Narcissistic Discard
What It Looks Like, What It Means, and How to Reckon With It and Move On
By Iris Lennox
“You just need to move on.”
First of all, as my favorite great aunt used to say, “I don’t need to do anything but pay taxes and die.” Second, moving on is not a single act. It’s a layered, evolving process: doing the next right thing while looking back, learning, and applying what you now know in ways that honor God and nurture the life you’re building. That’s my definition.
For me, moving on from the disastrous disappointment of my relationship with Erik Herrmann began the morning after he vanished—without warning—from a deeply entangling relationship in which I had given him every kind of trust a woman can offer. I won’t rehash the brutality of his disappearance here. I’ve earned the dignity of not having to unpack it every time I speak about it. I’ve written about it elsewhere, and frankly, rehashing the details no longer serves my healing.
That said, I’ll share just enough to give you a picture. If you’ve been similarly discarded—by a man or a woman—I suspect what follows will feel hauntingly familiar.
In preparing to write this essay, I searched for a phrase in Erik’s and my old Facebook Messenger thread: “I’m not going anywhere.” Erik said it six times in the chat and countless times in person. Here’s a sampling:
November 13, 2022 – 8:41:40 p.m.
Erik Herrmann:
“I’m not nervous or anything about it. I’m not going anywhere.”
December 5, 2022 – 8:50:33 p.m.
Erik Herrmann:
“I’m not going anywhere. You’ve already been saying it in so many ways …”
March 7, 2023 – 10:01:08 p.m.
Erik Herrmann:
“I’m not going any where. I love you…”
March 25, 2023 – 8:42:35 p.m.
Erik Herrmann:
“Ok. We can talk about all of this later. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”
And then… he went. In an instant. My husband confronted him in a parking lot across the street from Erik’s church. Erik called me in a panic and said, “What am I supposed to do? Give up everything for THIS?” I was shocked, confused, and asked him to slow down so we could talk through what was happening. I was interacting with him as I had just moments earlier, as if nothing had changed. But something had. In a flash, Erik became a different person. He hung up on me. Then he texted my husband, telling him I was very angry and that he was “worried about me.”
Yes, that’s right. He immediately tried to triangulate my husband, placing them on the same team against me. He’s been using that finely tuned tool of triangulation ever since.
The point is this: Erik’s disappearance wasn’t just a cowardly exit. It was a textbook narcissistic discard.
But before we get into what that means, I want to speak briefly to the concept of “moving on.” Because when people say it to you—especially in the aftermath of betrayal—they’re often speaking from impatience or a desire to shut you up, not care.
So let me say this clearly: do not let anyone tell you how, when, or in what form your healing must come. Here are some of the people who told me to just move on:
Strangers on the internet
A flying monkey from Erik’s family
And here are the people who never said it:
My family
My counselor
My pastor
For me, moving on looked like anguish. It looked like walking ten miles a day, untangling every thread of cognitive dissonance Erik left behind. It looked like counseling, prayer, repentance, grief, storytelling, and eventually, writing.
Today, moving on looks like turning back. Looking again. Asking, What happened here? Who else is living a story like mine? And reaching into the wreckage with a life ring for anyone flailing in the waters of spiritual abuse, narcissistic relationships, or institutional failure. The church should protect the sheep. But some wolves are clever. They plug their emotional, mental, and spiritual holes with the hearts and minds of others, and they do it with holy-sounding words when it’s time to disappear.
Erik didn’t have an affair with me in the name of God. But he did discard me in His name. One minute, he was on his way to pick me up so he could bring me to his house for the day. The next, he was too holy to continue. That’s not repentance. That’s image management.
Let’s take an unflinching look at the phenomenon of narcissistic discard.
II. What Is Narcissistic Discard?
Narcissistic discard is the moment a person, once idealized and used for emotional supply, is abruptly cut off, ignored, or replaced by the narcissist. It is not a misunderstanding, a mutual drifting apart, or the result of normal relational conflict. It’s deliberate. It’s cold. And it’s often devastating to the person being discarded.
Clinical psychologist Dr. Ramani Durvasula describes narcissistic relationships as following a predictable cycle: idealization, devaluation, and discard. In the idealization phase, the narcissist mirrors your desires, flatters your talents, and seems to recognize your uniqueness. You feel seen. Then, often with little warning, the devaluation sets in. They begin to withhold affection, offer subtle criticisms, or disappear emotionally. Finally, the discard arrives. You are no longer useful. You are no longer a source of ego supply. So they vanish, or worse, they replace you.
Author Shahida Arabi, in her work on narcissistic abuse, explains that "the discard phase is not the end of the narcissistic abuse cycle, it is merely another tactic to instill a sense of worthlessness, create trauma bonds, and assert power." In other words, it is a form of psychological punishment. The narcissist is saying: You no longer serve me. You are nothing. You never mattered.
In my case, the discard took place in the context of a secret relationship, an affair. I take full responsibility for the choices I made. At the same time, it’s important to acknowledge that while both of us sinned, the emotional and psychological dynamics were not equal. Erik future-faked me constantly. He spoke of a life together, made promises, and built emotional intimacy that felt real to me. I trusted him. I was living in one version of the relationship, and he was living in another. I don’t share that to seek sympathy, I share it to tell the truth. This wasn’t just a mutual moral failing; it followed a pattern of deception, manipulation, and eventual discard that aligns exactly with what experts describe as narcissistic abuse.
III. Why It Hurts So Much: The Spiritual Undertow
Being discarded by a narcissist feels like spiritual annihilation. This is not an exaggeration. The trauma is not only emotional; it strikes at the soul. Narcissists are expert spiritual gaslighters. They often invoke God, Scripture, or the language of divine purpose to justify their behavior, especially within Christian settings. You were a gift. You were part of God's plan. Until, suddenly, you were not.
Dr. Diane Langberg, a psychologist who has worked extensively with trauma and abuse survivors in faith contexts, writes: "Abuse is always an abuse of power, and when done in the name of God, it is also spiritual abuse." Discard, when rooted in narcissistic manipulation, becomes an act of desecration. You gave your trust, your vulnerability, your story, and in return, you were rendered invisible.
Part of what makes the discard so destabilizing is that it often follows a period of deep emotional intimacy. It mimics covenantal connection. The narcissist draws you close with what feels like mutual understanding or something sacred and meant to be. But it is not mutual. It is strategic. When the mirage dissolves, you are left not only grieving a relationship but questioning your own discernment, your faith, and your sanity.
Another of the lines Erik wrote and spoke several times was, “Parts of me that I never knew existed have found a home in you.” I guess he’s homeless now.
IV. People as Plug-ins: How the Narcissist Uses You to Fill a Hole
The narcissist does not view people as whole beings to be loved, respected, or honored. He views people as emotional plug-ins; temporary tools for mood regulation, ego repair, and identity stabilization. Your feelings, your thoughts, even your presence, are not engaged with for their own sake. They’re used.
Dr. Craig Malkin, author of Rethinking Narcissism, explains that narcissists “see people as a way to shore up their shaky self-esteem.” They are not interested in mutual vulnerability. Instead, “what they’re looking for is affirmation and attention.” Their connections are built not on intimacy, but on the ability of others to help them maintain a sense of superiority or specialness.
You are not loved for your essence. You are tolerated—even momentarily cherished—for your utility: your ability to reflect admiration, provide emotional distraction, or absorb the narcissist’s anxiety. As long as you fill the role well, you may feel wanted, even needed. But it’s not you they’re bonded to. It’s what you do for them.
Psychologist Dr. Ramani Durvasula refers to this as “instrumental relating.” This is a term for how narcissists reduce others to function. In her words:
“The narcissist sees people as conveniences, not as people.”
“The relationship becomes purely utilitarian.”
(Should I Stay or Should I Go?)
This is why narcissistic discard feels so dehumanizing. You weren’t just left, you were rendered obsolete. The intimacy you thought you were building was a transaction. The bond was conditional. The connection, performative.
In Christian settings, this distortion takes on an added layer of spiritual manipulation. The narcissist may vanish under the guise of moral awakening or divine direction. He may cite “boundaries,” reframe the relationship as unhealthy (without naming his role in that harm), or declare that God is “calling him” to something new. Because religious communities often lack language for psychological abuse, these justifications are rarely questioned. In reality, the narcissist is simply tired of pretending to need you; he doesn’t want to lose any of his comfort, or he’s found a new plug.
And here’s the part that hurts most: you weren’t wrong to think it felt real. What you gave was real. What you believed was sincere. The tragedy is that the narcissist’s inner world is so fragmented, he cannot return the gift. He builds connections like scaffolding. Relationships are built for temporary use, not long-term shelter.
V. Institutional Blindness: How Churches Enable the Discard
Narcissists thrive in environments where image is mistaken for integrity. Sadly, the modern church often rewards charisma and CVs over character. A narcissist who is also a spiritual leader can hide behind robes, titles, and doctrinal correctness, all while cycling through people he uses and discards with impunity.
Chuck DeGroat, in When Narcissism Comes to Church, writes:
“I’ve most often seen bullies in nondenominational contexts, and many are the founders, planters, and entrepreneurs who guard their churches and organizations like the extensions of the narcissistic ego they are.”
And elsewhere:
“They are convincing. They are charming. They are certain. And tragically they are deemed credible.”
While DeGroat names nondenominational systems as a common breeding ground, intensely hierarchical traditions like the Lutheran Church are not immune. A system is only as sound as the people entrusted to uphold it, and when those people prioritize institutional image over truth, the hierarchy becomes a hiding place.
These dynamics create systemic protection for narcissistic leaders. Their charisma and outward competence make the whole system look successful. As a result, those who tell the truth are often labeled unstable, divisive, or bitter. The institution rallies to protect the image. The pastor stays. The problem is erased—or renamed.
In this context, discard becomes not just personal but public. You are not merely abandoned. You are erased. The narcissist’s story must be preserved, even if it means rewriting yours. When the narcissist holds institutional power, he can smear you at every level of the hierarchy—subtly or overtly—while continuing to present as credible, holy, and unbothered.
VI. You Were Never His to Discard
There is no such thing as a disposable soul.
If someone treated you as one—if they used your heart to steady themselves, silence their shame, or keep their own emptiness at bay—and then walked away as if you never mattered… that says everything about their capacity to love. And nothing about your capacity to be loved.
On the morning of April 17, 2023, Erik Herrmann was wildly in love with me, calling me “my love” and planning to spend the day together. By late morning, he claimed a level of piety no pope has ever dared and cast me aside like a needy pauper. By noon, he was no longer my partner; he was a righteous victim. He maintains that victimhood to this day. And he teaches at a seminary.
Narcissistic discard is not a story of your failure. It shows you what that person was always willing to do: use you, erase you, and pretend you don’t matter. Your healing begins when you stop romanticizing the discard and start recognizing it as the moment you were freed.
Today, moving on for me means writing the truth without asking permission. It means teaching, creating, laughing with my husband, walking in the woods, and enjoying life with people I love. It means being at peace, because I know who I am, and I know what happened.
I’ve already survived it. I’ve already told the truth. And I’m not going anywhere. For real.
I’ll leave you with these words from my favorite painter, Georgia O’Keeffe:
“I have already settled it for myself, so flattery and criticism go down the same drain, and I am quite free.”