used to speak up in meetings, the woman who had dreams and goals. The woman who was confident and proud of who she was. That woman was buried beneath layers of fear, guilt, and self-doubt. In my effort to avoid conflict, I had buried my needs, my desires, my very essence. I became so small that I almost disappeared entirely.
"When you’re taught to shrink yourself to make others comfortable, you forget that you have every right to take up space in this world."
The Guilt of Existing
One of the hardest things to grapple with was the guilt. It wasn’t just guilt about staying in the relationship, though that came too. It was the guilt of simply existing. I felt guilty for wanting anything. I felt guilty for feeling emotions. I felt guilty for being a person with needs, desires, and hopes for the future.
The guilt wasn’t something I could pinpoint exactly. It was more of a pervasive feeling that, no matter what I did, it would never be enough. No matter how small I made myself, it was never small enough. It was like I was expected to shrink even more to fit the mold they had for me. I didn’t know how to be myself without feeling like a burden.
I remember one evening, after I had apologized for something that wasn’t even my fault, I broke down in tears. I couldn’t understand why I felt so empty. I couldn’t understand why it felt like something was always missing. It was because I had abandoned myself. I had prioritized their needs over mine, their desires over my own, and in doing so, I lost my identity. But the guilt of wanting to take it back—of wanting to reclaim myself—was suffocating.
How Shrinking Became My Survival Mechanism
I didn’t know it at the time, but shrinking had become my way of surviving. When you’re with someone who is so self-absorbed, whose needs always come first, you learn quickly that your own needs must come last. You learn that taking up space is a dangerous thing because it invites criticism, rejection, and emotional manipulation. So, I made myself smaller, quieter, easier to control.
Every conversation became an internal calculation: How can I phrase this so it doesn’t upset them? How can I avoid causing any conflict? How can I keep the peace? The more I shrank, the more peace there was. But it wasn’t real peace. It was the peace of submission, of silence, of becoming a shadow of who I once was.
I didn’t realize how much of myself I was losing until I reached a point where I couldn’t recognize the woman in the mirror anymore. I had become a ghost. And as much as I tried to convince myself that this was okay—this was just what love was—I knew, deep down, that it wasn’t. I had stopped living for me. I was merely existing for them.
The Wake-Up Call: When I Realized I Was Dying Inside
It wasn’t one moment, but a series of small realizations that led me to see just how far I had gone. There was a moment when I tried to talk about a dream I had, something small that didn’t even affect them. It was met with indifference, as though my words didn’t matter. And that was the moment I knew I had to change.
For so long, I thought my shrinking was normal. I thought it was just part of loving someone. But the truth was, I had lost myself in the process. The woman who once believed she was worthy of love, of respect, of being heard, was gone. In her place stood a woman afraid to speak, afraid to stand up for herself, afraid to take up any space in the world.
But the real wake-up call came when I realized that no matter how small I made myself, no matter how much I tried to disappear, it was never enough for them. They still wanted more. They still wanted me to be less. And that’s when I knew that I had to reclaim my life.
"You don't have to shrink yourself to fit into a space that was never meant for you."
The Road to Healing: Reclaiming My Space
The journey back to myself was long and painful. But it was also the most freeing experience of my life. The first step was learning to take up space again. I had to remind myself that I wasn’t a burden, that my needs mattered, and that I was worthy of being heard. It felt strange at first. I would catch myself second-guessing my words, apologizing unnecessarily. But I slowly unlearned the habits of shrinking.
"The process of healing is not about finding the person you used to be, but rediscovering the strength you’ve always had."
Healing isn’t linear, and there were days when I still felt small, when I still questioned whether I deserved to take up space. But I kept going. I kept reminding myself that I was worthy. I kept reminding myself that it was okay to take up space.
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"True healing begins when we stop seeking validation from others and start finding it within ourselves."
Conclusion: You Deserve to Take Up Space
If you’re reading this and finding yourself in a similar situation, know that you don’t have to shrink to survive. You don’t have to lose yourself for someone else’s comfort. You are worthy of love, respect, and space. And you have every right to take up as much space as you need in this world.
The road to healing may not be easy, but it’s worth it. You don’t have to remain small. You don’t have to hide. You are enough just as you are.
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