When Parts of Self are Denied: Understanding Narcissism Through the Shadow
Contemplating Narcissism Through a Jungian Lens
Finding My Way to This Work
Narcissism is not a pathology of too much self-love, as it is often described, I believe it is largely a condition rooted in too little self-insight — the capacity to adequately interrogate and understand one’s own thoughts, emotions, values, shadows, and behaviors, and how these shape perception and impact others — and the lacking accountability for and integration of these things (Miller, 1981). For an even short framing: narcissism is a compulsive pattern of denying and projecting shame. Long before I had language for narcissism, I was already living inside its systemic dynamics as a scapegoat, and sometimes, the lost child.
Escaping the recurring pattern of attracting people who couldn’t reciprocate respect, accountability, or empathy — who perpetually played the victim to spare themselves due responsibility or change — has required significant excavation. I’ve had to pull incongruent beliefs, internalized roles, and inherited stories out by the roots, some of which left fragments in the self-narrative I still contend with, but as I continue to heal, these fragments are composted. These inauthentic narratives had quietly trained me to occupy the scapegoat or lost child positions again and again, mistaking familiarity for connection or belonging.
Through the excavation process, I’ve gained knowledge about narcissism (theoretical and practical), and learned interventions and best practices to set healthy and firm boundaries with people who use people rather than relate. It isn’t so much that I was a ‘doormat,’ though I certainly felt that way. Rather, I attracted people who were familiar (Kohut, 1977). People who fit the requirements of the program I was running. Rewriting this core relational program has made me consciously aware of the dance of narcissistic systems and has liberated me from the burden of automatically playing the counterpart for a narcissistic person.
Even still, when I sense myself nearing entanglement in someone else’s projective story, it is unsettling and discombobulating. The impulse to label the other person “a narcissist” and to tell them to fuck off is immediate. Protective parts rise quickly, ready to fight on my behalf. Yet, rather than rushing to labels or defensiveness, I am learning to listen to my somatic and psychic cues and create space before any real investment is made. I call this practice noooo, thank you. After decades of grappling with my own shadows and programs, where guilt, confusion, and responsibility once pulled me into someone else’s stuff, I now honor myself by stepping back, setting boundaries, and offering an internal nod to the protective cues my mind, body, and nervous system are shouting at me.
One of the cruel paradoxes of negotiating with a person with narcissistic traits is that overt self-advocacy by the target fuels the very dynamic we seek to escape, which is why quietly stepping back is generally the best practice (Miller, 1981). We’re all on the spectrum of narcissism, of course. Narcissism isn’t a disease but an ingredient that all humans need in order to stand up for ourselves, prioritize our needs, experience autonomy, etc. But some folks are more deeply entrenched than others and with clinically or pathologically impoverished self-insight, it is difficult if not impossible for some people to course correct to nurture, rather than destroy, relationships.
Over the years — through my own experiences with people showing clinically significant narcissistic traits, and as our culture has grown increasingly casual with diagnostic labels — I’ve become uneasy with reducing someone to the flippant, pop-culture–co-opted term ‘a narcissist.’ Not because the label might offend (that’s almost inevitable), but because person-first language fosters deeper understanding and reduces stigma. If we want people to seek help, experts and healers have to make it safer to do so — not force people into defensiveness to avoid insult or caricature. I also feel a distinct ick when social-media ‘experts’ capitalize on “the narcissist,” because the irony is hard to miss: When this work is framed through moral superiority or flattened certainty, it can replicate the very narcissistic dynamics it claims to critique. Additionally, shaming people whose entire psychological organization is structured around an aversion to shame is not only futile, it can ignite defensive escalation.
My interest in narcissism research lies in understanding the systemic nature of narcissism, reducing harm and ideally, narcissism in future generations, and validating and liberating those targeted by narcissistic abuse and dynamics. As I conceptualize narcissism, beneath the harmful behavior I imagine is a person ensnared in a relentless internal structure that renders genuine self-insight nearly impossible — and, in turn, blocks access to the regenerative experience of unconditional self-love (Kohut, 1977). For this reason, I tend to speak of people who are narcissistic, with narcissistic traits, or have narcissism rather than “a narcissist” — naming it as something a person has, not something they are.
At times, the narcissistic person in one’s life can appear malevolent. In severe cases, narcissism approaches malignancy, producing behavior that feels less human and more mechanical — as if the psyche were programmed to dominate, extract, and destroy not unlike a metastatic cancer cell. Yet for most individuals with narcissistic traits, the pattern can be better understood as a psychic program — often shaped by heredity and temperament and reinforced by environment — that makes turning inward with humility and curiosity feel like annihilation (Miller, 1981). The defense system of this psychic program itself prevents entertaining any action that could corrupt the ego-defense program.
Over time, the narcissistic patterns become so rehearsed and defended that attempts by others to appeal to empathy, insight, or relational repair collapse before they begin.
When my nervous system is regulated enough, compassion for the muse that personally inspires me to understand narcissism can arise — not as an obligation or out of guilt, but as wholehearted softening to the complexity of her story. I imagine my muse as a child doing what was necessary to survive emotionally and psychologically in a family system that could not tolerate her authentic self. The lens widens to include heredity and temperament, yes, but also the ways narcissistic traits were rewarded, required, reinforced for ego preservation, and as protecting a narcissistic parent from their own shame, all at the cost of the child’s integrated and whole self. My heart aches for that little child who did not have the development, skill, or power to construct an alternative, more integrated route to adulthood.
Of course, there are absolutely times when this level of calm and compassion are impossible because I am still in some degree of relationship with my muse. When the edges of trauma inherent in this relationship become inflamed, I experience PTSD symptoms (physical, emotional, and psychic). Regardless of how deep and vast my exploration is on this subject, at the center of it is my inner child who once bore enormous weight for an entire system unwilling to contend with their respective shadows. With distance and time, I heal and regulate. When there is an influx of engagement and subsequent behaviors or patterns such as invalidation, gaslighting, intermittent reinforcement, power asymmetry (and its oh so lovely smear and triangulation tactics) — or even the mere hint of these things, my nervous system reacts as though the threat is imminent. This is why some people in relationship with folks with high narcissistic traits decide that very limited or no contact is the safest and most sane option given the circumstances.
As much as I wish it weren’t the case, I serve as a container for my muse’s shame and disowned qualities, maybe in perpetuity. The story she tells of me, is little more than the reflection of her projected shadow. While I do not blame her (because blame keeps us entangled), I do hold the adult version of her accountable for the damage she has caused with no effort to repair and current behaviors that are harmful. Though I must do this quietly and from a distance as she would not tolerate my vocalizing such a thing. Thus far, she has demonstrated a compulsive inability — more than an unwillingness — to engage in responsibility, accountability, or repair (Pressman & Pressman, 1994). She cannot recognize me as a safe person who could support her healing, because she cannot actually see me. She needs me (and other scapegoats in her life) to be “the problem” because her ego cannot handle the reckoning of accountability or humility.
What brings me some peace in an otherwise heart-wrenching situation, is understanding most narcissism (non-malignant) as a spectrum disorder of impoverished self-insight and shadow projection, not of conscious malicious intent (Pincus & Lukowitsky, 2010). We all have bouts of limited self-insight and projection. What makes narcissism clinically or pathologically significant is not the presence of heightened self-focus or defensiveness alone, but the rigidity and resilience of these mechanisms, and the injuries they cause to those in their close orbit. Here, C.G. Jung becomes a vital guide, offering a language spacious enough to hold both harm and humanity (Jung, 1968/1980). This framework does not offer redemption (though I wish it could) — as the narcissistic mechanism actively resists it — but it does render the disorder intelligible to others.
Refusing the Shadow
Jung understood the psyche as a system constantly negotiating what is acceptable and unacceptable — internally, relationally, and culturally. The shadow is composed of traits, impulses, emotions, and needs once deemed unsafe, unlovable, or forbidden. These parts do not disappear. They are exiled. And what is exiled requires defending (protecting) to keep it divorced (safe) from the self (Schwartz, 1995).
Jung was clear that the shadow is morally neutral. It contains aggression, envy, selfishness, shame, and dependency — but also vitality, creativity, tenderness, and power. The shadow becomes harmful to the self (and others) only when it is denied (Jung, 1968/1980).
From this perspective, narcissism can be understood as a defensive structure designed to prevent conscious contact with the shadow. The narcissistic personality does not lack a shadow — it is actually dominated by it, precisely because the shadow cannot be acknowledged. Life becomes about feverishly denying the parts of the self that can not be reconciled with the preferred false self. Where integration would require humility, grief, and accountability, narcissism substitutes denial, inflation, and projection (Kohut, 1977).
Narcissism: Defending Against the Shadow
In Jungian terms, narcissism reflects a rigid overidentification with the ego-ideal — the image one must perform in order to remain lovable, worthy, and powerful. This idealized self is often polished, superior, righteous, self-sufficient, and exceptional. Everything that contradicts this image — needs, shame, vulnerability, dependence, envy, apology, imperfection, fear — is relegated to the shadow (Jung, 1968/1980).
Because the shadow remains unconscious, it cannot be owned. Instead, it is projected. Jung understood projection as one of the psyche’s primary strategies for avoiding inner conflict. What cannot be tolerated internally is perceived externally — often exaggerated, distorted, and attacked (Jung, 1968/1980).
Thus, narcissism is sustained through projection. Dependency is disowned and perceived as neediness in others. Shame is disowned and experienced as defectiveness elsewhere. Aggression is disowned and reframed as victimhood. Self-doubt is disowned and projected as incompetence or weakness. This process is not typically conscious manipulation — though it certainly feels that way for the target of the projection. It is more so an unconscious attempt at psychic survival with collateral damage to those around them.
Grandiosity as Compensation, Not Confidence
Jung differentiated true selfhood from ego inflation. Confidence emerges from integration. Narcissistic grandiosity emerges from fragmentation. The louder the self-praise — or the hunger for admiration — the more precarious the internal structure tends to be (Jung, 1968/1980).
From this view, narcissism compensates for an ego that cannot metabolize failure, limitation, or relational accountability. The narcissistic persona becomes armor — impressive, convincing, and hollow. This pattern often originates in narcissistic family systems, where children are not permitted to develop full selves but are recruited instead to stabilize a parent’s fragile ego (Miller, 1981). In such systems, authenticity threatens survival, emotional truth is dangerous, and the shadow is not explored — it is punished.
Children adapt accordingly. Some disappear into self-erasure like the lost child, others identify with the narcissistic defense itself, and many fall somewhere along the continuum between these poles. All adaptive responses in children from narcissistic family systems reflect environments that could not nurture wholeness and that likely perpetuate intergenerational patterns of narcissistic behavior (Pressman & Pressman, 1994). In this way, the family and narcissism become synonymous and those who grow up in this system, attracting familiar (likely toxic) people out in the world is a very hard pattern to break.
The Narcissistic Wound — A Jungian Reframe
Though Jung did not speak of “narcissistic injury” in contemporary terms, he described what occurs when the ego must split from large portions of the psyche to survive. When contradiction cannot be tolerated — I am both strong and afraid, capable and limited, loving and angry — the ego becomes brittle (Jung, 1968/1980). In narcissism, the ego clings desperately to the favored side of the polarity and wages war against the other. This dynamic helps explain why shame is so intolerable: Threats to the ego-ideal can feel catastrophic, risking the collapse of the self’s carefully maintained structure and flooding consciousness with disowned shadow material. Rage, blame, stonewalling, and domination are not expressions of power here — they are emergency exits triggered when the fragile ego perceives danger (Kohut, 1977).
The Limits of Healing in Narcissistic Structures
Any genuine engagement with narcissism must face a difficult truth: Not every well-established psyche is equipped for transformation.
From a Jungian perspective, healing requires a sturdy (not inflated) ego, curiosity, and the capacity to tolerate psychic tension. Narcissistic structures are defined by their inability to hold such tension. Where growth requires self-reflection, narcissism defaults to ego-protection.
Several limitations consistently constrain healing:
The absence of self-insight. Introspection threatens exposure to shame, grief, and dependency — affects experienced as annihilating rather than informative (Kohut, 1977).
The intolerance of shame. Even mild (or perceived) critique can provoke collapse, rage, or retaliation.
The collapse of accountability into humiliation. Responsibility becomes equated with worthlessness.
The inability to recognize others as separate beings. Others are unconsciously experienced as extensions, mirrors, or threats, undermining mutuality.
The problem of motivation. Narcissistic defenses are often ego-syntonic — meaning they feel familiar, necessary, and justified from the inside.
When growth does occur, it is often partial, fragile, and primarily behavioral rather than fundemental. Insight may remain intellectual rather than fully embodied. Behavioral changes can appear without genuine accountability, and progress may unravel under pressure. These limits reflect the architecture of the psyche, not a failure of morality. Recognizing this allows those trying to support a narcissistic loved one to release the hope that being clear, compassionate, or enduring abuse or mistreatment will reliably contribute to positive or lasting change (Miller, 1981).
Shadow Integration — and Its Threshold
Jung believed that “[o]ne does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.” Shadow integration does not mean indulging destructive impulses; it means reclaiming responsibility for one’s inner life, fears, and shame. It is in exploring the shadow that we can understand the sacred wound that is causing patterned suffering in our lives and seeks to be transformed.
For narcissistic patterns to soften, several capacities must emerge: acknowledging dependency without humiliation, experiencing shame without annihilation, allowing others’ subjectivity, accepting limitation without collapse, and holding guilt alongside worth (Jung, 1968/1980; Kohut, 1977). This is not a moral undertaking, it is a developmental one. Working with narcissistic patterns or the shadow isn’t about being “good” or “bad,” or judging oneself or others morally. Instead, it’s about growth and psychological development — learning new ways of relating to oneself and the world.
An Argument for Self-FULL-ness
From a Jungian perspective, the opposite of narcissism is not selflessness — it is wholeness. Self-full-ness, another way to conceptualize wholeness, can be understood as a state of being that honors the fullness of one’s internal world: A balance of self-regard and regard for others, care and compassion for oneself, care and compassion for others with no reward, and the capacity to relate authentically without overextension or depletion. It is not selfishness, which assumes scarcity in the world and takes at others’ expense, nor is it selflessness, which assumes internal insufficiency and neglects one’s own needs — it is a cultivated equilibrium of self and other.
Self-full-ness mirrors Jung’s invitation to individuation: The lifelong process of becoming an integrated — beautifully complicated and messy — whole self rather than a perfected or idealized one. This process asks us to relinquish fantasies of superiority or perfection, tolerate complexity, and acknowledge all aspects of the self — including the parts previously exiled in order to survive relational pressures. It asks for the courage to hold vulnerability, limitation, shame, worthiness, and strength simultaneously.
When narcissism is present, it is not a reflection of “too much self-love” but of a psyche that was never permitted to develop full self-regard and thus failed to learn how to cultivate self-insight, work with shame as a tool for behavioral correction in relationships, or feel at home in humility and celebrating others’ wins. Cultivating self-full-ness allows for the conscious integration of the shadow: The disowned parts of ourselves that wait patiently, not to destroy us, but to be recognized, named, and woven back into the living fabric of a whole, resilient self (Jung, 1968/1980; Kohut, 1977).
References Jung, C. G. (1980). The archetypes and the collective unconscious (2nd ed., R. F. C. Hull, Trans.). Princeton University Press. (Original work published 1968)
Kohut, H. (1977). The restoration of the self. International Universities Press.
Kohut, H. (1971). The analysis of the self: A systematic approach to the psychoanalytic treatment of narcissistic personality disorders. International Universities Press.
Miller, A. (1981). The drama of the gifted child: The search for the true self. Basic Books.
Pincus, A. L., & Lukowitsky, M. R. (2010). Pathological narcissism and narcissistic personality disorder. Annual Review of Clinical Psychology, 6(1), 421–446.
Pressman, R., & Pressman, J. (1994). Children of the self-absorbed: A guide to surviving parental narcissism. Berkley Publishing Group.
Schwartz, R. C. (1995). Internal family systems therapy. Guilford Press.