“If I could just make him understand how I feel, he would end up apologising.”

The reasoning makes sense. In a relationship where each person can be moved by what the other is going through, explaining our pain often leads to an adjustment. We tell our story, the other person discovers something they had not noticed, and their behaviour can change. Thankfully, that does happen.

But sometimes we have been explaining for months, to someone who knows perfectly well what hurts us. And still we set off on yet another demonstration, hoping that this time, by finding the right words, something will finally get through.

This is where I would like to pause. On what all these explanations produce, in that particular relationship.

I have a problem with the term “narcissistic pervert”

I used it in the title of the video, and I use it again here, because many people try to make sense of their situation with these words. Personally, I prefer to look at behaviours and relationships. Assigning a fixed identity to someone risks preventing us from seeing what is actually going on.

I expand on this reservation in Toxic, narcissistic, borderline: what therapy speak does to your relationships. The words we choose shape the way we look. Once the label is in place, we may end up reading everything through it.

That leaves the question of coercive control entirely open. There are relationships in which one person monitors, belittles, turns criticism back on the other and gradually reduces their freedom. These behaviours need to be recognised. We can name them precisely and look for ways to protect ourselves from them, without claiming to have summed up an entire person.

Understanding your pain can also be used to control you

We often hear that so-called “narcissistic perverts” have no empathy at all. That seems too hasty to me.

Empathy has several dimensions. Its cognitive dimension allows us to understand someone’s point of view, what they feel, what affects them. Its affective dimension refers to being affected oneself by the other person’s emotion. Serge Tisseron, whom I quote in the video, explains in particular how cognitive understanding can be used for the purposes of manipulation. In its mature form, empathy also allows us to shift emotional perspective.

So someone can grasp very precisely what hurts you and use that knowledge to provoke a reaction. Understanding your vulnerability is no guarantee that they will take care of it. And we cannot infer how a person’s empathy works from the label we give them.

In some relationships of coercive control, a further explanation mainly provides further information. You reveal what worries you, what you are afraid of losing, where you doubt yourself. If these things are then turned against you, it becomes useful to look at what the conversation actually makes possible.

When attempts at repair keep the loop going

A systemic reading looks at the function of a behaviour in its context. Control may, for example, serve to reassure someone about their worth or about the place they hold for the other person. The fear of being abandoned can lead to more monitoring. Then any reduction in control becomes worrying and prompts fresh attempts to tighten it. These are leads for understanding a dynamic, to be examined in each situation.

Within this logic, seeing that you make the other person cry, make them angry or get them to justify themselves for an hour can confirm that you still have a hold over them.

Long explanations are a first attempted solution. We add details, go back over the chronology, correct a misunderstanding. The other person then has more material with which to dispute a word, single out a sentence or shift the discussion. And there we are, defending what we have just said, when we wanted to talk about what had hurt us.

We may also plead, cry, show how much we are suffering. With that very human hope that our pain, once visible enough, will eventually reach the other person. In the dynamic I am describing, this reaction may above all confirm to them how much power they have.

Then sometimes comes anger. We raise our voice to make it stop. The exchange escalates with us, accusations answer one another, and each person finds in the next reaction a reason to carry on.

All three attempts keep our attention entirely focused on the other person. We expect understanding, calm or an end to the scene from them. The word “attempt” matters: these are efforts to feel better. Tears and anger are entirely legitimate. Responsibility for violence lies with the person who commits it.

Looking at the effects of our responses can nevertheless help us regain some room for manoeuvre. This is what the distinction between levels of change, presented by Yara Doumit in Changing… but at which level?, makes possible. By intensifying a response that fails, we can end up maintaining the very pattern we would like to change.

Three steps to change your place in the exchange

In the video, I talk about withdrawing the attention that feeds the scene. In practice, this means stating a limit and following it with a behaviour that gives it substance. Everyone remains free to resume the exchange when it becomes possible under acceptable conditions.

These steps need to be considered in light of how safe you are. If breaking off a conversation or setting a limit exposes you to threats or violence, the priority is to seek protection and outside support. A trusted person close to you or a specialist organisation can help you think about what comes next. You are entitled to need help to get there.

Leaving the conversation when it goes round in circles

“This conversation is going nowhere. I’m stopping it here. We’ll talk about it again later.”

Then, when it is possible and safe, leave the room or end the call. In the video, I stress doing this calmly. Slamming the door, firing off one last accusation or waiting for the other person to hold us back can prolong the scene in another form.

Calm can be hard to find. We can break off an exchange with a trembling voice, feeling sad, with a great deal still left to say. What matters here is being able to stop. We can look elsewhere for someone to listen to what we feel.

Setting a limit without launching into another demonstration

“I won’t accept being spoken to like this.”

The sentence can stay that short. There is a difference between explaining a limit and spending the evening trying to obtain permission to set it. When every justification becomes the starting point for a new counter-argument, we can stick to what we have just said.

It is often uncomfortable. We were taught to argue our case, to be reasonable, to listen to the other person. We may even be afraid of becoming unfair by no longer responding. Yet a limit that has already been stated can hold without the other person approving each of our reasons.

Following through on what we announce

The third step concerns what I call consistency. If I announce that I will end the conversation if I am insulted, and then stay and argue after the next insult, my limit becomes hard to read in practice.

It is better to choose a modest, achievable action, one we have some control over. Ending the call, for example, if this can be done without putting ourselves in danger. And being able to do it again when the same situation arises.

This may take several attempts, support and time. A limit we cannot yet manage to hold deserves a look at what makes it difficult. The fear of losing the relationship, practical constraints or fear of the other person’s reactions also count. That is where we need to start.

And what about the apologies?

They may appear at that point. I make this clear at the end of the video: it is by no means systematic.

One hypothesis is that the relational dynamic has changed. A behaviour that used to attract a great deal of attention now leads to the exchange being broken off. The other person comes up against a limit whose effects become tangible. This may lead them to adjust their conduct, and sometimes to apologise.

We cannot conclude from this that their affective empathy has increased, nor decide, from a distance, that their apologies are necessarily false. What happens next in the relationship will tell us more: is the limit still respected? Do the behaviours change once we stop pointing them out? Can we say no without finding ourselves back in the same scene?

I understand why we expect so much from a “sorry”. It can stand for the acknowledgement of everything we have been through. But if we stay on the lookout for that word, our attention may remain hanging on the other person, even after we have left the conversation.

This question connects with the one I explore in Do we really have to forgive to heal? What our loyalties protect. Receiving an apology leaves open the decision to forgive, to resume the relationship or to keep one’s distance.

In a relationship, our own position is a way in through which we can act. Its effect on the other person will remain partly uncertain. So I prefer to look at whether we are regaining a little freedom: being able to stop a discussion, to stand by a decision, to turn our attention to something else without having to justify ourselves for hours. That is already a great deal, especially when it seemed out of reach.

I develop this reflection further in the video “Pervers narcissique : il s’excuse enfin… mais pourquoi ?” (in French).

Take good care of yourself.