Too Much and Never Enough

Many people arrive in therapy with a vague but persistent sense that “something is wrong with me” - a chronic shame that flares under even mild criticism, or a quiet certainty that if others truly saw them, they would turn away. For some, what sits beneath these experiences are early narcissistic wounds: subtle but profound disruptions in how the self was first seen, held and valued in their earliest relationships.

In this post, I want to sketch what clinicians mean by early narcissistic wounds, how they tend to form, and how they often show up later in life. My aim is not to offer a checklist or a diagnosis, but to give you language and a framework that might help you recognise something of your own story with more compassion and nuance.

What are early narcissistic wounds?

In psychodynamic thinking, “narcissism” is first and foremost about how our sense of self comes into being: our capacity to feel real, to like ourselves enough, to bear our limits and depend on others without collapsing in shame. Early narcissistic wounds describe injuries that occur right at this level of self-formation.

These wounds do not necessarily arise from dramatic abuse, although that can be part of the picture. Often they emerge in more ordinary, chronic ways when a child’s emotional life is not adequately recognised, mirrored or protected. The child may grow up with caregivers who are loving in many respects, but unable to see and respond to the child as a separate subject with their own feelings and needs. Over time, the child comes to experience themselves as either “too much” or “not enough” and carries a deep conviction of being fundamentally flawed.

Narcissistic wounding, then, is less about “too much self-love” and more about a fragile, often hidden sense of defectiveness that needs to be defended against. Those defences can look very different from one person to another, which is part of why these struggles are often misunderstood.

How do these wounds form?

Early narcissistic wounds tend to arise in relational environments with some of the following qualities:

• Emotional misattunement
  Caregivers may be physically present but emotionally unavailable, preoccupied, dismissive or only responsive to behaviour rather than to the child’s internal world. The child’s excitement, distress or need for comfort might be routinely minimised or ignored. Over time, the child learns that their feelings are either irrelevant or dangerous.

• Chronic criticism or shaming
  In some families, the child receives frequent messages - subtle or overt - that they are too sensitive, too demanding, too needy, not clever enough, not attractive enough. Even well-intentioned “toughening up” can land as humiliation. The child internalises a harsh, persecutory way of talking to themselves.

• Conditional approval and performance-based love
  Some children only feel truly seen when they excel or please. Love seems to arrive when they win, behave, achieve or take care of others’ needs, and withdraw when they falter or assert themselves. The implicit lesson is: “I am valuable for what I do, not for who I am.”

• Overvaluation without genuine seeing
  Others are told they are special, exceptional or superior, but this overvaluation does not include a genuine respect for their limits, vulnerability or difference. The child may be idealised as an extension of the parent rather than recognised as their own person.

In each of these scenarios, the child faces a painful choice. To preserve some sense that their caregivers are “good enough,” they often turn the problem inward: “The issue must be me.” This move preserves attachment, but at the cost of their own sense of worth. The result is a wound organised around shame, defectiveness and fear of exposure.

How do they show up later in life?

Because these injuries touch the core of the self, they often show up in subtle but pervasive ways in adulthood. People may recognise themselves in one or more of the following:

• A shaky or divided sense of self
  You might oscillate between feeling impressive, competent or “ahead” and then suddenly feeling like an imposter, a fraud or a failure. Small setbacks can trigger disproportionate shame or despair. It can feel as though your worth is always on trial.

• Difficulties with criticism, disappointment and limits
  Feedback that others experience as ordinary can land for you like an annihilating attack. A partner’s frustration, a colleague’s correction or a friend’s ambivalence may evoke intense rage, withdrawal or collapse. You may later feel puzzled by the intensity of your own reaction.

• Perfectionism and relentless self-monitoring
  You might feel compelled to manage your image, saying or doing “the right thing” to avoid exposure. Perfectionism can function as a shield against shame: if you can keep performing, perhaps the underlying defect will never be discovered.

• Relational patterns organised around self-esteem
  Relationships may carry a strong unconscious job description: to provide admiration, reassurance or a sense of specialness. When others cannot maintain this, they may suddenly feel disappointing, inadequate or threatening, and you may find yourself withdrawing, attacking, or idealising someone new.

Importantly, not everyone with early narcissistic wounding is obviously grandiose or self-absorbed. Many are outwardly conscientious, high-achieving, generous and deeply attuned to others, while inwardly living with a harsh internal critic and a chronic sense of being “not quite real.”

What healing can look like in therapy

Psychotherapy does not “erase” early narcissistic wounds, but it can offer a new relational experience in which the self is gradually re-seen, re-held and re-understood. In the kind of work I offer, this typically involves several intertwined processes:

• A reliable, non-shaming relationship
  Therapy aims to provide a space where both your more polished, defended self and your more vulnerable, ashamed self are welcome. The task is not to get rid of defences, but to understand what they protect and to respect the creativity that went into building them.

• Making sense of intense reactions
  Together, we become curious about moments where your reactions feel “too much” even to you—bristling at a small comment, feeling humiliated when someone sets a limit, suddenly wanting to bolt from intimacy. Rather than pathologising these responses, we treat them as clues to old injuries being touched.

• Finding words for shame and injury
  Shame is often profoundly silencing. A central part of the work is finding language—slowly, carefully—for experiences that previously had to be hidden or denied. When shame can be spoken and met without recoil, something in its structure begins to loosen.

• Integrating different self-states
  Over time, we explore the gap between the part of you that strives to be exceptional or invulnerable and the part that feels defective, needy or small. The aim is not to declare one “true” and the other false, but to help these parts begin to know about each other and live less at war.

As this process unfolds, people often describe a subtle but meaningful shift: criticism becomes more survivable, relationships feel less like performance and more like contact, and their sense of themselves becomes less dependent on constant doing, pleasing or impressing. They are not cured of vulnerability, but they are less organised around defending against it at all costs.

If you recognise elements of your own experience here and would like to explore this more deeply, you are welcome to contact me via my contact page to discuss whether this kind of work might be a good fit for you.