Covert vs. Overt Narcissistic Abuse: A Personal Look at My 30 Years with an Overt Narcissist

Living with a narcissist for 30 years has taught me the stark contrast between covert and overt narcissistic abuse. While covert narcissism is more subtle and manipulative, overt narcissism is loud, demanding, and exhausting in ways I never anticipated. My experience with overt narcissistic abuse was relentless, wearing me down emotionally, mentally, and physically as I played the role of the doting wife, pretending that everything was fine when it was far from it.

When I look back on my 30 years of marriage to an overt narcissist, the first thing that comes to mind is exhaustion. The constant energy it took to maintain the facade of the perfect marriage, the perfect wife, the perfect life. But there was nothing perfect about it. The constant craving for attention, the manipulation, the devaluation — it was all a never-ending cycle.

My ex was a classic overt narcissist. He craved attention in everything he did, always needing to be the center of the universe. And me? Well, I played my role. I was the supportive wife, always smiling, always praising him, always acting like I was fine when deep down I was dying inside. I could rarely have a moment to myself. While he thrived on attention, I just wanted to hide in a corner, find a quiet space where I could breathe. But I couldn’t. I had to manage the perceptions of him — and me — constantly. Everyone around us saw how obnoxious he was, but I had to pretend like it was normal, like I was happy with it.

What made it even more exhausting was that I wasn’t just managing him in social situations — I was managing my own feelings. And it was all for his ego. He needed to be the best in every room, the loudest in every conversation, the one who got all the admiration. I couldn’t let anyone see how ridiculous it was, how it made me feel small and invisible. Instead, I played the doting wife, pretending it didn’t bother me, acting like I was comfortable with his behavior when all I wanted was peace.

Even when it came to sex, it was no different. He was a somatic narcissist — his physical appearance and sexual prowess were just extensions of his need for admiration. He didn’t just want my attention; he craved the attention of other women too. And I found myself caught in a web of manipulation. Sex became a tool for him, a weapon he used to control me. He would push me into sexual situations that felt utterly degrading — things I wasn’t comfortable with but felt forced to go along with. Why? Because I had this deep, subconscious belief that as his wife, it was my job to please him. I felt like I had to do whatever it took to make him happy, even when it crushed my self-worth.

The more it went on, the more I felt like an object — like I was there just to feed his ego, to fulfill his needs. I felt demoralized, devalued, like I was nothing more than a tool to prop up his sense of superiority. But I didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t know how to set boundaries because saying no was never accepted. I was manipulated into believing that my discomfort wasn’t important, that what he wanted should be all that mattered.

In order to survive, I developed a coping mechanism — denial. I had to convince myself that everything was fine, that I was just being a good wife, that this was normal. The truth was too hard to face, so I buried it. I buried my feelings, my needs, my desires — everything that made me who I was. I became so disconnected from myself that I didn’t even recognize the woman I had become.

It wasn’t just the public humiliation or the way he treated me in private — it was the constant emotional whiplash, the way I was constantly pushed to the edge and forced to play along with his ever-growing sense of entitlement. I had no room to breathe, no room to exist outside of his needs. And the worst part? I didn’t even realize it was abuse at the time. It just felt like I had to keep up with his demands or risk losing his love — or at least the image of love he allowed me to see.

Living with an overt narcissist is like being trapped in a world where you’re never enough, no matter how much you give. The more you give, the more they take, and the more you lose yourself in the process. It took me years to recognize that what I was enduring wasn’t love — it was control. It wasn’t a partnership; it was manipulation.

Healing has been a long journey, but the one thing I’ve learned is that I deserve more than being anyone’s pawn. I deserve peace, I deserve self-respect, and most importantly, I deserve to be seen as more than just an object to fulfill someone else’s needs.

If you’re reading this and you feel like you’re living in the same cycle, know that you’re not alone. It’s not your fault, and you don’t have to keep pretending that everything is okay. You deserve to live your truth, to reclaim your voice, and to honor your worth. You don’t have to keep denying your reality to survive. Healing is possible, and it starts with acknowledging that you deserve so much more. And as a therapist, my mission is to teach people how to get there.