The look that I’m talking about looks like this. This look pierces them to the deepest corners of their hollowness. You do not blink rapidly, you do not shiver, you do not shrink. You hold their gaze with the steadiness of someone who knows, someone who has seen the darkness and is no longer afraid of it. You do not scream, you do not curse, you do not move, you do not engage. You just exist in a way they cannot dominate. You radiate resistance without lifting a finger. Your body says it all: You have no power here. Your tricks no longer work. Your control ends today. You’re nothing to me now.
This one look is enough to send a narcissist spiraling inside themselves. They feel it in their gut before they even process it with their brain. The very foundation they built their control on your fear collapses in front of their eyes. You may even see it happening. Their eyes shift, their face twitches, a frown appears across their face, but it is not the frown of anger.
It is a frown of helplessness, an aggression to a childlike state where they are caught, cornered, or exposed. They do not know what to say or what to do in the situation. Their old weapons, such as intimidation, shouting, and gaslighting, fall useless to the ground.
I’m able to describe this moment in such raw detail because I have lived it and talked about it earlier. I remember the last real fight I had with my father. He was beating me with a wire, the same old sadistic tactic used to assert dominance. But something that day changed.
That day, I was no longer the boy who could be terrified into submission. I stood there, I did not cry, I did not move. I looked him straight in the eyes, stoic, calm, and silent. I felt no physical pain; I think that was a miracle.
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