Steven LaChance Blog

If you’ve ever found yourself drawn into the orbit of a narcissist, you know the dizzying contradiction they embody: one minute, they’re warm, attentive, and seemingly all in; the next, they’re cold, cruel, and impossibly detached. It’s as if you’re dealing with two distinct people—a light and a dark—when in reality, it’s the same person, simply wearing a mask.

There’s no split personality here. No internal battle between good and evil. Instead, the kind, generous face they show is nothing more than a well-practiced performance—a role meticulously crafted to serve their needs. Unlike the tale of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, where one side struggles against the other, the narcissist’s cruelty isn’t a hidden aberration; it’s their true nature. The moments of tenderness? They’re just part of the act.

What makes them so effective is their uncanny ability to convince you that the warmth is real, that the affection you feel is genuine. They lead you to believe that the darker behavior is just an off day, a temporary lapse. When the manipulation or coldness appears, it isn’t the result of a lost battle—it’s simply who they are. The kindness you experienced was all part of the show.

Narcissists are expert actors. They observe you with unsettling precision, quickly learning what makes you feel secure, what you fear, and what you need to hear. They reflect back a version of themselves that feels safe and familiar, making you more willing to believe in their constructed reality. And when the performance ends—when the mask finally slips—it can feel like the entire ground shifts beneath you. But nothing has changed; the person behind the act was always the same.

That’s why the fall of the mask is so jarring. When the charm evaporates and the warmth vanishes, the person you thought you knew turns unrecognizable. It might feel as though something has gone terribly wrong, but in truth, time has simply stripped away the illusion to reveal what was always there.

And here’s the hardest truth to swallow: you didn’t cause this shift. You didn’t fail to love them enough, nor did you trigger any change. The only “mistake” was falling for a performance—a mistake that speaks volumes about your capacity for trust and hope.

Recognizing this can be painful, but it’s also liberating. Once you understand that the persona was never real, you can stop searching for the person they pretended to be. You no longer need to hold out for a return to that initial, deceptive charm.

Because, in the end, that person never existed.

The most powerful step you can take is to walk away. Let them put on their act for someone else. You owe it to yourself to leave the audience.