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When Leaving the Narc Isn’t Enough: Why You Still Feel Tired, Wired & On Edge

 You’d think leaving a narcissist would feel like stepping out of a dark cave into the sunshine — birds singing, skin glowing, energy blasting through your body like you’ve discovered a new religion.

Instead, what actually happens?

You sleep like shit.
You jump at noises that aren’t even directed at you.
You feel exhausted, jittery, weirdly emotional, and vaguely haunted by conversations that never even made sense at the time.
Your body is free, but your nervous system is like:

“Absolutely NOT, babe. We’re still in hell.”

Let’s talk about it.

1. Leaving the Narc Isn’t the Finish Line — It’s the Detox

What nobody warns you about is the withdrawal.

Not from them (trust me, no one is addicted to a narcissist’s personality — it’s like being addicted to a tax audit).
You’re withdrawing from:

  • hypervigilance

  • adrenaline

  • walking on eggshells

  • being on call 24/7

  • predicting moods

  • managing chaos

  • trauma bonding

  • and constantly being blamed for things you didn’t even do

You don’t realise how much internal scaffolding you built to survive them… until you walk away and it all collapses on top of you.

And you’re left standing there like:

“Why do I feel worse now that I’m safe?”

Because your body is recalibrating from war.

2. Your Nervous System Doesn’t Get the Memo Right Away

You know when a fire alarm keeps going even after the fire’s out?

That’s you.

Your brain still thinks:

  • shouting = danger

  • footsteps = danger

  • silence = danger

  • someone sitting down too hard = danger

  • someone breathing weird = danger

  • someone NOT breathing weird = also danger

You’re not being dramatic — you’re literally rewiring.

Your system was trained to scan for threats every second.
Removing the narcissist doesn’t automatically remove the training.

3. You Aren’t “Overreacting” — You’re Coming Off 1000 Tiny Traumas

A narcissist doesn’t hurt you with one big blow.
They hurt you with:

  • daily criticisms

  • the cold shoulder

  • emotional whiplash

  • unpredictable moods

  • accusations

  • manipulation

  • guilt trips

  • gaslighting

  • sudden affection followed by sudden cruelty

It’s constant emotional whack-a-mole.

When you leave, your body finally stops bracing — and that’s when the pain surfaces.
Not because it’s new, but because you finally have enough safety to feel it.

It’s the same reason people cry after a crisis, not during it.

4. You Feel Exhausted Because You’ve Been Running a Full-Time Survival Job

Let’s list your old responsibilities:

  • emotional regulator

  • peacekeeper

  • therapist

  • detective

  • psychic

  • scapegoat

  • punching bag

  • crisis manager

  • apology generator

Now you have none of those duties…
and your body collapses from routine it never realised was unsustainable.

The tiredness isn’t laziness.

It’s recovery.

5. You Don’t Know What “Calm” Feels Like Yet

Calm is supposed to feel peaceful.
But when you’ve lived in chaos, calm feels:

  • suspicious

  • uncomfortable

  • boring

  • dangerous

  • like the build-up to another explosion

Actual relaxation feels wrong.

You’re not broken — you’re rewiring your baseline.

6. You Question Yourself Because You Were Trained to Doubt Everything

Even after walking away, that voice pops up:

“Was I overreacting?”
“Maybe it wasn’t that bad.”
“Maybe I was the problem.”
“What if I’m the narcissist?”
“What if I made all this up?”

No babe.
That’s not insight — that’s conditioning.

You spent years being told your reality was wrong.
Your brain is still uninstalling that spyware.

7. You Wait for the Next Explosion Even When They’re Gone

This is the saddest, most relatable part.

Your body braces for a voice that isn’t there.
You tiptoe in empty rooms.
You apologise too quickly.
You over-explain things no one asked you about.
You freeze when someone raises their voice — even if they’re not talking to you.
Your nervous system still remembers the rules.

But here’s the truth:

You’re not in danger anymore.
You’re in recovery.

8. You Want to Feel Happy — But Happiness Feels Fragile

You get a moment of joy — real, genuine joy — and suddenly you panic like:

“Don’t get too comfortable…
don’t relax…
don’t laugh too loud…
this is when the narc would come in and ruin everything…”

That’s trauma memory.

Not your reality today.

9. You’re Not Going Back — You’re Rebuilding

If you’re tired, overwhelmed, emotional, spacey, numb, buzzing, or confused…
good.

It means you're detoxing from someone who trained your body to live on edge.

Leaving the narcissist was step one.
Reclaiming your peace is step two.
Learning how to feel safe again is step three.

And every shaky step is proof you’re healing, not failing.

The bottom line?

You’re not supposed to feel instantly free.
You’re supposed to feel everything you never had the safety to feel before.

That’s what healing really is.

Messy.
Human.
Uncomfortable.
Powerful.
And absolutely fucking worth it.

You didn’t escape to feel nothing.
You escaped to feel everything — in your own time, in your own body, in your own life.

You’re not behind.
You’re not broken.
You’re not failing.

You’re finally safe enough to heal.

And that’s your entire new beginning.

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