The Cost of Silence — When an Empath Learns to Ignore

When your mother is a narcissist who lives as the eternal martyr, survival becomes an art form. For some daughters, it means endless appeasement — trying to soothe her storms, to win her love through understanding.
But for me, it meant silence.

I learned early that no matter what I said, she would twist it. My truth became her weapon, my emotions her stage. So, I stopped giving her anything real. I told her what she wanted to hear, nodded in the right places, and became a reflection she could tolerate. It was easier that way — safer.

But it wasn’t me.

While she spun stories of her suffering, blaming my father for the life she chose, I stood at a distance, numb. I knew better than to challenge her version of reality. To do so was to invite chaos, guilt, and tears that never ended. So, I built walls inside myself — high, quiet, and strong.

People think empaths can’t turn off their feelings, but we can. We just pay for it later.

I taught myself how to not feel when she spoke, how to nod without absorbing, how to look like I cared without truly being there. That was the only way to keep my peace. But every lie — every “you’re right, Mom,” every false smile — left a small fracture inside me. A crack in the part of me that needs honesty to breathe.

Now, as an adult, I understand: I didn’t betray her — I betrayed me.

I betrayed the very core of who I am.

And I’m finally learning how to come home to the parts of myself I silenced to stay sane.

Healing, for me, isn’t about forgiving her stories. It’s about forgiving myself for the silence that saved me.