Before Motherhood, I Thought I Knew Who I Was‍

Before I became a mom, I had a career, friends, and a clear sense of who I was. Motherhood changed all of that, as it does for many women. I gave up my job to stay home with our kids. My days became filled with diapers, laundry, endless snacks, and bedtime routines. It was an adjustment, but I told myself it was temporary, that my sacrifices were worth it.

What I didn’t realize was that while I was quietly giving up pieces of myself, my husband was building a whole identity around being seen as the one who sacrificed the most.
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What No One Sees: Life with a Communal Narcissist

Most people are familiar with the stereotypical narcissist—the one who brags about achievements, demands respect, and basks in power. My husband isn’t like that. He’s what psychologists call a communal narcissist.

That means he doesn’t seek praise by flaunting his career or wealth. Instead, he seeks admiration by being seen as the most selfless, the most giving, the most moral.

• He volunteers at church and makes sure everyone knows.
• He “sacrifices” family time for charity events, then tells people how hard it is for him.
• He posts online about how much he does for the kids, making it look like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.

On the outside, he looks like the perfect husband and father. But at home, the mask slips.

His “Sacrifices” vs. Mine

He loves to talk about everything he gives up—for the community, for his family, for our kids. But the reality is, I’m the one making the sacrifices so that he can shine.

I gave up my career.
I manage the house from dawn until midnight.
I spend hours in the trenches of parenting that no one ever claps for.

He doesn’t see those things as sacrifice. To him, they’re invisible. What matters is his story—how noble he is, how much he gives. If I forget to thank him, or if I dare to point out my own exhaustion, he grows cold. Sometimes he sulks, sometimes he lashes out, but the message is always the same: I’m not grateful enough for his greatness.

And because the world sees him as a saint, my reality doesn’t count. If I tried to tell someone the truth, they’d probably say, “You’re so lucky—he’s amazing!”

How Communal Narcissism Works

Living with a communal narcissist is disorienting because their “goodness” is their weapon. Their generosity is a performance, not a gift.

• They play the martyr: Constantly reminding others of all they do, how much they’ve given up.
• They expect endless praise: If you don’t gush with gratitude, they punish you with silence, guilt trips, or passive-aggression.
• They look like saints to the world: Which means no one believes their partner’s pain.
• They erase your sacrifices: Because acknowledging them would take attention away from theirs.

The result is that you, the partner, feel small, unseen, and silenced.

The Impact on My Identity

Motherhood already challenges your identity. But being married to a communal narcissist made me feel like I disappeared completely.

It wasn’t just that my career was gone or that my days revolved around kids. It was that my story didn’t matter. My husband’s narrative—that he was the selfless one, the long-suffering one—swallowed everything. Even my own sacrifices were twisted into evidence of his nobility.

I began questioning myself:

• Am I selfish for wanting recognition?
• Am I ungrateful for feeling lonely?
• If everyone else thinks he’s amazing, maybe I really am the problem?

That’s the cruelest part of living with a communal narcissist—you lose not only your identity, but also your trust in your own reality.

Finding My Voice Again

I won’t pretend I have all the answers. Living with a communal narcissist is confusing, isolating, and often heartbreaking. But I’ve started taking small steps to reclaim my sense of self:

• Naming the pattern: Learning the term communal narcissism gave me language for what I was living through. It wasn’t in my head—it had a name.
• Owning my sacrifices: Even if no one else sees them, I remind myself daily of what I give and what it’s worth.
• Creating small anchors: Journaling, therapy, reconnecting with old hobbies—pieces of me that exist outside his shadow.
• Setting boundaries: Learning that his need for praise is not my job to fulfill.

Most of all, I’m reminding myself that my identity doesn’t have to be swallowed by his performance. I get to exist. I get to matter. I get to be seen—even if the world insists on only seeing him.

A Final Word

Everyone thinks I married the perfect man. But perfection in public can mask cruelty in private. For moms married to communal narcissists, the hardest fight isn’t just managing the home or raising kids—it’s holding on to your own identity when your partner is determined to take the spotlight.

And if you’re reading this and it feels familiar: you are not invisible. You are not ungrateful. You are not alone.

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