The Emotional Hunger We Mistook for Love - When a Narcissistic Parent Made Us Starve for Connection
- Admin
- Jun 1
- 4 min read
Part 2 in Narcissistic Parent Series
The Kind of Hunger You Can’t Feed with Food
There’s a kind of hunger that doesn’t live in the stomach. It lives in the breath we hold. In the silence we keep. In the way we walk into a room and instinctively scan for who we need to be.
It lives in our nervous system—in the tension in our shoulders when someone says “I love you,” and we flinch instead of melt. It lives in the chase, the collapse, the way we shape-shift into someone pleasing—because the alternative has always felt dangerous.
This is the hunger so many adult children of narcissistic parents carry. It begins in childhood. But it doesn’t stay there. It follows us—into our friendships, our partnerships, our parenting, and our sense of worth.
We weren’t raised on love. We were raised on crumbs. Conditional affection. Performative praise. Shifting rules we learned without ever being told they existed. And so we grew up emotionally hungry—starving for something we couldn’t name.
Narcissistic Parenting and the Performance of Being “Good”
They didn’t always say we were too much. They didn’t need to.
Their disapproval lived in sighs, in withdrawal, in the subtle punishment that came when we expressed too much need. So we learned fast: Don’t cry. Don’t contradict. Don’t make them uncomfortable. Don’t be inconvenient.
Love had rules. Affection had a script. We were only safe when we were useful.
In Will I Ever Be Good Enough?, Dr. Karyl McBride explains how narcissistic parents often view their children not as separate individuals, but as mirrors of their own self-image. Our job was to reflect their greatness—not explore our own identity.
So we performed. We anticipated moods. We adjusted. We excelled. We pleased.
And somewhere along the way, we disappeared inside the role we played.
The Lingering Impact of Emotional Hunger in Adulthood
This vanishing act doesn’t stop when we leave home. It simply evolves.
We become the ones who overfunction. Who love harder than we are loved in return. Who give until we’re depleted—and still think it’s not enough. We keep our needs invisible, even to ourselves.
This is the legacy of emotional hunger: A craving for attunement that was never met. A longing for consistency that never came. A desperate hope that, this time, someone might stay when we show up fully.
Why We Settle for Crumbs (and Call It Connection)
As Susan Forward writes in Mothers Who Can’t Love, one of the most painful dynamics for daughters of narcissistic mothers is the inconsistency. Sometimes we were adored. Other times, discarded. The result? A nervous system that associates love with hypervigilance instead of safety.
We became afraid to ask. Afraid to need. Afraid to trust.
We feared that wanting too much made us ungrateful. So we settled. We minimized. We called crumbs “enough.”
Why We’re Drawn to the Unavailable
Even as adults, the hunger persists.
We may find ourselves magnetized to emotionally unavailable partners—not because we enjoy the hurt, but because the pain feels familiar. We know how to wait. We know how to earn love. We know how to cling to flashes of affection that never really last.
We confuse anxiety with excitement. Intensity with love. We pour ourselves into people who can’t hold us—and wonder what’s wrong with us when they eventually let go.
What Happens When Someone Does Love Us Well
When someone finally shows up with steadiness—with warmth, presence, and no conditions—it doesn’t feel like home. It feels foreign. It feels boring. It feels suspicious.
We brace for rejection, sabotage closeness, or run. Not because we don’t want love, but because we’ve never learned how to receive it.
In The Emotionally Absent Mother, Jasmin Lee Cori names this wound clearly: it's not just what was done to us—it’s what was never done at all. We weren’t mirrored. We weren’t seen. We weren’t nurtured in ways that made emotional safety feel… safe.
Pete Walker, in Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving, describes the lingering result as “abandonment depression”—a chronic sense of inner emptiness, shame, and yearning that success and external validation can never quite touch.
The Hunger Isn’t a Flaw—It’s a Signal
This hunger isn’t proof that we’re broken. It’s a signal. A compass pointing to what was missing.
And we can feed it now. Not by clinging to the unavailable, not by performing, not by proving—but by turning toward ourselves.
We begin to heal when we stop chasing people who are incapable of offering what we crave. When we stop mistaking our capacity to endure pain for proof of devotion. When we stop calling anxiety “chemistry.”
We begin to feed the hunger by grieving—deeply, honestly—the childhood we never had.
We stop waiting for someone else to name our needs. We start naming them ourselves.
Reparenting: How We Begin to Heal Emotional Hunger
We reparent ourselves slowly.
Not with perfect routines or rigid self-help formulas. But with presence. With self-trust. With boundaries that don’t require explanation. With relationships that don’t demand our disappearance.
We feed the emotional self by allowing our needs to be real. By softening in love instead of chasing it. By staying with ourselves when old abandonment wounds rise.
We feed it when we whisper, “I deserve more than survival.”
If This Resonates: Take the Next Step When You're Ready
Healing this kind of emotional hunger takes time. There’s no rush, no pressure. Just truth.
If this article has stirred something in you—an ache, a memory, a quiet yes—you’re not alone. When you feel ready to take the next step in your healing journey, know that support is here.
At Life in Harmony Counselling, we help people unravel these old patterns, grieve what was missing, and begin to feel safe in their own bodies, relationships, and truth again.
There is no perfect moment to begin. Just the moment you decide you're ready. We’ll meet you there.
To learn more email us at info@lifeinharmony.ca or call us at 647-490-7570 (Toronto) or 905-851-8515 (Vaughan)
Author: Sabrina Golchin RP. RCC.
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