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This armour is paraded as strength, boundaries, independence, emotional distance. Yet, when practiced for too long, it becomes isolation, however healthy boundaries and independence can be. The codependent, who once measured love by how much they gave, now measures safety by how little they need. The empathy they once showed hides under a cloud of resentment. They stop listening, start to generalize. Every relationship is “toxic,” every disagreement feels like abuse and imperfections in others, judged. It is a pure defense mechanism but it mimics the abuse they went through at the hands of the narcissist. I will not be wrong, vulnerable or made to feel small, is their motto.

I often see this in therapy. A client proudly declares that they have gone “no contact” with everyone who has disappointed them. (At this point, it must be said that no contact with a toxic ex partner is recommended). They go forward with conviction but mostly that conviction is down to exhaustion and mistrust. It is avoidance instead of healing. They see boundaries as control when they should be about self-awareness. When a codependent says “I am done with people”, what they really mean is “I don’t know how to feel safe around people”.

The wounded codependent who takes on some narcissistic traits is not displaying arrogance. They are protecting themselves after years of being unseen. They want to be validated for this new “them” and they crave recognition, even admiration. They want to be validated and respected. They adopt the language and concepts of self-love but it is often just a shield “I’m choosing myself” might sound healthy in theory but it can mask avoidance and superiority. The line between self-respect and self-righteousness can be a thin line to tread.

The narcissist and the codependent share the same wound. That is a very fragile sense of Self built solely around external validation. The difference lies in how they obtain it. The narcissist demands admiration to fill the void, the codependent earns it through caretaking. Both depend on others to fulfill that role. When the codependent stops giving and starts demanding, the tactics change, but the dependency remains. They are still defining themselves in opposition to others—still trying to control connection rather than experience it.

There is often an epiphany in therapy when a recovering codependent realises how much they have started to manipulate. Things like withholding affection to test loyalty, using silence to punish. They justify their detachment as self-care and behave in the way that they once cried over. The difference between them and the narcissist is intention. Codependents believe their pain justifies their new behaviour. Victimhood for the codependent has suddenly become a power.

This is why the resentment often felt by codependents is so dangerous. It convinces you that you are entitled to behave how you wish because of what you have endured. “Everything I’ve endured entitles me to put myself first”, is often the motto. But putting yourself first, should mean learning self-trust, not creating a situation that x your pain absolves you from empathy and responsibility. When that happens, the pendulum has swung too far, you have started reacting instead of relating.

Every choice of defense mechanism carries a cost. When you shut people out to avoid being hurt, you also shut out the possibility of love. When you control to feel safe, connection is suffocated. When you judge others to protect you from looking at yourself, you stifle intimacy. What felt initially like strength, becomes rigidity. What once looked like clarity, now looks like arrogance. Healing is replaced by justification.

The most painful part is realizing you have internalized your abuser’s logic and thinking. You catch yourself saying the things they once said to you, sometimes to yourself. You use emotional reasoning to get your way and you hear their tone in your voice. That realization might bring shame, but also opportunities. It is the moment that self-awareness becomes alive again. You cannot heal what you refuse to see.

Real recovery and growth means realizing that you must hold two truths at once. You were a victim but you and only you are responsible for what you do with that experience. You were abused, but you are accountable for not continuing its patterns. You don’t owe forgiveness but you also don’t get to weaponize your healing. Recovery is not about rejecting vulnerability, it’s about learning how to use it wisely and appropriately.

Healing from codependency is not about becoming the opposite of what you were. It’s about integration. You don’t have to stop caring, you have to learn to care without losing yourself. You don’t have to stop giving, you have to give with boundaries, not expectation. You don’t have to stop trusting, you have to trust slowly, consciously, with discernment. These are not traits of the narcissist, they are signs of emotional adulthood and maturity. When you find yourself saying “I’m not like them”, pause and think. This might be a clue that you are seeking superiority. An echo of the narcissist’s need to be special. Real healing doesn’t do comparison. It is content with wholeness, not power.

Eventually, healing for the codependent means learning that softness is not weakness and boundaries don’t need to be walls. They learn that it is ok to be open without being naive and assertive without being cruel, independent without being distant or unreachable. They stop fighting the narcissist in their head and use that energy to nurture the parts of them that want to connect.

If you recognize yourself in this, it’s not cause for shame—it’s cause for compassion. It means you’ve survived something that distorted your sense of safety and taught you to protect yourself in the only way you knew how. The task now is to let go of survival and move into living. To stop mirroring what hurt you, and to start becoming what heals you.

The goal is not to never resemble the narcissist again. The goal is to notice when you do and gently return to yourself. Awareness is the turning point; humility is the cure. Healing doesn’t make you perfect. It makes you honest. And honesty, especially the kind that admits when you’ve strayed into the territory of what once harmed you, is the deepest form of strength there is.