While “narcissism” is most often talked about in the context of individuals, many high performers recognize its patterns long before they enter the workplace because they have lived them at home.
For me, it was a marriage.
I left corporate before I left that relationship. At the time, they felt like two separate decisions. It was only in retrospect, with distance from both, that I could see how similar the patterns were.
The love-bombing in recruitment felt like the early charm in a relationship. The subtle erosion of confidence, the quiet rewriting of reality, the moves were almost identical. And like many who have had a narcissistic parent or partner, I had learned how to adapt: to read the shifts, manage perception, anticipate needs.
That adaptability is why both narcissists and certain corporate cultures pick high performers. We are resourceful, resilient, and able to deliver under pressure. This makes us not just valuable but very useful. And when usefulness is the main reason you were chosen, it is only a matter of time before you become used.
For me, there was also something else at play, a deep, almost reflexive drive for improvement. Especially self-improvement. My Lean Six Sigma training did not create it, but it did amplify it. I became fluent in finding flaws, mapping processes, and closing gaps. At work, it made me an asset. In the wrong system, it made me a self-correcting machine that would run until it broke. When your professional identity revolves around continuous improvement, you apply that lens to yourself relentlessly, always finding what is wrong, always fixing, always optimizing. It is a strength that becomes a vulnerability in toxic systems.
What follows is not a diagnosis. It is a map of patterns I have seen and lived when organizations behave like narcissists.
How it looks: Recruitment “love-bombing,” sweeping promises, stories of impact and mission. Fast-track talk that makes you feel essential before you have even started.
How it feels: You are seen, wanted, validated. The future feels expansive.
What it does to you: Hooks your self-worth into the system’s approval. You start orienting decisions around keeping that early glow alive even when the reality changes.
The parallel: In my marriage, idealization meant grand gestures and constant affirmation in the beginning. In corporate, it was titles, praise, and resources. In both, I was chosen because I could deliver. In both, that feeling of being chosen had an expiration date.
Warning signs you are here:
How it looks: Praise replaced by scrutiny. Gratitude expected for basic benefits. Leadership opportunities blocked by politics and protected egos.
How it feels: Confusing. Disorienting. You start scanning for what you did “wrong.”
What it does to you: Trains you to work harder for the same approval. Makes you question your memory of the good times.
The parallel: In both corporate and marriage, I did not notice the shift at first, only a vague sense that nothing I did was quite enough. And because I was a high performer, I responded the only way I knew, by doing more.
Warning signs you are here:
How it looks: Invitations to “speak openly” punished by subtle retaliation. Empowerment reframed as overstepping. Tone-policing when you name a real problem.
How it feels: Unsafe to tell the truth. Constant self-monitoring.
What it does to you: Encourages self-censorship and disengagement. Keeps you operating inside invisible boundaries you did not set.
The parallel: In both systems, the moment I acted on the encouragement to “be myself” or “take initiative,” the response was swift, and it was about my delivery, not my point. High performers often get this worst. Initiative is celebrated until it challenges the wrong person’s authority.
Warning signs you are here:
How it looks: Raises frozen, expectations increased. Your disengagement reframed as a performance problem. Resignation met with selective amnesia about your contributions.
How it feels: Invisible. Erased.
What it does to you: Leaves you questioning whether your impact was ever real, even when you have proof it was.
The parallel: In both marriage and corporate, the narrative shifted to suit the other party’s needs. My exit became a way to justify their version of events. For high performers, this can be especially disorienting because we are used to our track record speaking for itself.
Warning signs you are here:
1. Document your wins externally. Keep a record of your achievements, feedback, and impact outside the corporate system. This is not paranoia, it is protecting your memory from being rewritten.
2. Maintain relationships beyond your immediate team. Narcissistic systems isolate you. Cultivate connections with peers, former colleagues, and industry contacts who can reflect back your true capabilities when the system tries to diminish them.
3. Practice naming patterns out loud. High performers are trained to solve problems, not name them. Learn to articulate dysfunction in safe spaces so you can see it clearly.
If you recognize these patterns in your current situation, know that seeing them is the first step. The question is not whether you can fix the system. Narcissistic cultures do not change because individuals work harder or communicate better. The question is whether you can protect your sense of self while you decide what comes next.
Recovery from corporate narcissism looks like remembering who you were before you learned to contort yourself into their version of valuable. It looks like trusting your instincts again. And sometimes, it looks like walking away from usefulness as a measure of worth.
The Big Question:
If you have built your career inside a corporate narcissist system, how much of your “professional identity” is actually just a coping mechanism, and what would remain if you stopped being useful to them?
The answer to that question is where your real career begins.