If It Smells Like A Narcissist...

“These smell familiar,” she thought as she put the flowers he had sent her in a vase.

He was coming on strong, and she liked it. He called her throughout the day, and they spent all their spare time together. The attraction was undeniable—it was like they had known each other their whole lives.

There was just something about him—

She had never met anyone like him—

Or had she?

I was not raised by a narcissist – but I’ve always been drawn to the kind of intensity that comes with being involved with one. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to understand why this attraction has fueled almost all of my relationships. It’s definitely not just one thing – more of a smattering of things that created a perfect storm.

I perceived my parents were only happy when they were laughing and having fun. When it was quiet the air seemed filled with tension – silent arguments all around without anyone making a sound. A narcissist is charming, magnetic, often the life of the party.

My older brother began rebelling early, and naturally my parents’ attention - their worry, their energy - orbited around him. So, whenever their eyes landed on me, even for a moment, it felt glorious. A narcissist makes you fight for their love - and when you win it, the reward feels euphoric. That hit of approval can make you forget everything else.

Not every relationship I have been in was with a narcissist – but they all had some element of drama. I can see what I was drawn to in some of these men - the way they mirrored my humor, my depth, my dreams - only brighter. That kind of reflection is hard to resist; it was like meeting my best self under better lighting. Then there was the way they noticed the little things – my quirks, my style, the tiny details others missed. I was addicted to people who made me feel special in the most dramatic of ways. Love bombing was my love language. If it wasn’t intense, it didn’t feel real. If it wasn’t slightly chaotic, he must not care.

Sooner or later my needs became “too much.” My boundaries, “ungrateful.” And I would do what I’d always done: adjust. I flattered, fought, and folded myself into whatever shape I thought might win their adoration back. I just wanted to return to that first rush — to the beginning, when everything sparkled.

It wasn’t weakness. It was wiring.

That magnetic charge between a narcissist’s need to feel exceptional and my own need to be seen as special kept me stuck in some very unhealthy relationships. I realized how exhausting those type of relationships are and that maybe love can be calm. Now, when that familiar intensity shows up - the kind that promises forever by the second date - I pause. I breathe. I let it pass.