My Relationship With A Narcissist

You meet. You connect. You laugh and you have great sex.

You’re perfect for eachother, right?

Things move fast, people tell you you’re rushing, but you know you’re not.


Because you love eachother.

He moves in, I fall pregnant (but it’s okay, because we’re in love) and I’m so lucky to get to wake up with him every single morning.

He’s mine!

He makes me a coffee every morning, kisses me goodbye and wishes me a good day at work.

I couldn’t be happier.

And then all of a sudden, the cuddles don’t happen as often, he doesn’t tell me he loves me anymore, but he still wants to have sex with me.

He must still love me then?

But it isn’t long before he begins to blame me for getting pregnant and ruining his life; this isn’t how he’d imagined his life to end up, but he knew I could fall pregnant.

It was barely a surprise.

He’d go out every weekend, come back drunk and call me all sorts at 5am when he finally decided to come back.

His favourites were “whore, loser” and “slag”.

One night, he came back and told me he’d cheated on me with his ex, but then said he was joking.

It wasn’t funny. 

He would apologise the following morning and I always forgave him.

Silly me.

Things got harder between us and he decided to work away for a couple of weeks for some “space”; fair enough, we’ll let things cool down a bit, it’s been a crazy few months after all.

After a few days of him being away, I sent him a nice message to say I miss him and I can’t wait for him to come home.

He replied.

“If it’s companionship you’re after, get a dog.”

Oh. Maybe I was a bit full on? I didn’t mean to offend him.

I know, I’ll say sorry.

And just like that, he had me; exactly where he wanted me.

Little did I know, this was the beginning of a long journey of emotional abuse…

As time went on, my pregnancy did too.

It was coming up to the 16th week and I had read you could have an early gender scan, so I booked one whilst I was at work to surprise him.

He’d be so excited!

I messaged him straight away to tell him to get the day off work for that day because I had a surprise booked.

“Tell me what it’s for or I’m not getting the day off.”

I reluctantly gave in and I told him. He wasn’t happy.

“What a waste of money.”

I had a lump in my throat whilst I read it and I tried my hardest to fight back the tears at my desk.

He eventually agreed to come, but it wasn’t important to him; he was on his phone the whole time and once the sonographer had found the gender, he told his mate before we’d even left the room.

After that, I convinced myself that if I didn’t talk to him about it, he would eventually come round.

I paid for all of her clothes, bottles, crib, blankets and all of the essentials for when she was born.

I would go shopping on my own because he wouldn’t come, but I didn’t mind. I was happy to be away.

She would never go without, she was my baby.

I was surprised when he bargained with me, saying he’d pay for the pram and a cot – that’s all he ever did pay for.

I chose the cheapest of the two; he wouldn’t entertain the idea of anything else. He made that very clear.

I had a few scares when I was pregnant, where I had reduced movement and I was worried; I’d ask him to take me to the hospital to get checked, but he would always refuse, saying I was being stupid.

He would eventually agree to take me, but not unless I begged him. I would always be in floods of tears before he’d even listen.

Why was he doing this to me? Did he like to see me upset? Does he really hate this baby that much?

It happened one last time and I asked him to take me to get checked over. He refused; he said it was his day off and he wasn’t going to take me because everything had been fine before.

I hysterically called my friend and she took me. 

All the time I was there, he messaged me to say I was being stupid and that I shouldn’t have asked my friend to take me because he would have done.


I didn’t want to go home, but I had no other option. I had to stick this out. I couldn’t let people know I was miserable; they warned be about this.

So, as a distraction, I decided to paint the nursery to keep me busy. I did grey walls, with pink voiles and accessories.

I was so proud and he would be so proud.

I did this all on my own.

(Apart from the wall stickers that my friend helped me with – they’re harder than you think!)

I couldn’t wait for him to get back from work and see it.

As soon as he got back from work, I asked him to follow me in to the nursery so I could show him what I’d done.

“Yeah, looks alright doesn’t it.”


Yeah, I guess. 

“I want a DNA test when she’s born.”

My heart sank. I was speechless. Was he being serious?

He was being totally serious.

I just didn’t understand why. There was absolutely no reason why she wouldn’t be his.

I cried and pleaded to him that she was his, but he didn’t believe me.

Why was he doing this to me?

He’d won – I’d fallen for it again. He got a kick out of seeing me suffer.

A lot more happened throughout the rest of my pregnancy; including him drinking alcohol when I was overdue.

I would cry and tell him that if I went in to labour, he wouldn’t be fit to drive.

He didn’t care. 

I went two weeks overdue; I had to be induced because I was too stressed and my body refused to go in to labour naturally.

I was a mess.

When our baby was born, he invited his mates over like nothing had ever happened.

The day after I’d given birth, his friend came over for beers and to play on the Xbox. I went to bed early and he asked me why I was upset.

Apparently pushing a human out of your vagina and needing a lot of rest afterwards doesn’t count.

I had no help. Nothing. Not a fucking thing. I was alone and I fell in to a deep, dark hole of depression. I became lazy and I comfort ate.

Food made me happy, but it came with a hefty price to pay.

He’d noticed I was eating more than usual and that I’d I put on weight. My new nickname was “fatty”.

Another blow to my confidence.

I wanted to lose weight, but he’d never allow me to have any time off from being a mother.

He would get home from work and complain that toys were out and that I hadn’t cooked dinner for him.

I felt sick every time he pulled up from work because I was scared he would shout at me.

I hated my life. I hated him and I wish I’d never met him.

He would deliberately do things to upset me, like spend too long in the bathroom so he didn’t have to help with the kids, he’d go out and leave me at home with the kids so he could do what he wanted, he’d have a spliff on the weekend so he didn’t have to drive anywhere or spend a day out as a family.

He even said he didn’t find me attractive anymore.

He loved to hurt me. It fuelled him and made him feel good about himself.

One day, I decided that I wanted to move home because I wanted a fresh start. I wanted this to work so badly.

I wanted us to be happy again.

We moved home and it was nice, for a week.

My plan didn’t work. He was still the same. 

We were still the same.

I couldn’t do this anymore. I was tired, depressed and my anxiety was so bad that I couldn’t leave the house and my hair was falling out.

The last evening I spent there was the evening before Mother’s Day – the first Mother’s Day I’d have with my daughter.

His plans were to have his mate over for beers and Xbox, which meant the day after, he’d spend in bed until at least midday, hungover.

I gave him the benefit of the doubt, though; it was Mother’s Day the next day after all.

I had an early night and I was hopeful for the next morning.

I woke up with our baby at 6am and went in to the first floor lounge, where I was greeted with empty beer bottles and rubbish.

Not even a card in sight, nowhere.

I waited until 11:30am to wake him – anything before that was a waste of time.

“Babe, can you help me with the baby please?”

He told me to leave the bedroom.

“But it’s Mother’s Day?”

I asked him if he’d even got me a card and he said I was greedy for asking and I shouldn’t ever “expect” anything –  I wasn’t his mother and I should leave him alone.

I’d carried his daughter, given birth to her, raised her with no help, even let him have a lay in on MY special day. 

He rolled over and he went back to sleep. My feelings didn’t matter to him. I didn’t matter to him.

So on that day, I decided he no longer mattered to me and I left.

Just like that.

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