<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Narcissism on Sunday Evening Review</title><link>https://sundayeveningreview.com/tags/narcissism/</link><description>Recent content in Narcissism on Sunday Evening Review</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Sat, 23 May 2026 06:00:00 -0500</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://sundayeveningreview.com/tags/narcissism/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Since You Asked: How to Deal With a Narcissist</title><link>https://sundayeveningreview.com/letters/since-you-asked-how-to-deal-with-a-narcissist/</link><pubDate>Sat, 23 May 2026 06:00:00 -0500</pubDate><guid>https://sundayeveningreview.com/letters/since-you-asked-how-to-deal-with-a-narcissist/</guid><description>&lt;p>&lt;strong>Dear Lorraine,&lt;/strong>&lt;/p>
&lt;p>I&amp;rsquo;ve been friends with Deborah for twenty-three years. We met in a quilting circle, and she was the friend who called when my father died, who drove me to the hospital the morning of my gallbladder surgery, who I have trusted in the way you trust someone you&amp;rsquo;ve watched handle their own hard things.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>Over the last few years, though, I&amp;rsquo;ve started noticing something I can&amp;rsquo;t stop noticing. Every situation, every gathering, every conversation eventually comes back to her. Not cruelly. She doesn&amp;rsquo;t do it to wound anyone. She does it the way some people hum without knowing they&amp;rsquo;re doing it: reflexively, without apparent awareness. When I told her about my first grandchild last October, she turned within a minute to her own daughter&amp;rsquo;s fertility struggles. When our group of friends went to Savannah for a long weekend, she steered every dinner conversation until the rest of us had mostly stopped trying. Two women in our circle have quietly stopped coming to things Deborah attends.&lt;/p></description></item></channel></rss>