Dear Beauty,

Dear Beauty,

This is my heartfelt letter to you—the one you might not read, at least not yet. Right now, you’re probably in that part of the relationship where his words still feel like magic. Where you’re clinging to every promise, hoping this love will be different. Maybe you even see me as the villain in his story—and that’s okay. I’ve been where you are. I know how easy it is to believe his version of things, especially when he paints himself as the one who's always been misunderstood, mistreated, unloved—by everyone but you.

You haven’t seen the pattern yet, but it’s there. The one where he’s always the victim and someone else is always to blame. Once, I believed I was the exception too. I believed no one had ever loved him the way I did.

And so, Beauty, I send this letter out into the world for you. I pray your vision will one day clear. That you will begin to see his tactics for what they are. And when that day comes—whether it’s soon or far away—I want you to know: I’m here. You are not alone.

You’re in love with a narcissist. You just haven’t connected all the dots yet. But you will. And the longer it takes, the deeper the pain will be. That much I know for sure.

My heart aches for you—because I know what’s likely coming. You may have just started to get your light back after your own long season of struggle. You’ve worked hard to heal, to rise again. And that light of yours? That glow? It’s what drew him in. That radiant, hopeful spark—he sees it, and he wants to bask in it. But not to cherish it. To consume it.

You’re falling in love with someone who is reflecting you back to yourself. He’s mirroring your spirit, your strength, your tenderness—because on his own, he has no true sense of self. He came to you empty and started borrowing your brilliance.

Maybe he’s told you how strong you are, how he admires all you’ve overcome. Maybe he even says the things your heart has longed to hear—that he sees you, that he understands you in a way no one ever has. And when he opens up about his past—his wounds, his broken relationships, his pain—it feels so safe, so real. You want to believe you’ve finally found someone who “gets it.” Someone who gets you.

But Beauty, I need to gently warn you: he’s earning your trust so that one day he can use it against you. Slowly, subtly, he’s already manipulating how you see others—people who once mattered deeply to you. He’s planting seeds of doubt, causing you to question relationships you’ve had long before he showed up. This is how isolation begins. And when the discard comes—because it will—you’ll look around and realize how alone you feel. That was always part of his plan.

You may not believe this now. You might even defend him. That’s okay. I get it. I did, too. What looks like red flags from the outside feel like blurred yellow lights when you’re in the middle of the story. He’s woven such a beautiful illusion.

But I want to pause here and remind you:

• You are worthy.

• You are radiant.

• Your light is real and rare.

Take your time, Beauty. Don’t rush to share all of yourself. Your stories, your heart, your sacred softness—these are treasures. Guard them. He may hold them now like precious gems, but in time, he’ll use them like weapons. Not all at once, but little by little, until it’s hard to tell what’s real anymore.

By then, the trauma bond will be strong. You’ll be attached not to him but to how he made you feel. You’ll think it’s love, but it’s the illusion of safety. You’re falling for your own light reflected in his eyes. And breaking free from that bond will be one of the hardest things you ever do.

Right now, it probably feels blissful. And I know—it’s intoxicating to be seen, to be heard, to be adored. Especially when he sends you songs and tells you the lyrics remind him of you. Maybe he’s even written you love letters, pouring out feelings that feel so deep and real. When his behavior becomes inconsistent, he’ll tell you to re-read those letters. And you will. And you’ll doubt your gut instead of his actions.

Please hear me: it’s not your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong.

He might bring his children into the story, saying he’d never introduce them to just anyone. He may invoke God, saying things like “You’re an answer to prayer.” It feels sacred. It feels divine. But he’s using even that to anchor you.

You may already be hearing about dream vacations, future plans, favorite restaurants he wants to share with you. It’s called future faking, and I’m sorry. Because when the future doesn’t come, the pain of that broken hope will be unlike anything you’ve known.

When you meet his friends, his family—it will feel like you’ve made it. Like you’re finally safe. But really, you’re just deeper in the web.

Please hold onto your light. Take your time. Keep your stories close. You deserve someone who sees your brilliance and seeks to protect it—not use it for their gain.

And Beauty, everything beautiful he says about you—it’s all true. But not because he says so. It’s true because it’s who you already are. Your light, your kindness, your generosity—these are yours. You’ve done the hard work. You’ve grown. You’ve healed. He sees that, and he wants to harness it.

Your adaptability, your empathy, your easygoing nature—they’re strengths. But in his hands, they’ll become tools for manipulation. He’ll praise you for not being “too much,” and you’ll start shrinking to stay in his favor. You’ll begin to silence your needs out of fear of being compared to “his ex.”

Please don’t abandon yourself.

This letter may reach you when your heart is broken—when the discard has already begun. Maybe he’s pulling away subtly, giving just enough to keep you hooked but not enough to feel loved. This is reverse discard. He’ll pull back until you have to end it, allowing him to reclaim the role of victim. He’ll already be telling his next beauty that you were the problem.

When you’re in this phase, you may feel like you can’t trust anyone. He’s isolated you so well. You’ll feel ashamed, confused, lost. But please know: you can trust me. I’ve been there.

He’ll move on quickly—he always does. He’ll smear your name and start the cycle all over again. But you? You will still be standing. You will still have your light. You will still be worth loving.

This will be one of the most painful and costly lessons you’ll ever learn. But it will also be one of the most profound. Because when you finally go no contact, the fog will begin to lift. Clarity will come. Peace will return.

Until then, I hold deep compassion for you. I know how hard it is to let go of what feels like love. I know what it’s like to want to believe in the best parts of someone.

But hear me:
The best part of him is that you love him.
And that love? It’s a gift.
You deserve to receive the same kind of love you so freely give.

When you’re ready, I’ll be here. Whether that’s in a month, a year, or two years from now—I will be here for you.

You are deeply loved.
You are not alone.
You are never too far gone.

With all my heart,
Someone Who’s Been There