Ten Years in the Fog — My Journey of Waking Up to the Abuse

For a long time, I thought I was living in a love story, complicated at times, yes, but rooted in loyalty and understanding. That’s what I told myself when the unease crept in, when the small criticisms started to sting, when the warmth I once felt began to disappear. I didn’t know then that I was living in what survivors call the fog. Fear, Obligation, and Guilt.

It took me ten years to see clearly. Ten years to understand that the person I loved was quietly dismantling who I was.

The Beginning: Love That Felt Safe

When we first met, I felt chosen. He seemed thoughtful, attentive, even gentle. After past heartbreaks, his calm energy felt like safety. Friends and family liked him. He wasn’t the stereotypical arrogant narcissist you see in movies; he was the opposite, humble, wounded, even self-deprecating. I thought I had found a good man.

I didn’t know that this humility was a mask.

The Slow Unraveling

The first red flags didn’t look like red flags at all.

• A teasing comment about how I “always overreacted.”

• A dismissive shrug when I expressed excitement about something important to me.

• Long silences when I upset him, no yelling, no confrontation, just withdrawal.

It felt petty to call these things out. He was never cruel in obvious ways. But slowly, I started questioning my worth. I became careful with my words, afraid to trigger another cold wall of silence.

He often shared how much others had hurt him. I wanted to be the one person who didn’t. So I bent. I soothed. I apologized when I didn’t know what I’d done wrong.

Living in the Fog

Fear, obligation, guilt, that’s the fog covert narcissists thrive on.

• Fear of losing love if you speak up.

• Obligation to fix the brokenness they insist you’ve caused.

• Guilt for wanting more than they’re willing to give.

Years passed, and my world grew smaller. Friends drifted because it was easier than managing his subtle disapproval. My own dreams went quiet. I learned to stay agreeable to keep the peace. But the peace was always temporary.

The Turning Point

There wasn’t one dramatic explosion, no screaming match or obvious betrayal. My wake-up call came quietly, one evening after yet another argument that I couldn’t even define. I sat alone, realizing I had become a shadow of myself. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt fully seen or loved.

It was terrifying, and liberating, to admit: This isn’t love. This is control wrapped in kindness.

That night, I googled phrases like “feeling invisible in relationship” and “partner always the victim.” The term covert narcissism kept appearing. As I read survivor stories, my chest ached with recognition. I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t too sensitive. I had been manipulated.

The Long Road Out

Leaving wasn’t a single moment; it was a series of tiny rebellions. Setting boundaries. Reaching out to friends I’d lost. Quietly saving money. Finding a therapist who understood narcissistic abuse. Most of all, it was reclaiming my inner voice, the one I had silenced for a decade.

It took time to untangle the guilt and obligation. It took longer to rebuild self-trust. But with every step, the fog lifted.

Looking Back With Clarity

I share this because covert abuse thrives in silence. It wants you confused, apologetic, and alone. If you see yourself in my story, know this: it’s not your weakness that kept you there. It’s the sophisticated way covert narcissists operate, under the radar, behind a mask of vulnerability and charm.

Clarity comes slowly, but it does come. And once you see the pattern, you can choose yourself again.

A Note for Survivors

If you’re waking up to abuse after years in the fog, you’re not behind. You’re brave. You’re finally stepping into the light, and it’s never too late to rebuild your life.

For me, writing Loves Dark Reflection: Surviving a Decade of Covert Narcissism was a way of reclaiming my story. For you, it might be therapy, friendship, art, or simply learning to say no. Whatever your healing looks like, you deserve it.