In Episode 3 of Unseen but Not Untold: Overcoming Covert Narcissistic Abuse, Dr. Christine C. Zacharia, MD, integrative covert narcissistic abuse recovery expert and board certified endocrinologist, exposes how covert narcissistic abuse often starts in childhood or one's formative years.
Upbringing in a Narcissistic Family System
Dr. Zacharia begins the episode by sharing a deeply personal realization — that she was raised by narcissists and that her father, in particular, is a covert narcissist.
“That truth wasn’t easy for me to accept at first. In fact, I stayed in denial about it until about six months ago. I didn’t want to believe that the father that raised me was a covert narcissist.”
Despite that resistance, she reflects that the signs were always present and this realization finally brought clarity to a lifelong internal question she had carried.
"What did I do to make my father resent me so much?”
She comes to a central conclusion that reshaped her entire understanding of her upbringing.
“The answer… nothing. It was never about what I did. It was about what I embodied.”
Dr. Zacharia describes a painful awareness that her father recognized something in her that he could not accept or nurture.
“I’ve come to realize now that he saw a light in me that he didn’t like — he knew I was different. But instead of nurturing what he saw, he tried to extinguish it.”
She contrasts the public perception of her father with her private lived experience, noting the disconnect between his external image and internal reality.
"On paper, he looked like the ideal father —attentive, intelligent, educated, open-minded and generous. The kind of man people praised, admired and trusted. But behind closed doors…he was emotionally abusive toward me."
She recalls how the abuse began subtly through repeated labels and dismissive comments that shaped her self-perception over time.
“It started with little comments like calling me hyperactive… impulsive. Yes, I was an energetic kid — most children are—yet he kept calling me ‘hyperactive’ well into my 40s.”
She describes how her curiosity was consistently invalidated and punished.
“I would hear, ‘Stop asking stupid questions,’ or ‘Stop saying dumb things,’ sometimes accompanied by a slap to the back of my head. Eventually, I stopped asking questions… And when I did, I was met with, ‘What kind of question is that? You should already know the answer to that.’”
She reflects that both parents contributed to the suppression of her curiosity.
“Instead of simply answering, my curiosity was ridiculed — not just by my father, but by my mother as well.”
She then explains the psychological pattern underlying this behavior.
“That’s the thing with narcissists: questions are threats. If they know the answer, they use it to put you down. If they don’t know the answer, they shame you for even asking.”
Dr. Zacharia describes how this dynamic becomes a tool for control and diminishment.
“Your questions become an opportunity for them to diminish you, to make you feel small — because in some way, you make them feel small. It all traces back to the same place every time: a fragile, easily threatened ego.”
She explains the long-term impact of growing up in such an environment.
“And when you grow up in an environment like that, it shapes you. It trains you. By the time you reach adulthood, you’ve already learned to silence yourself. You hesitate to ask questions. And when you do question something, you shrink — automatically, instinctively — just to protect yourself.”
Dr. Zacharia discusses how this affects survivors in their adult years, serving as a magnetizing pull for other narcissists to enter their lives as well.
“That kind of conditioning is the perfect breeding ground for narcissists to take hold in your life. They sense it instantly. They exploit it effortlessly. Because your silence, your shrinking, your learned self-doubt… all of it works to their advantage.”
Cognitive Dissonance: A Destabilizing Core Wound
Dr. Zacharia recalls how her father treated everyone around him with kindness, including her brother, which created a deeply confusing internal contradiction.
“He treated everyone around him with kindness. Including my brother. So naturally, the only conclusion I could draw was that I had to be the problem. And he made sure that idea took root.”
She explains that this paradox sits at the core of cognitive dissonance and is one of the reasons covert narcissistic abuse is so difficult to recognize and escape.
“That incongruency — that split — is exactly what makes covert narcissistic abuse so hard to identify, name and break free from.”
Dr. Zacharia describes how a place of doubt is where covert narcissists love to operate from. It is from this place that survivors begin to question even their own identity.
“That’s the sinister power of a covert narcissist — their abuse is quiet, precise and perfectly aimed. It doesn’t leave bruises. It leaves doubt. It makes you question your worth, your abilities, Your character and even your identity.”
She notes that when this form of abuse begins in childhood, especially from a parent, it profoundly shapes identity development long before a sense of self is fully formed.
“And when that kind of abuse starts in childhood — from a parent, someone you look up to, someone you respect — it devastates your sense of self. It shapes how you see yourself, long before you even know who you are.”
As she grew older, she observed increasingly overt emotional manipulation and psychological invalidation from her father, particularly around her aspirations.
“As I grew older and tried to carve out my own identity, my father’s resentment toward me became increasingly obvious. He regularly gaslighted my thoughts, my emotions and even my perception of reality. He deflated my dreams and insulted my character routinely.”
Dr. Zacharia reflects on how her father did not initially support her goal of becoming a physician. At first, she rationalized this resistance as concern rooted in awareness of the medical profession’s demands.
“At first, I assumed it was out of concern—concern for the long hours, the years of training, the mountain of student loan debt. As an RN, he’d seen firsthand the sacrifices doctors make and the toll it can take on their personal lives.”
One of the most defining moments she recalls occurred at a family dinner, where her father publicly ridiculed her ambitions in front of a visiting relative.
“You’ll never get into medical school. You’re not smart enough and you’re not caring enough to be a good doctor.”
She remembers breaking down at the table while her brother remained silent. Her uncle intervened, saying:
“Can’t you see what you’re saying is hurting her?”
Her father’s response?
“It’s the truth.”
She left the table overwhelmed, retreating into another room feeling diminished and invisible.
"I left the dinner table and hid in the family room. I just couldn’t take it anymore. In that moment, I felt small, unworthy, invisible — like no matter what I did, nothing I said or did would ever be enough to earn his approval."
Her uncle came to find her after and dinner. He offered her the assurance her father never gave her.
“Prove your father wrong. Get into medical school — and I’ll be there at your graduation.”
He followed through, flew back from India to attend her graduation in 2009 - a moment she describes as deeply meaningful and grounding.
Even after her academic success, she recalls a continued absence of direct affirmation from her father. When acknowledgement did come, it was restrained:
“I’m happy for you."
This was accompanied by an explanation he often used.
“I’m humble… I don’t like to use words like ‘I’m proud.’”
But even then, she says the pattern continued—success followed not by closure, but by new conditions and new benchmarks:
“Let’s see if you get through residency… through fellowship…”
Looking back, Dr. Zacharia describes this as a persistent cycle of conditional approval—where achievement never fully resolved into recognition. Instead, it maintained a state of ongoing proving.
Ultimately, she reflects on how this dynamic shaped her understanding of self-worth: not through a single moment of harm, but through years of subtle invalidation that required her to continually question whether she would ever be “enough.
"He was always testing me - keeping myself in a state of proving myself. Like nothing I did would ever be enough. That’s not humble parenting. That’s covert narcissistic abuse."
The Commitment to Misunderstanding
Dr. Zacharia takes this moment in the episode to explain how covert narcissists are committed to misunderstanding the target of their abuse.
“Here’s the thing about covert narcissists: they are committed to misunderstanding you. Your truth, your perspective, your achievements—it doesn’t matter. What matters is that their fragile ego is validated when you try to prove yourself to them. And when it’s a parent? That feeling is magnified ten fold.”
She recalls even something as simple as returning from travel abroad triggered negative reactions from her father.
“Even simple joys — like going on vacation abroad — seemed to annoy him. Whenever I returned from a trip, my mom would ask to see the photos. He didn’t want to look at them. And if he was forced, he’d sit there sighing audibly or rolling his eyes in frustration.”
Dr. Zacharia also reflects on deeply painful contradictions in how she was spoken to by her father including related to marriage.
“Even though my father wanted me to get married, he also sprinkled in at one point that I was not marriage material and I wouldn’t be a good mother."
"Such a hurtful thing to hear from your own father.”
Covert Narcissists Kick You Even Harder When You’re Already Down
The episode then shifts to a more recent period in 2024, during which Dr. Zacharia's father was hospitalized for an extended time. She spent a month by his bedside, actively involved in his care while also navigating a major transition in her own life after the painful departure from her job in academic medicine.
“My father was hospitalized for a month right after I left my job in academic medicine. I spent every day by his bedside, advocating for him when he could barely speak or move.”
As his condition improved, she describes a familiar emotional pattern resurfacing:
“As he regained his strength, so did his familiar behavior toward me. Any time I spoke with his physicians, he would sit there silently, rolling his eyes with contempt. He couldn’t bear that I was expressing my medical opinion as a fellow physician—even though I was there advocating for him. It was as if my competence, my very knowledge was a threat to him.”
One interaction, in particular, felt like salt being thrown in already open wounds Dr. Zacharia was trying to mend from the 120 days leading up to her father's hospital stay.
“Then one day, out of nowhere, he asked about one of my college friends. I updated him and without hesitation, he said, ‘She was always a strong person. You’re nothing like her.’ I felt like I had been punched in the gut. That single sentence cut deep.”
Dr. Zacharia also describes how the conversation immediately shifted toward her decision to leave academic medicine in the face of escalating malignant covert narcissistic abuse at the hands of Jessie.
“And just like that, he pivoted - he began gaslighting me about my experience with Jessie, declaring I was weak for leaving my job because of her.”
What made this especially painful for her was the context in which it occurred.
“This commentary was coming from him after I had spent back to back days at his bedside, advocating for him when he couldn’t speak, holding it together while trying to stitch myself back together after one of the most traumatic periods of my life.”
She reflects on the emotional weight of that moment:
“In that moment, all that effort, all that pain, all that exhaustion felt like nothing to him.”
Dr. Zacharia reflects on the way covert narcissistic behavior intensifies in moments of vulnerability, noting how cruelty emerges most sharply when the survivor is already feeling down or emotionally exposed.
“This is the cruelty that hides beneath the humble mask of a covert narcissist. They strike hardest when you’re most exposed, most vulnerable."
"And when you’re at your lowest—sick, exhausted or emotionally raw—they feel an even greater need to assert control. Even then, your light—the very core of your strength—shines too brightly for them. And when they are at their lowest, this need to strike hits even deeper.”
Looking back across her life, she connects these experiences to long-standing emotional wounds that shaped her sense of worth and belonging.
“Looking back on the last 43 years of my life, I now understand that my relationship with my father left a deep, invisible wound. A wound that made me feel like I had to earn love, that I had to perform to be worthy, that I was somehow flawed and that’s why he treated me the way he did."
"I literally felt like my father’s punching bag.”
Dr. Zacharia reflects on how these patterns influenced her relationships later in life.
“These deep wounds made me vulnerable to narcissistic relationships throughout my life — and it is also why I felt most ‘at home’ around covert narcissists. Without realizing it, I was trying to heal my childhood wounds through them.”
She discusses how Levi, the college friend covert narcissist, weaponized this vulnerability against her throughout their friendship.
“In fact, Levi knew about this pain I carried from my childhood and he weaponized every bit of it. He used my vulnerabilities as leverage whenever I called him out on his malignant behavior. It’s no coincidence that I was like clay in the hands of that master manipulator for twenty three years.”
Reclaiming Self-Worth After Emotional Trauma
After doing the deep work—unpacking her triggers, revisiting past trauma and facing the parts of herself she once avoided—Dr. Zacharia came to understand the following set of truths:
“You cannot prove yourself to someone who refuses to see you.”
“Your sense of worthiness cannot come from external validation. It must rise from within.”
“The only opinion of you that truly matters… is your own.”
“Independent of the number of mistakes one has or has not made in their life, no one deserves to be treated like this - especially not by their own father.”
She describes these realizations as something that did not arrive quickly or cleanly. There was no single moment of clarity or sudden emotional resolution. Instead, the process unfolded gradually through sustained inner work and repeated confrontation of painful memories and patterns.
“These revelations didn’t come quickly. They weren’t overnight breakthroughs. They took two years worth of alchemizing the pain into radical self love.”
What emerged from that process was not just understanding but a fundamental shift in how Dr. Zacharia relates to herself. The self love she describes is not performative or conditional—it is grounded, steady and no longer dependent on external approval.
“A self-love so rooted and profound that it’s now unshakable by outside forces… including my father.”
Growing Up With an Overt Narcissistic Mother: Love, Control and the Cost of Perfection
At this stage in the episode, Dr. Zacharia turns her attention to her mother. The dynamic was different from her father’s. It was not defined by emotional absence or contempt in the same way, but by a more overt presence—one shaped by control, perfectionism and a constant push and pull between support and ownership.
She begins by acknowledging the complexity of who her mother was. This was not a one-dimensional figure, but someone she both admired and struggled under.
“She wasn’t as emotionally abusive as my father, but she still affected my mental health in her own way.”
Dr. Zacharia describes her mother as charismatic and formidable in her own right.
“She was beautiful, talented and incredibly strong. She was also highly intelligent and witty. Like a cat with nine lives, my mother always bounced back from whatever setbacks life threw her.”
For much of her life, she looked up to her. Her mother’s early story, in particular, left a lasting imprint on her understanding of strength and defiance.
At 18, her mother resisted an arranged marriage her family expected her to accept.
“At 18, she ran off to the convent to escape an arranged marriage her father was pushing on her.”
That act of defiance became a defining moment in her life trajectory, eventually leading her mother into nursing and later building a life in Chicago.
“That decision set her on the path to becoming an RN and eventually moving to Chicago in her late 20s.”
She recognizes now that her own drive was shaped, in part, by witnessing that kind of resilience.
“The fire inside me—the drive that carried me through every setback—was a gift from God, but it was also shaped by witnessing my mother’s courage, determination and unwavering ability to rise, no matter what life threw her way.”
In childhood and early adulthood, her mother was also the more emotionally accessible parent. Compared to her father, she was someone she could speak to more easily, someone who actively participated in shaping her development.
Dr. Zacharia's mother encouraged achievement, structure and discipline. She made sure she and her brother were enrolled in advanced classes, extracurriculars and structured activities. One of the lasting joys from that time was when her mother enrolled Dr. Zacharia and her brother in tennis lessons.
"My love for tennis is because of her—she enrolled us in lessons at a young age and to this day, it’s still one of my favorite sports.”
But alongside this encouragement was a strong current of perfectionism and control. Performance was constantly measured, refined and evaluated.
“When I practiced presentations in high school or college, she would grade me—and let me tell you, scoring above ninety percent was nearly impossible.”
Even milestones that were deeply personal were subject to critique.
“She even critiqued my wedding speech for my brother, insisting I hadn’t done him justice.”
She reflects on how this perfectionism extended beyond feedback into identity and control. Dr. Zacharia mother’s need for precision was not limited to tasks—it shaped the environment around her.
“She needed to be in control of everything—and everyone—around her.”
This dynamic continued into adulthood, where autonomy remained complicated. Even success was reframed through her mother’s lens.
“She supported my academic and medical career—but she also made it clear that she made me a doctor and routinely implied I wasn’t as smart or capable as some of my colleagues or peers.”
At times, even her accomplishments were not fully hers to own.
“My medical career was hers to claim, not mine to own. For years, my medical diplomas stayed in my childhood bedroom — because that’s where she wanted them displayed.”
Control extended into the most visible aspects of identity, including appearance and self-presentation.
“My mother dictated how I wore my hair, how I dressed and ultimately how I showed up in the world.”
She recalls altering her natural appearance for years to meet her mother’s preferences.
“I straightened my hair for years because she didn’t like my natural curls.”
It was only later in life that she began to reclaim these choices for herself.
“My first act of rebellion? Wearing my hair curly—in my late thirties.”
Looking back, she recognizes how deeply embedded the dynamic had been and how long it took to step outside of it.
Her mother’s influence also extended into how she perceived her intellect and decision-making. Originality was often questioned rather than encouraged.
“My mother did not respect my originality or deviation from what she thought was a good idea.”
Even her ideas were sometimes met with skepticism about their origin.
“If I did have an idea she agreed with, her follow-up question was always: ‘Who did you learn that from?’ She didn’t think I was capable of coming up with good ideas on my own.”
What emerges most clearly is a relational pattern defined by contradiction: encouragement paired with control, support paired with ownership, closeness paired with restriction.
“She wanted me to be independent… but also dependent on her.”
Even well into adulthood, that tension remained active in her life.
“Even in my thirties and forties, she wanted me to consult her on everything—big life decisions, career moves, even furniture choices for my new home.”
And underneath it all was a message that lingered long after conversations ended.
“See? You still need me. You’ll always need your mother.”
In reflecting on this relationship, she does not reduce it to a single label or explanation. Instead, she holds both truths at once: that her mother was influential, strong and even supportive in meaningful ways and that this same influence also shaped deep patterns of self-doubt, control and delayed individuation.
Growing Up in a Pressure Cooker Family System
Together, Dr. Zacharia's parents created what she now recognizes as a pressure-cooker environment—one defined by constant evaluation, limited emotional safety and an unspoken expectation of perfection. In this system, there was little room for experimentation or error. Even small deviations from expectation were met with shame or ridicule.
“And any deviations from this path was met with ridicule and shame - independent of how minor or major the deviation.”
Over time, she came to see how these patterns reinforced deeply internalized narratives from both parents—messages about inadequacy, incompetence and unattainability.
“It also reinforced my dad’s narrative that I wasn’t smart enough or my mother’s narrative, I wasn’t perfect enough.”
Her father’s criticism often took the form of blunt, dismissive statements that undermined her confidence.
“You’ve never been the sharpest tool in the shed.”
Her mother’s reactions, while different in tone, carried their own form of invalidation—framed as disappointment or disbelief.
“What were you thinking?”
“How could you do something so stupid.”
Looking back, she now sees how layered and emotionally complex this environment was. It was not defined by one single dynamic, but by overlapping forces of love, control and emotional withholding that often blurred into one another.
“Looking back on all of this, I can see how complicated and nuanced that family dynamic really was — how love, control and witholding can get tangled together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.”
One of the most difficult realizations, Dr. Zacharia shares, is the emotional contradiction at the heart of it all: the coexistence of love and hurt within the same relationships.
“It’s amazing how you could love your parents so much yet be incredibly hurt by them at the same time.”
In her healing process, she has come to hold space for both truths simultaneously, without needing to deny either. This integration has been central to her growth—allowing her to see her parents more clearly while also understanding her own emotional responses with greater compassion.
“Healing has taught me that it's okay to hold both truths. It’s possible to love someone and still recognize their narcissism. The love doesn’t vanish just because you see them for who they truly are.”
What has changed most is not her capacity for love, but her tolerance for harm. With greater awareness has come clearer boundaries and a stronger sense of self-protection.
“But what changes—and what disappears—is your willingness to tolerate continued disrespect. As you heal, you get clearer on your boundaries and you stop accepting what no longer serves you.”
The Narcissistic Family Dynamic and the Golden Child
Dr. Zacharia reflects on her brother not through the lens of simple sibling rivalry, but through a more complex family structure shaped by comparison, favoritism and emotional hierarchy.
From an early age, she describes being placed in direct comparison with him, where differences were constantly measured and reinforced.
“My brother and I were pitted against each other from a young age. My parents constantly compared our grades, our behavior, even our personalities. And my brother always came out on top.”
In that system, he was consistently positioned as the favored child—the one who was praised, protected and idealized.
“He was praised. Protected. Favored. He could do no wrong. He was the favored one—the golden child.”
At the time, she believed this structure was normal, even culturally expected in many Indian households, particularly where sons are often given preferential treatment. Being the youngest further intensified this dynamic.
“At the time, I thought all of this was normal — especially in many Indian households, where the son is often the favored one. And being the youngest only amplified it.”
“My parents openly celebrated my brother for the smallest things. But with me? I felt like I was constantly chasing approval - something my father wasn’t willing to give and something my mom rarely gave.”
Looking back, Dr. Zacharia now understands this as part of a broader narcissistic family structure in which the “golden child” is not just favored, but often treated as an extension of the parents themselves.
“In narcissistic families, the golden child is an extension of the parents, reflecting their values, their traits, their pride.”
She observes how her brother embodied traits that aligned closely with both parents, reinforcing his role in the family hierarchy.
“My brother had my mother’s looks and my father’s personality. He is humble appearing, intelligent and well respected by his peers and our extended family.”
She recalls early moments where this favoritism was made explicit, even in front of others.
“Early in our lives, my father made it clear to our extended family that my brother was ‘the smart one’ and I was not.”
One memory, in particular, remains sharply etched in her mind.
"I still remember a moment from a trip to India after my college graduation, as if it happened yesterday. We were passing historical landmarks when my uncle—a professor—pointed them out to me, eager to share his knowledge. Before I could even respond, my father cut in: 'She’s not interested in learning new things.'"
"Even in moments as simple as this, my father found a way to cut me down."
Over time, she internalized these comparisons, beginning to question why love and respect felt so unevenly distributed.
“I internalized everything. I blamed myself for the difference in how we were treated.”
She found herself trying to understand why her brother seemed to receive respect effortlessly while she was often met with criticism.
“I kept wondering why he received respect so effortlessly while I seemed to be the target of criticism, negativity, and emotional volatility.”
Even into adulthood, messages about worthiness and respect persisted.
“Respect needs to be earned.”
When she attempted to speak about these disparities, her concerns were dismissed or reframed as jealousy or distortion.
“You’re so jealous of your brother.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“You’re overreacting.”
She acknowledges a painful truth within that dismissal: part of her did feel jealousy—not of who her brother was, but of how he was treated.
“I was jealous of the way my brother was treated. I wanted what he had.”
Over time, that longing became intertwined with a prolonged struggle for validation.
“I spent well into my 30s trying to prove my worth, hoping to earn that same kind of love and respect.”
As her brother grew older, she began to notice how he adopted more of her father’s tone and behavior within the family system.
“He joined in on the snide remarks about my intelligence and my character.”
She describes a shift in their relationship dynamic, where dismissiveness and minimization became common patterns.
“Gaslighting was his second language.”
“Outside of hosting weekend gatherings or holiday dinners, my brother was never truly there for me.”
On one occasion, Dr. Zacharia needed her brother’s help moving to a new city for her fellowship training. Her father, dealing with orthopedic issues at the time, was unable to lift heavy items and asked him to step in. Her brother reluctantly agreed.
At that point, she had just completed residency, with her final week consisting of back-to-back overnight ER shifts. She also served as maid of honor in a close friend’s wedding that same month and was still recovering from an infection she had contracted in the ER. On multiple levels, she was completely exhausted.
Dr. Zacharia's brother agreed to drive part of the way during the move. During the trip, she fell asleep in the car, simply unable to stay awake after days of relentless physical and emotional strain.
“I fell asleep in the car. He became so upset that I wasn’t engaging with him in conversation that he snapped: ‘I will never help you again.’”
She reflects on the lack of empathy in that response, especially given the context of her exhaustion and professional demands.
“A sibling with compassion and love, would have seen the situation for what it was: my sister is exhausted… I’m glad I’m here to help her.”
Instead, she describes the interaction as a turning point in how she viewed him.
“After that moment, my view of my brother shifted completely.”
This pattern of withdrawal and lack of support, she explains, continued in other areas of her life, including an unusual response to when she first adopted her cat Joey.
“When I got my cat Joey, I was excited. His first comment, unprompted, was: 'Don’t expect me to take care of your cat when you’re away.' It struck me as such an odd, unkind thing to say. It was a small, yet telling, example of how little he was willing to support me, even in the simplest ways."
One particular year, Dr. Zacharia went through a prolonged period of personal crisis involving her personal safety was in jeopardy.
"Instead of taking the time to listen to what had happened to me and even perhaps comfort me - my brother gaslighted me about the entire situation. He dismissed what happened and said I was imagining things. He didn’t even want to hear about it."
This unwillingness to engage with her on this level was not unusual when it came to their relationship. She was often met with statements such as:
“You’re overreacting.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“I never said that.”
“Calm down.”
These responses were a consistent pattern of invalidation.
“Each phrase was his way of diminishing my reality and reinforcing the narrative he wanted to believe.”
“There’s sibling rivalry… and then there are toxic family dynamics.”
The Narcissistic Family Dynamic Structure Unraveling
The family system shifted again with her brother’s marriage in 2020, introducing new tensions and relational fractures that completely altered the emotional landscape of family gatherings.
“Dinners were filled with awkward silences and unspoken friction.”
Her brother’s behavior also changed during this period, becoming more guarded and influenced by his new marital relationship.
“He became more entitled and defensive.”
“He grew increasingly distant and even disrespectful towards the parents he was once so close to.”
Despite underlying tensions, Dr. Zacharia's parents continued to support her brother, even as their disappointment became more visible.
“The child they had once praised and elevated without question was now acting in ways that felt unfamiliar and hurtful.”
By 2023, following the birth of their daughter, she notes a softening in the overall family atmosphere, though the earlier patterns had already revealed what Dr. Zacharia needed to understand about the family’s trajectory as a whole.
“Those early interactions had already revealed everything I needed to understand about the new dynamics now reshaping our family.”
Family Ties: Betrayal by Blood
A week before her sister-in-law’s delivery, Dr. Zacharia noticed something unusual in her brother’s behavior. After years of emotional distance from her personal life, he suddenly began asking detailed questions about her experience with Levi and Jessie. The shift felt abrupt and out of character.
This was a sharp contrast to his lifelong detachment - his interest did not feel grounded in concern.
“The way he kept asking questions felt less like concern and more like he was gathering information and intel for someone else. And when he never checked in on me after our conversation—not even after I sent him an article on covert narcissism—it only strengthened my suspicion."
Around the same time, Levi was already reaching out to people within Dr. Zacharia's social and professional network. She could not shake that her brother had also been pulled into the situation as well
At subsequent family gatherings, she describes a noticeable shift in his demeanor.
“Yes, he was exhausted from new-parent life, but there was a guardedness in the way he spoke to me… a distance I couldn’t ignore.”
Wanting clarity, she eventually asked him directly to call her. She needed to hear his response without ambiguity.
“So I asked: 'Did Levi contact you at all about what happened? He reached out to several of my friends.' His response was immediate—and revealing. Instead of answering my question, he deflected: 'What, are you not coming to Anna’s baptism now?' This was one week before my niece’s baptism."
She reassured him she would be attending and asked him the same question again.
“He muttered, 'No, I didn’t hear from him.' And our conversation ended right after that. But his first reaction said far more than his denial upon further probing. Even if he hadn’t spoken to Levi directly, he may have spoke with one of Levi’s 'flying monkeys,' someone familiar with our family."
"Whether he realized it or not, his knee-jerk response told me everything I needed to know."
Dr. Zacharia goes on to explain that betrayal doesn’t always arrive with dramatic gestures. Sometimes it slips in quietly—tucked away inside a hesitation, a diverted answer or a question meant to deflect from the subject at hand.
What cut deepest, she explains, was not only the possibility of external influence, but the absence of direct honesty.
“What hurt was realizing he wasn’t loyal enough to tell me the truth… or even answer my question directly.”
That moment became a turning point in how she understood her family relationships. It marked the beginning of seeing things without the filter of assumed loyalty or inherited narratives.
"And that’s the thing about betrayal within families. It’s not the action itself that breaks you—it’s the moment you realize they do not have your back."
She also reflects on the cultural and familial belief system she was raised with—one that elevated blood ties above behavior and accountability. Something seen universally among many cultures across the world: “Blood is thicker than water.”
Dr. Zacharia recognizes now how that phrase was used within her family as a form of emotional conditioning, reinforcing loyalty even in the absence of safety or trust. Growing up, she heard this line often from her parents:
“You only have each other after we’re gone. No one is there for you like your own blood.”
But her lived experience with her brother contradicted that statement.
“Even with my parents still here, it was painfully clear: he was not there for me.”
“He didn’t have my back.”
This realization, she explains, did not come from a single moment alone, but from a growing accumulation of experiences that forced her to re-evaluate what family loyalty actually meant.
Looking back, she acknowledges how long she held onto the idea that blood alone guaranteed safety and connection.
“I convinced myself that loyalty was owed simply because we shared DNA.”
But with time and distance, that belief began to dissolve. What remained was a clearer understanding that familial ties do not automatically equal emotional responsibility and that loyalty without reciprocity is not safety—it is obligation.
"But here is the truth about blood: Blood may be thicker than water—but it is not an excuse for emotional abuse or betrayal.
From Low Contact to No Contact: The Decision Dr. Zacharia Did Not See Coming
By 2024, Dr. Zacharia reached a breaking point. The thought of attending another holiday, birthday or family dinner felt increasingly unbearable.
Despite the progress she was making internally, family interactions continued to pull her back into a version of herself that she had worked hard to outgrow.
“When I spent time with my family, I felt like a rubber band being snapped back into an old version of myself.”
Instead of feeling grounded, Dr. Zacharia would leave family gatherings depleted and emotionally dysregulated, often spending the following days recovering. Her body, too, began to respond more clearly to the emotional toll.
“My Graves’ disease flared up after our gatherings. My body was sending me a clear message. It was rejecting the toxicity around me and the outdated identity I was trying so hard to break free from.”
This became a turning point in her understanding of boundaries and healing.
“You cannot heal in the environment that hurt you.”
In June 2024, she made the decision to go low contact with her brother and sister-in-law. It was not a decision made lightly, but one preceded by years of emotional strain and internal conflict.
She met with her brother directly to communicate her grievances and inform him that she would no longer be participating fully in the family system. From that point forward, contact was limited primarily to coordinating care for their parents.
She then had a separate conversation with her parents. Their response reflected disbelief and an attempt to maintain the existing family structure.
“Let bygones be bygones. He is your family. You can’t turn your back on family.”
Although she anticipated this reaction, she stood firm in her decision.
“The conversation went exactly as I thought it would but this time I stood my ground.”
What followed was not simply a rejection of individuals, but a rejection of a long-standing family system she no longer felt safe within.
“It was about the entire family dynamic and the toll it had not only taken on my personal life but my physical and mental health as well.”
She acknowledges that the decision was emotionally complex as she continued to maintain full connection with her parents.
“I kept thinking about all the times they showed up for me, the sacrifices they made for our wellbeing.”
Yet over time, the emotional cost of remaining in the system became unsustainable for Dr. Zacharia.
“It became harder and harder—for them to be around me… and for me to be around them.”
“They made it clear on numerous occasions: I was in the wrong — for choosing myself and breaking their hearts. By walking away from the golden child in the family - the very person they viewed as an extension of themselves. ”
She also recalls attempts to frame her decision through religious obligation.
“My mother tried to weaponize God against me, telling me it was a sin to walk away from my brother.”
However, she describes the turning point where their validation no longer dictated her choices.
“It was God who was orchestrating all of this on my behalf.”
The emotional aftermath of stepping away was not immediate relief, but silence. Holidays felt unfamiliar, marked by absence and grief.
“The silence I encountered after leaving the narcissistic family dynamic behind was deafening at first.”
Still, beneath the discomfort, she describes an emerging sense of peace and inner alignment.
“Yet underneath all of this, I felt at peace.”
Over time, she began building new patterns and new traditions, separate from her family system.
As 2024 transitioned into 2025, her role in her parents’ lives became more functional than relational, centered around caregiving logistics rather than emotional connection.
“Visits with my parents grew shorter, mostly revolving around dropping off medications and taking them to doctors appointments.”
She also noticed a continued lack of emotional reciprocity, particularly from her mother.
“She only talked about my brother and his family, even when I repeatedly asked her not to do so.”
By March 2025, dissatisfaction in her medical career began to intensify alongside rising stress and health symptoms. She describes a growing internal sense of misalignment.
“What started as a nudge eventually became an actual push until I finally listened.”
During this period, she experienced significant occupational stress and worsening physical symptoms.
“My Graves’ disease flared up once again and my anxiety worsened.”
“That’s the thing with my Graves disease - as disfiguring as was to my eyes, it came with a strange gift. It always kept me in check."
"It was my body’s way of telling me when it was time to leave a situation, even when I wasn’t ready to listen."
Dr. Zacharia spent one weekend anxiously pacing in her living room, consumed by anxiety about work, unable to shake the sense that change was not only needed by essential. She couldn’t keep pouring my energy into something that no longer aligned with her spirit.
"My body quite literally was rejecting it. That’s when I heard the Holy Spirit for the first time: 'You need to quit your job.'"
“It was a voice from within - gentle, yet assertive. 'What? Just leave medicine altogether?' There was no response but the message was crystal clear."
Shortly afterward, she submitted her 90 day notice and describes a marked shift in both physical and emotional state.
“My thyroid levels began to stabilize after a few weeks and I sensed God’s peace settling over me.”
What followed was a transition not only out of a job, but into a different sense of purpose—one she describes as more aligned with meaning and service.
“It was time to pour into a different group of people—those misunderstood, overlooked and trapped in the shadows of covert narcissistic abuse.”
Narcissistic Collapse
As Dr. Zacharia's own life shifted, her mother’s health began to decline.
"As the summer of 2025 unfolded, my mother’s physical and mental health began to decline rapidly. With her loss of control over me and subsequently the family unit, she tried to regain it in other ways — unfortunately, to her own physical health and detriment. My decision to walk away from my brother in 2024 broke her irrevocably."
"I watched her narcissistic collapse happen in real time and it was deeply traumatic to watch — especially witnessing it in someone I once admired and looked up to for most of my life."
Narcissistic collapse occurs when a narcissist experiences a major threat to their ego and self-image—when the admiration, control or validation they rely on is removed.
"Because their sense of self is fragile and entirely dependent on external validation, such as blow is deeply devastating."
They may respond with intense shame, rage, withdrawal and even depression.
Narcissistic collapse is a breakdown of the carefully constructed persona they use to protect themselves and maintain power over others, leaving them emotionally exposed and destabilized in ways most people rarely witness.
"This is why narcissists cling so desperately to control and supply. When that control is lost, their fragile ego cannot handle it. Without external validation to uphold the carefully maintained image they’ve built — whether as a devoted mother, a pillar everyone depends on, or a respected figure in society — they are forced to confront the shame and inadequacy they’ve spent their entire lives running from. They simply do not have the emotional defenses or coping mechanisms needed to adjust to such loss of control."
“Their sense of self is fragile and entirely dependent on external validation.”
Dr. Zacharia recounts to listeners that watching this period of her mother's life unfold was emotionally complex - marked by both grief and clarity.
“The old version of me would have blamed myself for what happened with my mother. I would have stayed trapped in the narcissistic family dynamic, sacrificing my health and well-being to keep everyone else happy."
"But the new version of me understands that someone else’s actions and accountability is not my responsibility—no matter who they are, even if it’s my parent."
"God wanted better for me. Through His guidance and Archangel Michael’s reinforcement, I also finally realized I deserved better — a life filled with purpose, peace and truth — and a freedom that could not be taken from me."
Walking Away and No Contact
By early September 2025, Dr. Zacharia made the final decision to go completely no contact with her entire family system. The timing was particularly difficult, as her mother had just entered hospice care.
“God made it clear though: it was time to leave — and for good.”
The departure itself was carefully planned and emotionally layered.
"Like I did with Levi, I tried to think of all the ways to best go no contact. I knew if I told them in person, they would try to stop me. It would have greatly upset my mother who was already gravely ill. She was sleeping peacefully in her hospice bed."
"So I wrote my father and my brother separate emails - which I kept drafted until I left the house. This way I knew they would receive it and not worry about it being lost or not received due to some unforseen event."
Dr. Zacharia reflects on her final day with her family before the episode comes to a close.
"I told my father to check his email and gave him my final hug. He knew something was wrong. He was painfully silent and had this look of fear in his eyes."
"When I said goodbye to my mother in her hospice bed, she tried to rise, as if to stop me. I didn’t say a word, but in her spirit, she knew I was leaving permanently. She suddenly had an unending list of questions to keep me at her bedside. My father interjected, you just should leave - she won’t stop asking you questions as long as you stand there."
As Dr. Zacharia walked out the door, she knew that was the last time she would see anyone in her family again. She has been no contact with her family ever since.
"Since going no contact with my family, I have been — and continue to be — in mourning over the loss of my family."
"Yes, it was my choice to leave, but as any survivor of narcissistic abuse who has gone no-contact can attest: that deep-seated love for your family doesn’t vanish. Leaving doesn’t mean you stop loving them; it just means you have finally cultivated enough self-love to say, ‘enough is enough.’"
"True love—the kind of love God calls us to honor—requires boundaries, courage and respect for the soul He entrusted to you. Closing that door unlocked a new life for me—one where I can fully honor the purpose God has for me."