Beyond the Labels

How the relationship frameworks meant to free us can also keep us trapped

A Glimpse Behind the Mask

I first came across the term narcissism in a real, visceral way after the end of a particularly intense relationship several years ago, just before the world changed with the pandemic. At the time, I was with someone who often spoke about her past relationships as though she had been repeatedly victimized. In the beginning, she showered me with affection and attention in a way that felt both exhilarating and disorienting — a whirlwind of connection that swept me off my feet. I had no concept of love bombing then; it felt like the kind of passion that people write songs and poems about, and I fell into it, headfirst.

But over time, the dynamic shifted. The warmth and intensity that once felt like love began to feel more like a trap. My partner would swing between adoration and criticism, and I found myself walking on eggshells, trying to keep the peace, rationalizing her behavior as the ups and downs of any relationship. It wasn’t until the relationship abruptly ended — and I stumbled across material online and a book that described these exact patterns — that the pieces began to fall into place.

It was as though a veil had been lifted. Terms like idealization, devaluation, and discard started to make sense, and I could finally see the cycle for what it was. I realized that what I had dismissed as normal relational turbulence was actually a pattern of manipulation — one that echoed through my childhood experiences, making it feel oddly familiar and strangely acceptable.

Looking back, it’s clear that understanding these dynamics was only the beginning. Recognizing the cycle brought a sense of clarity, but it also came with a sobering realization: that without discernment, the very tools that help us name toxic patterns can also become lenses that distort reality. And that’s where the real work began — not in diagnosing others but in reclaiming my own perspective, so that I could see more clearly what was actually happening.

The Double-Edged Sword of Awareness

Once I started to see the patterns, I did what most people do — I went online. On YouTube and Instagram, I found countless videos and posts about narcissism, attachment styles, and toxic relationship dynamics. The content was polished, the language concise, the information bite-sized and easy to digest. It felt like a revelation. Suddenly, there was a name for what I had experienced. Words like gaslighting, trauma bonding, and love bombing became part of my vocabulary.

But here’s the thing: while those neatly packaged Instagram tiles and YouTube soundbites can be a powerful first step toward self-understanding, they’re also a double-edged sword. The problem isn’t that the information is wrong; it’s that it’s incomplete. It’s like trying to understand an entire landscape by looking at a handful of snapshots. You can grasp pieces of the picture, but without the wider context, you’re left with an oversimplified and often distorted view of reality.

In my case, I didn’t just stop at social media. I spent time immersing myself in books about narcissism, attachment theory, and personality disorders. I took a course to become certified in narcissistic abuse recovery coaching, diving into the nuances that the online content often misses. And what I discovered was that the truth is rarely black and white.

When I reflect back on that relationship, it’s tempting to label my ex as a textbook narcissist. But that’s too simplistic. Yes, she exhibited the identified traits — behaviors like love bombing, idealization, and sudden emotional withdrawal. But she also admitted, in some of our deeper conversations, to struggling with dismissive avoidant attachment. It wasn’t just one framework that explained her behavior; it was a combination of many.

And that’s where the danger lies. The very frameworks that can help us understand unhealthy dynamics can also become weapons of projection, labeling people as narcissists, psychopaths, or soulmates without accounting for the nuances and complexities of human behavior. When we latch onto these frameworks as ultimate truths rather than useful tools, we risk turning them into blunt instruments — hammers that make everything look like a nail.

If all you’re holding is a hammer, everyone starts to look like a nail — but not everything needs fixing. Image by freepik

Lens, Not the Landscape

Once I began to grasp these frameworks — narcissism, attachment styles, toxic dynamics — it was like discovering a new set of lenses through which to view my past. Suddenly, every behavior, every interaction, every emotional high and low had a potential explanation. I could see this play out in prior relationships and work situations as well. It was validating. But it was also seductive in its simplicity.

The danger is that once we find a framework that resonates, we can become overly reliant on it, almost as if it’s the sole lens through which we view the world. I know I did. In the aftermath of that breakup, I found myself scanning every interaction for signs of narcissism, dismissive avoidance, trauma bonding. And yes, those patterns were undeniably present — but so were a thousand other nuances that the frameworks couldn’t capture.

But discernment is only part of the picture. The more I explored these frameworks, the more I realized that they’re not about applying cookie-cutter red flags to people but about developing a more nuanced, personal heuristic — a kind of inner algorithm that helps us navigate interactions with greater clarity.

Rather than focusing solely on evaluating the behavior of others, it’s more empowering to observe where those behaviors infringe upon our own boundaries, and in some cases, on the boundaries of others. That’s where the real work lies:

• Understanding what our boundaries are, why they matter, and how to communicate them clearly — rather than expecting others to intuitively know them.

• Recognizing the signs of walking on eggshells or being gaslit as key indicators that manipulation may be present.

• Shifting from labeling to observing and contextualizing, so we don’t see the world through a single lens but rather move through it with greater discernment and self-awareness.

In this way, the frameworks become less about looking outward for signs of danger and more about cultivating an inner compass that keeps us grounded, centered, and empowered.

Returning to the Self

In the end, the real work wasn’t about identifying narcissists or labeling my ex’s behavior. It was about turning the lens back on myself.

What finally brought me some clarity wasn’t another Instagram post or YouTube video. It was the realization that if I kept focusing on other people’s patterns, I’d never see my own. If I kept looking for narcissists, I’d miss the fact that I was still walking on eggshells, still seeking validation from unavailable people, still replaying old scripts from childhood.

Those were harder questions. But they were transformative. Because once I began to see my own patterns, the landscape started to shift. The red flags were no longer signs of someone else’s pathology but clues to my own blind spots, my own unresolved wounds, my own unmet needs.

Because at the end of the day, the most powerful transformation doesn’t come from seeing someone else more clearly. It comes from seeing ourselves with radical honesty, gentleness, and discernment — not as the victim, not as the hero, but as someone willing to look beyond the labels and into the raw, unvarnished truth.

The Mirror and the Magnifying Glass

So, where do we go from here?

Maybe the real work isn’t about spotting red flags or labeling others as toxic, narcissistic, or avoidant. Maybe the work is about learning to hold the magnifying glass to our own patterns, to ask why we’re drawn to certain dynamics, why we stay in certain cycles, why we overlook certain truths in the name of love or connection.

What might shift if we let go of the hammer and picked up the mirror instead?