Narcissists and their relationship with the simple act of giving - Naked truth - Chapter 41
What is behind it all
In this piece, I reflect on the complexities of giving through the eyes of a narcissist.
Martha, the character I created, is me — a woman navigating the complexities of trauma, survival, and healing. In this part of my autobiography, Naked Truth, I share the painful truths of growing up under the weight of a mother — whom I refer to as "The Ferret" — who turned everything, into a performance for her own validation. This is a classic script for narcissists.
This is the story of how I learned to reclaim my life, my joy, and my self-worth, piece by painful piece.
The tea is cold in the mug. Bhakti snores softly on Martha’s lap, and she cannot stop watching her little face—her body twitching so many times it’s almost insane. It’s amazing how animals just know that body twitching is what helps them realign their body and mind. Bhakti had been a bit under the weather, hardly sleeping for a week, but now, she’s definitely recovering.
Peace can look like this. A cold cup of tea, a warm animal on your lap, and a mind that is—just for a moment—still. The other day, a conversation with a fellow Substacker got Martha thinking about narcissists, about giving, and about the power of saying no. What is the relationship between these words?
Sometimes, three unrelated words form a perfect triangle. Sometimes, they draw blood. Mark, her invisible companion, whispers: So, what are you going to talk about now? Your mother? Anyone else? The double-headed snake? Let’s see…
Giving, in the hands of a narcissist, becomes a weapon—a currency for favours, a tool for control. It’s never just a kind gesture. It’s a show of superiority, a projection of curated kindness, a performance of goodness.
There are many kinds of giving. There’s the kind with no strings attached—rare, but real. There’s the giving that comes from love, from tradition, from the purest place of human kindness. And then there's the kind that looks generous but is wired with unspoken rules and quiet threats.
Back in the day, giving felt natural. Someone with chickens gave eggs to a neighbour, who returned the favour with milk. Sometimes it looked like barter, but often, it was simply that—pure, heartfelt kindness. Nothing more. No secret scoreboard. No expectation of a performance.
But narcissists don’t give like that. They can’t. Because giving, to them, is not about connection—it’s about leverage.
I remember how the Ferret used to try and befriend my friends. I’ve always had older friends—some were my friends’ grandmothers or aunts, some were teachers who became mentors. I was drawn to wisdom, warmth, safety. And somehow, she always inserted herself.
The Ferret would go out of her way to impress them, to show warmth and generosity. She wanted to be liked, to be seen as open and kind—but it was always about control.
She loved sending them jars of homemade jam, pickles, sweets—whenever I was about to visit them. At first, it seemed thoughtful. But it never lasted. Eventually, jealousy would creep in. She would start calling them directly, fishing for information about me, trying to manipulate how they saw me. I had to start hiding. I stopped telling her when I visited them mostly because she was falling out of love with them and ended up forbidding me to see them. I stopped sharing.
I learned to go quiet.
That’s when I realised how my oversharing had been weaponised. At just the right moments. Being vulnerable in front of her—and in front of any narcissist—is never a good idea.
And yet, I kept doing it. We keep doing it.
Daughters of narcissistic mothers are heartbreakingly perseverant. We keep trying to please. To fix. To be enough. To earn love that was supposed to be given freely.
The gifts? Just her way in. Because narcissists are desperate for control. Always.Food or favours—these are powerful tells when you're in the presence of a narcissist. If you pay attention, it won’t take long to notice that their giving always comes with strings attached.
There’s an insidious quality to their kindness. It can feel genuine—because on the surface, it often is. But beneath it lies a silent contract: Stay in line. Obey. Be uncomfortable, but keep your mouth shut. Smile, because I’ve shown you kindness.
Every act of giving becomes a leash. Everything comes with an attachment.
They can’t help themselves. It's how they survive.
It’s how they win.
But somewhere along the way, Martha started to see through it.
Not all at once. Just in flickers. A sense. A feeling in her chest. A tightening in her throat when someone gave her something with that same invisible thread attached.
She started to ask herself:
What does real giving feel like? Am I uncomfortable now? Why? Does it feel familiar?
And little by little, she began to remember.
There was a time when her English teacher—who later became her mentor and dear friend—handed her a book. A woman with fierce, almond-shaped eyes and a quiet fire in her voice, she gave Martha And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie. Not for her birthday. Not as a reward. Just because she saw something in her. She saw the hunger in Martha’s belly—the thirst to learn, to stretch, to understand more than the world had offered her.
“Read,” she said simply.
That book is still sacred to Martha. Sacred. A quiet talisman from a time when someone believed in her, without asking for anything in return.Or the neighbour who saw her on the staircase—Martha, standing there with a suitcase and eyes full of fear and pain. The woman said nothing, just gently took her into her apartment, made her a coffee, and listened as the terrible story unfolded.
The Ferret—already descending into a silent craze after a stroke—had suddenly lashed out. Despite her frail frame, the illness seemed to grant her the strength of a giant. She placed her hand around Martha’s neck and shoved her against the door.
In that moment, Martha truly believed it might be her last.
Then, with one final burst of rage, the Ferret pushed her out and slammed the door shut. Martha’s suitcase remained behind. Seconds later, it came flying out too—shoved with such force that it landed at her feet like an afterthought.
No words.
Those moments came back to her like whispers. They felt like clean water. Like air. Mark, ever curious, nudged again:
And what about saying no, Martha? How does that fit in?
Saying no had once felt like betrayal. Betrayal of her mother. Of the role she thought she had to play. The good girl. The diplomat. The peacemaker.
But now—now it was becoming something else. A boundary. A blessing. A brave act of self-trust. Because no is also a gift. A gift to yourself.
A way of saying: I am not a puppet. I am not a pawn. I get to choose what comes into my life, and what stays out.
And as Martha began to say it—softly, then more firmly—something shifted.
The power dynamic started to break.
No, I’m not available. No, I don’t want that. No, I’m not comfortable sharing this.
No, you don’t get to guilt me with your generosity. No, not because I don’t love.
But because I do. Because I love myself enough to stop the transaction before it even starts.
No because I don;’t want to play the price of a yes.
Until next time, be well!
🌟 Thank You for Being Here
Your support is more than a coffee — it’s a spark of encouragement, a reminder that creativity heals, and a shared belief in the power of starting again.
Every kind gesture helps me continue writing, painting, and offering trauma recovery coaching to women on their healing journeys. I’m deeply grateful you’re part of this soulful path.
💖 Ways to Support My Work & Mission
📬 Subscribe to my newsletter:
Soul to Soul Stories – creative reflections and healing inspiration straight to your inbox.
🖼️ Buy my artwork:
Fine Art America | Redbubble
📚 Explore my journals & workbooks:
Available on Amazon
🎁 Buy Me a Coffee – plus explore downloadable digital tools & coaching options:
Support here
🎨 Learn how to create simple banners in Canva:
Free tutorial
📺 Subscribe to my YouTube:
Straight talk
🌀 Work with me – Trauma Recovery & Confidence Coaching:
Explore the Straight Talk™ 1:1 Coaching Journey or read more About Me.
💌 Share this newsletter with someone who needs hope, healing, or a reminder of their creative power.
🙏 With heartfelt thanks,
May your days be filled with calm, clarity, and courage to write your next chapter.Soul to soul stories is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
This really resonated with me 💖🫂
Horrendous. I’m really sorry you’ve had to live through such pain, Karina 💛