Michelle Wollaston Asks Are They a Narcissist or Are You Finally Seeing What You’ve Allowed?

Are They a Narcissist — or Are You Finally Seeing What You’ve Allowed?

We’ve all seen it. A friendship ends, a relationship breaks down, or a colleague crosses a line, and suddenly the word narcissist gets thrown into the mix. They didn’t text back? Narcissist. They were selfish? Narcissist. They gaslit me? Narcissist.

But here’s the truth few want to sit with: not every selfish, cruel, or emotionally unavailable person is a narcissist. Sometimes they’re just immature, self-absorbed, or fundamentally disrespectful. And sometimes what’s really happening isn’t about them at all — it’s about our own inability to hold boundaries, to say no, or to walk away.

The Overuse of a Word

Narcissistic Personality Disorder affects somewhere between one and six per cent of the population — and that’s based on diagnosed cases, not assumptions. If we apply a midpoint of around three per cent, that’s roughly 166,000 people in Sydney, 250,000 in New York City, 270,000 in London, and about 2.5 million across Germany. Yet scroll through social media and you’d think half the world qualified.

The word has become shorthand for anyone who’s hurt us, dismissed us, or made us feel small. Most people who display selfishness, control, or emotional immaturity fall into the category of traits, not the disorder itself. Statistically speaking, the law of probability means that not every man you date, friend you lose, or colleague who frustrates you is a narcissist. In fact, it’s far more likely you’ve encountered ordinary dysfunction — unhealed trauma, insecurity, or poor communication — rather than a true clinical narcissist.

It’s an understandable reaction; labelling pain gives it shape. But when we misuse the term, we dilute its meaning and ignore the real issue — the difference between toxic behaviour and a diagnosable disorder. A narcissist lives in a world where empathy doesn’t exist, where everything and everyone serves their reflection. That’s not most people. Most are simply flawed humans who’ve never been taught emotional accountability, and many of us, myself included, have spent years trying to fix, heal, or understand them.

What’s Actually Happening

When we repeatedly find ourselves in these dynamics, we need to pause and ask deeper questions. What part of me believes love must be earned? Where did I learn that my needs are negotiable? Why do I confuse intensity with intimacy? These aren’t questions of blame; they’re invitations to awareness. Because more often than not, the pattern isn’t narcissism at all — it’s codependency, unhealed trauma, or learned helplessness. We mistake chaos for chemistry because our nervous system has never truly known calm as safety.

Every relationship in our life teaches us something. They aren’t random. They help us grow, even when it hurts. Some people come to show us what respect looks like. Others remind us what happens when we ignore our gut. Sometimes the lesson is to stay and work things out, and sometimes it’s to walk away. If someone never listens, it might be teaching us to speak up. If someone always takes, it might be showing us where we give too much. Even the ones who frustrate us are helping us see what we need to change or protect in ourselves. When we start seeing relationships this way — not as punishment, but as lessons — we stop asking why did they do this to me? and start asking what is this trying to show me?

The Boundary Blind Spot

Boundaries aren’t walls; they’re filters. They help us discern what belongs to us and what doesn’t. Without them, even a mildly selfish person can wreak havoc on our emotional world. And when we finally enforce them — when we stop accommodating, explaining, or rescuing — suddenly we’re the problem.

We get called cold, dramatic, or too much. But maybe that’s what healing looks like. Maybe the moment you stop tolerating mistreatment, the people who benefited from your silence will call you difficult. And that’s okay. You’re not cold; you’re clear.

The Mirror We Don’t Want to Look Into

It’s easy to spot manipulation when it’s aimed at us — harder when we’re the ones doing it. But if we’re honest, most of us have done versions of the very things we condemn. We’ve ignored messages because we didn’t want to deal with someone’s emotions. We’ve dodged calls that felt too heavy. We’ve withheld affection to make a point, or shared something private under the guise of just being honest. We’ve even told someone they were overreacting because their feelings made us uncomfortable. That’s gaslighting too — the minimising of someone else’s truth because it disrupts our own comfort.

And guilt-tripping? We do it more than we realise. Sometimes it sounds like after everything I’ve done for you or you don’t appreciate me. We do it to friends, to partners, and yes, to our children. It’s not always malice; often it’s habit, fear, or the way we were parented. But here’s the question that changes everything: when we do it, do we call ourselves narcissistic? Usually not. We rationalise it — I was just hurt, I just wanted them to understand. And that’s the point. We’re all capable of the same behaviours we condemn in others; we just name them differently when they come from us.

This isn’t about blame; it’s about awareness. The mirror doesn’t accuse; it reveals. If we want others to do better, we have to model what better looks like — not just demand it.

Four Faces of Fictional Narcissism

In fiction, narcissism is easy to spot. Patrick Bateman in American Psycho represents the extreme — charm, control, and a complete lack of empathy, the point where superiority becomes sadism. Don Draper in Mad Men hides deep insecurity behind a mask of success, a portrait of covert narcissism defined by emotional detachment and a constant need for admiration. Miranda Priestly in The Devil Wears Prada shows high-functioning narcissism — power and perfectionism placed above empathy, her control sustaining a fragile sense of worth. And Amy Dunne in Gone Girl captures a female-coded version — manipulation through perception, weaponised victimhood, and grandiose self-righteousness disguised as justice.

Reclaiming the Word “No”

Healing from dysfunctional relationships — or any form of emotional imbalance — isn’t about never meeting another difficult person. It’s about knowing yourself so deeply that manipulation no longer finds a home. It’s about recognising that not everyone who disappoints you is a narcissist, and not everyone who challenges you is toxic. Sometimes they’re just not your person, and that’s okay.

Real empowerment is knowing you can see a red flag and choose not to justify it, that you can say no without guilt, and that you can walk away without needing to be understood. It isn’t about being hard or detached; it’s about being clear. When you reach that point, manipulation loses its power because your self-worth no longer depends on someone else’s approval.

From Awareness to Accountability

The real work isn’t identifying narcissists; it’s recognising why we keep accepting behaviour that undermines us. It’s asking why we allowed it, why we stayed, and why we still seek understanding from someone incapable of giving it. When we stop over-labelling others and start understanding ourselves, we shift from blame to growth. That’s where the healing lives — not in diagnosis, but in discernment.

The New Conversation

Maybe the next time we reach for the word narcissist, we pause. We ask ourselves whether this person is truly devoid of empathy and accountability, or if we’re simply recognising a behaviour we no longer want to tolerate. That’s where the real shift happens — when awareness replaces blame, and clarity replaces confusion.

This isn’t about diminishing anyone’s experience or the pain they’ve lived through. It’s about offering a moment to reflect before we label. Every experience — even the hardest ones — is a chance to understand ourselves more deeply. When we pause long enough to ask what a moment is trying to show us, we move from reaction to remembrance. And in that space of awareness, healing quietly begins.

You are not crazy. You are not cold. You are finally clear. And that clarity — not the label — is what sets you free.