Wanting an Apology from the Narcissistic Ex

Many people in this community know exactly what it is to sit awake at night longing for an apology from someone who hurt you deeply. It is one of the most human things we can want, validation that what happened was wrong, acknowledgment that it was not our fault, hope that maybe…it will never happen again.

When you have survived narcissistic abuse, that hope can be incredibly persistent. Even after the relationship ends, many people find themselves waiting for the ex to finally realize what they did, to finally say “I am sorry” and mean it. It's almost as if our brains are still trying to process and makes sense of what happened to us.

I want to say very clearly I understand that longing. I remember what it felt like to want so badly for him to own what he did. For a long time, I thought if he would just admit it, I could finally have peace.

But over time, I came to see apologies in that relationship for what they really were.

It was a cycle so predictable it was almost scripted. It felt like living in an amusement park filled with distorted mirrors and bizarre characters. Nothing made sense. There was not just one roller coaster, there was one for every category of conflict, each with its own twists, turns, and stomach dropping plunges. At the end of each ride, there was the apology.

Those apologies came in many forms. Sometimes it was a simple card or what seemed like heartfelt letter. Other times it was a grand gesture. When he was caught in huge lies about financial exploitation, there might be a vacation or an expensive getaway meant to "make it up" to me. He wanted to show me that my fears around our finances were unjust, we could afford things elaborate apology vacations.

At first, those gestures seemed sincere. I wanted to believe they were evidence he cared and that he felt remorse. But slowly, I began to dread the sight of a card or an email from him. He was an expert at apologizing. He was in high level sales, and his entire livelihood depended on convincing people to buy what he was selling. That skill set did not end at work, it came home with him and seeped into every aspect of our business and our lives.

What I finally understood was that those apologies were not about accountability. They were about control. They were designed to calm my anger, soothe my doubts, and keep me invested. They hit the reset button on the relationship and the abuse cycle would start again.

For me, forgiveness in this context is overrated. At least in the traditional sense. We are often told that forgiveness is necessary for healing, but I think that can be dangerous advice for survivors of abuse. Forgiveness is often framed as something you owe even to someone who has done nothing to earn it, who has shown no remorse, and who will continue to harm you if given the chance.

I do believe there is value in letting go of rage and bitterness for our own sake. As we know, our bodies hold onto trauma and that can be detrimental to our health. But that is not the same as accepting another empty apology. It is not the same as inviting that person back into our lives or giving them another opportunity to hurt us.

Even once I knew he was not capable of self reflection, of owning what he had done, or of sincerely apologizing, there was still a part of me that wanted that apology. I want to share a moment that was particularly dark for me.

Seven years into my custody battle, my ex-husband's older brother was arrested for sexually abusing a child. A search warrant revealed it was the worst case of child sexual abuse in the history of our county: dozens of victims, three terabytes of images and videos.

In the middle of an emotional breakdown over this horror, I sent my ex-husband an email fueled with rage and heartbreak. I wanted him to apologize. I wanted him to admit that I had been right about his brother all along, that he should have never taken our daughters around him.

I knew better than to send that email and the moment I hit send, I regretted it. I knew he was not capable of the kind of accountability I was begging for. Instead of an apology, I received an attack. I was left feeling even more devastated.

That moment was a harsh reminder that knowing better does not always protect you from the hope that lives somewhere deep inside, the hope that this time it might be different. That even someone who has shown you again and again who they are might finally show you decency when it matters most.

If you are in that place right now, still hoping for that apology, I see you. I understand it. It is not shameful or weak to want someone to admit the harm they did. It is human.

My experience taught me this: waiting for a genuine apology from someone who uses apologies as weapons is a trap. It is one more hook to keep you engaged in their story, their version of events or their cycle.

Healing for me did not come from hearing “I am sorry.” It came from realizing I would never hear it in a meaningful way. Part of my healing came from radical acceptance, accepting that he was never going to offer real accountability, and refusing to settle for anything less.

Ultimately, I had to give myself the closure I so badly wanted from him. I had to decide that I believed myself. That I believed my own story, my own memory, my own worth. My own truth.

If you are reading this and you are still hoping, know that you are not alone. But also know this: you do not need their apology to heal. You need your truth.

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Divorcing a narcissist? You’re in the right place.

The fine print: I am not an attorney and am not qualified to provide legal advice. Everything I share is based on personal experience and over a decade of work supporting others through high-conflict custody battles. However, it is essential to consult with your attorney before making any legal decisions or implementing strategies discussed here. Your attorney is your legal voice and your advocate in the courtroom. They can help you understand the law in your jurisdiction, evaluate potential risks, and determine the best approach for your unique situation.

About me: My name is Tina Swithin. I’m a survivor, a mom, and someone who understands this battle firsthand. I acted as my own attorney and successfully protected my children in a system that I can only describe as inhumane. I’m also a blogger, a certified divorce coach, a best-selling author, and a fierce advocate for reform in the family court system. I divorced a narcissist—and I prevailed.

You can read more about me here.