Love that connects and love that breaks
About borderline, narcissism and the path back to the true Self
There are loves that lift us up, heal us, and connect us. But there are also loves that break us, drain us, and confuse us. And sometimes, those loves are one and the same.
What begins as a deep soul connection can end as an emotional war zone.
In this essay, I describe my personal journey through such a love — a relationship with someone with a borderline and a suspected narcissistic structure — and the insights I gained along the way.
Not to condemn, but to understand.
And above all: to heal.
Borderline and narcissism: like brother and sister
In most psychological literature, borderline and narcissism are discussed as separate conditions. But in my experience — and now also in my studies — they are not opposites, but related structures. Brother and sister, born of the same wound: a deep fear of abandonment, a sense of emptiness, of not being known in one’s essence.
Borderline desperately longs for connection, but sabotages it the moment it becomes too intimate. Narcissism builds a shell around the same fear: a façade of control, self-glorification, or victimhood. One structure begs for closeness, the other desperately keeps it at a distance. But both are afraid of the real encounter.
The blocked conscience
Many people with such a structure appear empathic, social, and sensitive. But in stressful or intimate situations, they switch something off. As if their conscience is temporarily put on hold. In that state, they can do things that seem inconceivable to outsiders: cheating, lying, manipulating, ignoring the other or accusing them of the very things they themselves are doing. And the confusing part is: sometimes they genuinely seem to feel no remorse.
That makes it especially painful for the partner. Because you are not only dealing with the pain of what is happening, but also with the complete denial of it.
The cycle of destructive love
There is a recognizable pattern in these relationships: idealization, devaluation, rejection, withdrawal — and then suddenly, the warm rain of love returns. The partner is first placed on a pedestal, then thrown off that pedestal, and later brought back again with words full of love and promise.
It is the classic dynamic of trauma bonding: an addiction to the alternating pattern of hope and despair. An addiction as intense and destructive as any other. You know you should leave, but something inside keeps waiting for the next peak, the next confirmation, that little remnant of the love that once seemed so real.
The echo of childhood trauma
What I discovered along the way — and this was perhaps the most painful lesson — is that I entered into this relationship partly from my own unconscious wounds.
I grew up in a family with a narcissistic parent. The patterns of my childhood — the silent treatments, the emotional unpredictability, the absence of unconditional love — repeated themselves in this relationship. And somewhere, the little child in me hoped: if I can heal this, then I can also heal that old part.
But it doesn’t work that way.
We cannot rewrite our childhood through our love relationships.
In fact, when we try, we lose ourselves all over again.
The boundary as a turning point
Eventually, the moment came when I had to choose myself. Not out of selfishness, but out of self-preservation. The limit had been reached: my physical and mental health were at stake. I could no longer function at work, and I had lost myself.
And yet, leaving felt like failure. Because I loved her. Or perhaps more truthfully: I loved the image of who she could have been.
But love — real love — does not destroy you.
Love builds, expands, deepens.
What is destructive is, by definition, not love — no matter how intense it feels.
The decision to leave was not a farewell to her, but a homecoming to myself.
The path of healing
The road back was not easy. The silent treatment after the breakup was at least as painful as the relationship itself. But it also gave me space. Space to grieve, to understand, to heal. I read everything I could find about narcissism and borderline. I spoke with therapists, with friends, with my Self. And slowly, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.
I enrolled in Schema-Focused Therapy. I started writing again. And art returned to my life — as language, as image, as anchor. Art helps me to imagine what does not fit into words.
Art helps me to remember who I am.
Love as a primal force
What I have come to understand deeply is that love is more than an emotion. Love is the connecting principle of existence. Not the romantic, conditional love we often chase, but a deeper, unconditional love — for ourselves, for life, for the whole.
In relationships with people who have borderline or narcissistic traits, that core is missing: real, mature connection. It is love without a foundation, without a place to rest.
But it’s precisely that absence that reveals where we ourselves still have room to grow.
The love that broke me also showed me the way to the love that connects.
Closing thoughts
There is no easy way out of this experience. But there is a way.
And it begins with truth, with courage, with compassion — and ultimately with love.
Not the other person’s love, but your own. That is the journey back to your true Self.
And that is the journey I have taken.
