A classic depiction of Narcissus gazing at his own reflection. In the myth, Narcissus’s self-obsession leads to his demise—but in our world, casually labeling others “narcissists” can be its own form of self-deception, a reflection of our inner fears and desires. psychologytoday.com

I remember the word “narcissist” hanging in the air one morning, heavy with judgment. A friend had flung it at an acquaintance who wasn’t present to defend himself. In that moment, the label felt decisive and damning—a single word to capture all that the friend felt was wrong with this person’s ego. We live in an age where “narcissist” rolls off the tongue with casual ease, a catch-all condemnation for anyone who frustrates us or shines a bit too brightly. The term itself comes from the Greek myth of Narcissus, the youth who fell in love with his own reflection to the exclusion of all else psychologytoday.com. But as I sipped my espresso that day, listening to my friend’s rant, I couldn’t help but wonder: What story was really unfolding here? Was the acquaintance truly a monster of vanity, or was there something more subtle at play in the one so quick to cry “narcissist”?

Calling someone a narcissist has a certain visceral satisfaction. It’s a swift verdict delivered with moral certainty. When we view someone through the lens of that label—especially if no professional has diagnosed them—we suddenly feel in the right and them in the wrong. It can be validating to our ego, reinforcing the idea that we’re the reasonable one and the other person is irredeemably flawed psychologytoday.com. In the midst of conflict or hurt, this label offers comfort: it neatly explains the other’s bad behaviour and absolves us of our own part in any friction. Psychotherapist Jennifer Gerlach observes that hearing about narcissism when we’re in a dispute can give us a sense of righteousness so strong that “we look for any signs to confirm our suspicions”, making it hard to relate to the person beyond the label psychologytoday.com. In other words, once we cast someone as “the narcissist,” we stop seeing them—their struggles, their humanity—and see only a cardboard villain.

There is an ironic seduction in this dynamic. By pronouncing someone else a narcissist, we unconsciously assign ourselves the role of the pure victim or even the hero of the story inc.com. We become, in our own narrative, the humble protagonist wronged by another’s outsized ego. Author Kristin Dombek, who studied the modern “narcissism epidemic,” notes how labeling oneself the victim of a narcissist can feel like “living in a movie” where you’re the hero, experiencing “the uncanny but slightly exciting sensation” of righteous purpose inc.com. It’s a compelling story, one that grants the labeler a sense of moral high ground. In that script, empathy itself becomes a trophy we claim for ourselves and deny the other: we have it, they lack it inc.com. The allure of this narrative is powerful. Who doesn’t want to be the hero of their own story, the one who is principled and sane amid others’ selfishness?

Yet this very comfort should give us pause. When we brand someone with a clinical term as an insult, we may actually be indulging in a subtle ego trip of our own. As a practitioner of structural integration, I’ve learned to recognize that quick judgments often reveal more about our internal state than about the person we judge. It’s akin to our body’s reflexes: if you touch a hot stove, you snatch your hand away without thinking. If someone bruises our pride or stirs our insecurities, our ego can just as reflexively leap to protect itself—and one way it does so is by projecting negative qualities outward.

In my line of work aligning bodies, I often see how we physically guard our tender spots—hunching shoulders to protect the heart or tensing the gut in fear. Our psyches have their own guard mechanisms. In psychology, projection is a classic ego defence mechanism: we avoid acknowledging undesirable traits in ourselves by attributing them to others verywellmind.com. It’s as if the mind holds up a mirror, but points it away from us.

When we call someone self-absorbed, arrogant, or narcissistic, it’s worth quietly asking: Am I seeing a reflection of something in me? This isn’t a comfortable question. I recall a personal example—early in my career, I bristled at a senior colleague who loved to hold court at conferences. He spoke with such confidence that I immediately labeled him “narcissistic.” The word formed in my mind before I even realized it. Later, through painful honesty, I recognized the envy and insecurity coiled in that reaction. I wished I could command a room so effortlessly. Rather than face my self-doubt, it was easier to slap a disparaging label on him. My accusation said more about my own hunger for validation than about his character.

Such moments have taught me humility. Often, when we’re itching to use the word narcissist, it’s precisely because some part of us feels diminished in that person’s presence. The label becomes a way to tilt the scales and regain an upper hand. In extreme cases, projection can be glaring. In one case a therapist recounted, a father with strong narcissistic traits routinely called his 13-year-old daughter a “narcissist” to put her in her place psychologytoday.com. He shamed the girl for normal teenage behaviour, likely to offload his own deep-seated issues. This cruel inversion is a clear example of projection harming another—he inflicted the very stigma on his child that perhaps he feared being accused of psychologytoday.com. Most scenarios aren’t so extreme, but the underlying mechanism can be surprisingly common and quiet.

The truth is, we all have a bit of Narcissus in us. Healthy self-love and ego are necessary for confidence, as psychoanalyst Heinz Kohut noted psychologytoday.com. But when we catch ourselves overly disturbed by someone’s self-regard, it may be our own shadow we’re seeing. The parts of ourselves we reject—our need to feel important, to be seen—can masquerade as moral outrage at another’s vanity. It’s the mind’s clever way of saying “It’s not me, it’s them.”

Beyond individual psychology, there’s a broader social dance influencing the narcissist label. Humans are constantly sizing each other up; we’re social animals with an acute sense of status and fairness. Sometimes, calling someone a narcissist is less about clinical concern and more about cutting them down to size. In Australia and elsewhere, there’s a term for knocking down people who stand tall: Tall Poppy Syndrome. The tall poppy is the one that stands out in a field, and some feel compelled to lop it down to the common height. As Dr. Rumeet Billan explains, a culture that values humility can breed resentment of those who “are being ‘cut down’… due to the potential envy and/or insecurities of the cutter.” harpersbazaar.com.au In other words, the poppy isn’t cut because it did wrong by growing tall; it’s cut because of the feelings it provokes in others who remained low.

Envy is a potent, if unflattering, emotion that often underlies our judgments. It can be hard to admit envy to ourselves—far easier to accuse the other person of showing off or thinking they’re better than everyone. I’ve seen this in subtle forms even among close friends. One friend of mine would often complain about her sister’s “ego,” describing the sister as narcissistic simply because she talked about her achievements. Knowing both siblings, I sensed the real issue wasn’t the sister’s pride but my friend’s own hurt at feeling inferior. The more the sister accomplished, the more my friend felt left behind—and the more she reached for the narcissist label as a weapon to level the score. It gave momentary relief, casting her sister as the one with the problem. This is the insidious comfort of envy: by belittling the successes or traits we covet in others, we try to soothe the sting of comparison mindanaotimes.com.ph. The logic is almost magical: If I cut them down, I will feel taller.

Social comparison theory tells us that we often evaluate ourselves based on those around us mindanaotimes.com.ph. In a competitive environment—be it the workplace, family, or social media feed—seeing someone else shine can trigger a threat response. If promotions, likes, or praise seem scarce, another’s gain might subconsciously feel like our loss. In workplaces, for instance, people sometimes undermine colleagues to look better by contrast. They highlight others’ flaws loudly, which momentarily “elevates their own standing, at least in their mind” mindanaotimes.com.ph. Labeling a rising star as a “narcissist” can be a form of covert sabotage: it signals to everyone listening that this person’s success doesn’t count; they’re just full of themselves. It’s a whispered incantation meant to shrink the tall poppy back down.

But consider what this behaviour says about the labeler’s own state. Psychological insecurity often hides behind aggressive judgment. One insightful article put it plainly: people tear others down to make themselves seem better, and such actions “speak to a deep sense of inadequacy or an exaggerated sense of self rather than strength or competence.” mindanaotimes.com.ph In simpler terms, a confident person doesn’t feel the need to attack others’ dignity. True strength stands on its own; it doesn’t require a foil. When we find ourselves eager to diminish someone by calling them narcissistic, it’s a sign that our self-worth is wobbling. It’s as if by labeling them as hollow or boastful, we hope to quietly assure ourselves that we are the opposite—grounded, virtuous, worthy. But genuine self-worth can’t be built on a foundation of other people’s broken reputations.

There is a socially acceptable sheen to calling out narcissism. After all, narcissism is bad, humility is good—right? On the surface, when we brand someone a narcissist, we might seem to be championing humility, empathy, and all those virtues narcissists supposedly lack. It can feel like a form of moral signalling, telegraphing to others (and to ourselves) that we value modesty and altruism. We might imagine that by pointing out someone’s conceit, we’re aligning with a righteous stance: I stand against arrogance; I stand for decency. It’s an attractive self-image.

But here’s the rub: Often, this moral high ground is a mirage disguising competitive moralism or even our own narcissistic streak. Moral superiority can become its own kind of ego drug. If I constantly declare others selfish, what story am I telling about myself? Perhaps that I am the selfless one, the long-suffering giver among takers. This can slide into what some psychologists call “virtuous victimhood,” where a person gets to enjoy the sympathy of being the victim and the esteem of being morally upright inc.com. We’ve all encountered that friend on social media who laments being surrounded by narcissists—implicitly suggesting that they alone are the empathetic heart in a cruel world. It’s a heady position to be in, and not one most of us consciously seek, but it can subtly reinforce the ego.

Ironically, in labeling another as lacking empathy, we may lose our own. We become so convinced of their moral failing that we stop extending basic compassion or curiosity toward them. As one expert wryly noted, this narrative “divides us, by defining empathy as something we have and others lack.” inc.com It excuses us from trying to understand the person we’re labeling. After all, why try to empathize with a narcissist, of all people? Why listen to their side or consider their pain? Our sense of moral certainty becomes a wall. In my practice of Adaptive Bodywork, I teach that rigidity—whether in muscle, tissue or mindset—limits growth. A spine that doesn’t bend will eventually break. Likewise, a mind that locks itself in the stance of “I’m right, they’re just a narcissist” cannot learn or heal from conflict. We end up stuck, reliving the same grievances, perhaps even seeking out further evidence of the other’s narcissism to validate our stance psychologytoday.com. It’s a self-perpetuating loop.

This isn’t to say there are no real narcissists or that no one ever truly hurts us. There are indeed dangerous individuals in the world, and genuine narcissistic abuse is a very real, devastating experience. Being able to name a pattern of manipulation and emotional harm can be life-saving for victims of malignant narcissists psychologytoday.com. For someone who’s been gaslit or chronically demeaned, identifying the abuser as a narcissist can provide clarity and a path to healing psychologytoday.com. However, that is a far cry from the casual label-slinging we see in pop culture today. Posting too many selfies or having a brash personality is not the same as terrorizing one’s family, and conflating the two only “trivializes that very real pain” suffered by victims of severe narcissism psychologytoday.com. In other words, when we overuse the term, we dilute its meaning and may unjustly vilify people who are merely annoying or inconsiderate, not truly disordered psychologytoday.com. Not every jerk or egotist is a clinical narcissist. Sometimes a jerk is just a jerk. Sometimes a conflict is just a clash of personality or values, not evidence of a pathology. Recognizing this requires us to surrender that tempting moral high ground and embrace nuance.

Throughout all these reflections, I return to the body—to what I’ve learned from guiding people in structural integration and Adaptive Bodywork. Our bodies are like walking narratives, shaped by habits, emotions, and beliefs. I often observe how a person’s posture can mirror their inner life. The proud, chest-forward stance can speak of confidence—or, occasionally, of overcompensation. The collapsed shoulders and downcast gaze might whisper of shame or insecurity. Posture is presence; it’s how we literally carry ourselves in the world. And I find a powerful parallel here: How we carry our self-worth.

Labeling others is, in a sense, an attempt to adjust the posture of our social world—often by pushing someone else down so we feel up. It’s a shortcut, an external fix. But authentic confidence and dignity don’t come from external comparisons; they come from internal alignment. Just as I help clients align their physical structure—realigning fascia, releasing tension—there is an alignment of values and self-perception that each of us must continually tune. When that inner alignment is off-kilter, we may notice a kind of spiritual slouching: perhaps we rely on gossip or put-downs to feel tall, just as a person with weak core muscles might lean on a wall to stand. Imagine instead standing on your own, grounded in your inherent worth.

In practical terms, this means developing awareness of our triggers and fears. It means embodying the values we profess—humility, kindness, respect—through our actions, not just our words. True dignity has a posture: it’s an upright spine that does not pivot to scan for who’s beneath us. It’s eyes forward, able to meet others at eye level without needing to look down on anyone. In fact, research has shown that adopting an upright posture can boost self-esteem and mood, fostering resilience against stress psychologytoday.com. I find that poetic. If standing tall physically can make us feel more confident, perhaps standing tall ethically—holding to our own standards of integrity—can make our ego feel more secure. Then we won’t need to constantly prop it up by tearing others down.

In one session, I worked with a man who habitually hunched, his chin tucked defensively. As we unwound the tension in his chest and neck, memories surfaced of being told as a child that he was “too full of himself.” He had learned to appear modest by physically constricting himself. Over time this became pain and stiffness. As his body opened, he confessed to me that he often judged confident people harshly, almost on reflex. It struck me that his hunched posture was both a cause and effect of a belief that standing tall was dangerous. He’d cut down tall poppies in his mind because he wasn’t allowing himself to bloom. The work we did was as much psychological as physical—giving him permission to occupy space with grace. He left not just with a freer spine, but with a thoughtful resolve to practice appreciation instead of envy.

Our presence is powerful when it’s authentic. You can tell when someone walks into a room with quiet confidence: they don’t need to boast, but they also don’t shrink. They acknowledge others without envy or intimidation. This kind of presence commands respect naturally, with a dignity that comes from within. John F. Kennedy once quipped that “people who feel worthwhile tend to treat others as worthwhile.” I see that truth every day. When we cultivate genuine self-worth, the compulsion to label or diminish others greatly diminishes. We no longer require a scapegoat to carry the projections of our own failings, nor do we need a pedestal of moral superiority to stand on. We stand on our own feet, at our full height, and invite others to do the same.

Toward the end of that coffee conversation, I gently asked my friend why it mattered so much that this acquaintance was “a narcissist.” She paused, caught off guard. What came out, after some hesitation, was a quiet admission: “He just… makes me feel so small.” There it was—the crux of it. Her label was a weapon and a shield, forged from feeling small. We’ve all been there, nursing the sting of someone else’s success or confidence, trying to salve our wounds by focusing on their supposed character flaws. But what if, instead of yielding to that impulse, we used such moments as mirrors for introspection?

The next time we feel the urge to declare someone a narcissist, we can pause and check in with ourselves. Why am I so bothered? What do I feel I’m losing or lacking in this moment? We might discover an insecurity we didn’t realize we had, or anger about a boundary we never voiced, or perhaps a fear of being overshadowed. These realizations are not always comfortable—our ego will squirm to avoid them—but they are profoundly liberating. They put us back in touch with our values and our agency. Maybe the lesson is that we need to assert ourselves honestly rather than dismiss the other person. Maybe it’s that we have been neglecting our own aspirations and resenting those who pursue theirs. Such insights help us grow, whereas simply calling someone a name leaves us stagnant.

In structural integration, there’s a principle that the body can find a new equilibrium once restrictive patterns are released. I believe the same about our hearts. When we release the habit of cutting others down, we create space to lift ourselves up in healthier ways. Instead of bonding with others over a mutual disdain for a third party’s ego, we can bond over aspirations, over authentic struggles and victories. Instead of saying, “She’s so full of herself,” perhaps we say, “She really seems confident—what can I learn from that?” or even, “I wonder if that confidence is covering some hurt?” This doesn’t mean we must like everyone or ignore genuine toxic behaviour. It means we approach others, and ourselves, with a bit more curiosity and compassion.

At its core, casually calling someone a narcissist is an act of diminishment. It shrinks the labeled person in our eyes and, for a time, puffs us up. But that puffed-up feeling is hollow and fleeting—like a posture that isn’t supported by real muscle or connective tissue. When the wind changes, it collapses. How much more enduring is it to build real self-worth, the kind that isn’t comparative? That kind of worth allows us to stand next to the tallest poppy and still feel secure in our own skin. It allows us to admire others’ reflections without losing sight of our own.

In a world of exaggerated selfies and Twitter diagnoses, resisting the impulse to shout “narcissist!” is an act of quiet rebellion and wisdom. It’s choosing to be clear-eyed and humble, recognizing that we’re all imperfect, all yearning for significance in our own ways. It’s reminding ourselves that dignity is not a limited resource—someone else’s pride need not diminish ours. We can afford to be generous with praise and measured with judgment, because we’re cultivating a garden where many flowers can bloom without threatening one another.

In my therapy room and in my life, I’ve learned that when I feel the need to diminish someone, it’s a signal to turn inward. To straighten my spine, figuratively and literally, and ask what part of me is feeling unseen or insecure. That’s the part that needs attention and compassion. By tending to our own posture—our inner alignment of self-esteem and values—we automatically relate differently to others. We become more inclined to build rather than break, to support rather than shame.

So the next time you find the word “narcissist” on the tip of your tongue, take a breath. Notice what’s beneath that urge. You might find envy, or hurt, or a craving to be respected. Hold that gently. Remember that cutting someone else down will not raise you up in any lasting way. Ask yourself instead: How can I stand taller on my own? Perhaps it’s by reaffirming your principles, or setting a boundary, or simply reminding yourself that your worth isn’t a contest. Every one of us can choose to stand tall with dignity without making others small. That stance—resolute, open, neither hunched in self-doubt nor puffed in self-importance—is like a well-aligned spine. It is strong and flexible. It holds its truth without needing to prove anything.

In that posture of integrity, the word “narcissist” loses its tantalizing power. It becomes, correctly, a term for professionals to diagnose sparingly, not a casual gavel in our personal disputes. We free ourselves from the cliché and move into a more honest, spacious way of relating. We trade the cheap armour of judgment for the solid shield of self-knowledge. And in doing so, we not only grant others the dignity of their full complexity—we grant it to ourselves.

References:

• Gillis, K. (2022). Is the Label of Narcissist Being Overused? – Psychology Today. (“Equating these behaviors by tagging the people who display the former as narcissists is a bit like comparing a pickpocket to an armed bank robber.” Casual use of “narcissist” as an insult can be cruel and rooted in projection psychologytoday.com.)

• Malkin, C. (2015). Why We Need to Stop Throwing the “Narcissist” Label Around – Psychology Today. (Overusing “narcissist” for minor self-centered acts trivializes real narcissistic abuse psychologytoday.com. Narcissism lies on a spectrum; not everyone high in confidence is pathological.)

• Vinney, C. (2024). Projection as a Defense Mechanism – Verywell Mind. (Projection is an ego defense where one “recognizes their unacceptable traits or impulses in someone else to avoid recognizing those traits… in themselves” verywellmind.com.)

• Mindanao Times (2023). Shadows of Insecurity. (Putting others down often comes from low self-esteem, insecurity, or narcissistic tendencies. It provides short-term relief by making the person feel superior, but it stems from “a deep sense of inadequacy or an exaggerated sense of self rather than strength” mindanaotimes.com.ph.)

• Blair, S. (2022). Breaking down Tall Poppy Syndrome – Harper’s Bazaar. (Tall Poppy Syndrome describes knocking down high achievers out of envy. Often the issue is not the achiever’s behavior but “the potential envy and/or insecurities of the cutter.” harpersbazaar.com.au.)

• Stillman, J. (2023). Why People Who Call Everyone Else Narcissists Are Often Narcissists Themselves – Inc.com. (Labeling others as narcissistic can boost one’s ego and sense of being the victim inc.com. It’s “very validating,” but it reduces empathy and self-awareness. Dombek notes it’s a “story that… defines empathy as something we have and others lack.” inc.com.)

• Psychology Today (2023). The Trouble With Calling Each Other Narcissists. (Using a diagnosis label in conflict reinforces feeling “in the right” and makes us look for evidence confirming our judgment psychologytoday.com. It limits our view of the person and our ability to relate or resolve issues.)

• Ratey, H. (2022). Heads Up! Good Posture Helps Both Your Mind and Your Body – Psychology Today. (An upright posture can “maintain self-esteem, reduce negative mood, and increase positive mood” under stress psychologytoday.com, suggesting a link between how we carry ourselves and how we feel.)

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