Why Narcissists Lack Empathy and Emotional Depth

If you’ve ever worked closely with individuals high in narcissistic traits—or those with full-blown Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD)—you’ve likely felt it: this strange absence of felt connection. They might intellectually grasp that someone is sad, but their responses often ring hollow. Their emotional landscape can feel eerily one-dimensional or performative.

I’ve found this issue comes up in supervision groups all the time: Are they truly incapable of empathy? Or are they avoiding it? Well, it’s both—and more. The reality is layered, grounded in a mix of neurobiological factors, early relational trauma, and complex defensive operations.

In this piece, I want to dig into why narcissists lack empathy and emotional depth—not in the clichéd sense, but through lenses that you, as clinicians and researchers, can use to deepen your formulations and interventions. Let’s explore what’s really going on beneath that polished surface.

How the Brain and Body Shape Empathy Deficits

The split between knowing and feeling

One of the biggest misconceptions about narcissists is that they don’t know what others feel. That’s not entirely accurate. Many narcissists demonstrate intact cognitive empathy—they can accurately identify someone’s emotional state when it serves their interests. But they often lack affective empathy—the ability to resonate emotionally with that state.

This split is visible in neuroimaging. For instance, Schultheiss et al. (2020) found that individuals with high narcissistic traits show reduced activation in the anterior insula and anterior cingulate cortex when exposed to others’ distress. These areas underpin affective empathy and emotional resonance. Yet activity in the temporoparietal junction, which supports cognitive perspective-taking, remains relatively normal.

So yes, they can often “read” emotions—but they don’t feel them in a rich, embodied way. This explains why narcissists can give the appearance of empathy in superficial contexts while remaining emotionally disengaged in deeper relational moments.

The underdeveloped emotional self

Now, why this split? Part of the answer lies in development. Many narcissists grow up in environments where authentic emotional expression is unsafe—think intrusive, shaming, or neglectful caregivers. In response, they develop false-self systems organized around performance and external validation, while disavowing their vulnerable emotional states.

This has long-term neurobiological consequences. Chronic suppression of authentic affect impacts limbic system functioning and connectivity with cortical regions involved in self-awareness and affect regulation (Perry et al., 2014). The result: a person who can intellectually process emotion but experiences their own feelings—and others’—as flat, fragmented, or overwhelming.

I once had a grandiose narcissistic client who could dissect his partner’s every emotional move with precision—but when asked how he felt during conflicts, he would default to “fine” or “irritated,” with no deeper nuance. The capacity simply wasn’t there, and building it took years of painstaking work.

Empathy as threat

Here’s another layer: for many narcissists, empathy itself is dangerous. To feel deeply with another risks evoking unbearable shame, envy, or helplessness—states that the narcissistic structure is built to avoid.

In clinical settings, I’ve seen this play out as sudden shifts from apparent warmth to cold withdrawal when a patient begins to resonate too much with another’s pain. One vulnerable narcissistic patient described it beautifully: “If I go there with them, I’ll fall apart.”

Neuroimaging supports this defensive withdrawal. Studies show amygdala hyperactivation in narcissists exposed to emotional stimuli, suggesting that empathic engagement triggers threat responses rather than affiliative ones (Fan et al., 2011). They don’t just lack empathy; they fear it.

It’s not all the same: grandiose vs. vulnerable narcissism

Lastly, remember that not all narcissists lack empathy in the same way. Grandiose narcissists often display more profound deficits in affective empathy and emotional depth, while vulnerable narcissists may experience overwhelming, dysregulated emotional states but struggle to process or integrate them coherently.

I find that grandiose narcissists “don’t feel enough,” while vulnerable narcissists “feel too much but can’t make sense of it.” This nuance matters immensely in treatment planning. Trying to cultivate empathy in a grandiose narcissist requires building basic emotional awareness; with a vulnerable narcissist, it’s more about helping them tolerate and integrate intense affect without fragmenting.

Understanding these distinctions helps us move beyond one-size-fits-all approaches and see the specific architecture of empathy deficits in each individual we work with.

How Defenses and Early Experiences Kill Emotional Depth

The role of defenses: keeping feelings at bay

Let’s get honest—most of us have watched narcissistic patients deploy defenses like it’s their full-time job. And in many ways, it is. Defenses are how their psyches survive early wounds. But they come at a steep cost: authentic emotional depth gets sacrificed at the altar of self-protection.

Some of the most prominent defenses I see in narcissistic clients are splitting, idealization and devaluation, and projective identification. Let’s unpack these in a practical way.

Splitting allows the narcissist to keep intolerable emotional complexity out of awareness. If a relationship starts to evoke shame, envy, or dependency, the other person is suddenly “bad”—and thus safely distant from the vulnerable self. But this binary view of the world prevents the nuanced emotional processing that underpins real empathy and depth.

Idealization and devaluation operate similarly. A new therapist, lover, or friend starts off as perfect and worthy of intense admiration. But the minute reality intrudes and the idealized figure disappoints, they’re devalued. It’s an attempt to control relational anxiety, but again, it flattens emotional experience. There’s no space for mixed feelings or for genuine curiosity about another’s inner world.

Projective identification is one of the most insidious. I’ve had patients who, rather than tolerate feelings of envy or shame, unconsciously induce those feelings in me, pushing me to experience what they cannot bear themselves. It’s a powerful relational dynamic—but it destroys the possibility of mutual, emotionally rich connection.

The false self: living behind a mask

We can’t talk about emotional shallowness in narcissism without mentioning the false self. Winnicott’s concept is still remarkably useful here. Many narcissists build a persona designed to elicit admiration and manage relational distance. But because this self is performative, it’s cut off from authentic affect.

Think about it: if your internal worth hinges on projecting perfection, there’s no room to express grief, longing, shame, or even genuine joy. These emotions threaten the carefully curated facade. Over time, many narcissists become strangers to their own inner world.

A grandiose client once told me bluntly, “I know what I should feel when my daughter cries—but I can’t feel it. I just feel blank.” He wasn’t being callous. His emotional depth was paper-thin, because his false self had walled off the vulnerable, feeling parts of him decades ago.

Alexithymia: not knowing what you feel

Another key contributor is alexithymia—difficulty identifying and describing emotions. Narcissistic patients often display high alexithymic traits, not because they’re constitutionally unable to feel, but because they’ve learned to distrust and avoid feeling.

Research backs this up. A 2015 study by Jonason and Krause found that narcissistic traits correlate significantly with alexithymia, especially in grandiose narcissists. Clinically, I see this constantly: patients report vague somatic states (“tight chest,” “pressure in my head”) rather than clear emotional experiences.

This hampers both self-empathy and empathy for others. If you can’t articulate your own feelings, you’ll struggle to imagine or resonate with someone else’s.

Using people, not connecting with them

Finally, many narcissists approach relationships instrumentally. Others are valued for their utility—providing admiration, status, or resources—rather than as subjects with their own emotional depth.

This is partly defensive (avoiding dependency), but it’s also developmental. If early caregivers were emotionally unavailable or punitive, relationships get encoded as transactions, not mutual exchanges of feeling.

I once worked with a CEO who could charm a room effortlessly—but in private, he admitted that deep relationships felt “pointless.” His focus was on extracting value, not on connection. When asked to imagine what his wife might be feeling during a fight, he looked confused and slightly panicked. His relational template simply didn’t include that level of empathy.

Bringing it all together

When we look at these patterns—defenses, false self structures, alexithymia, and instrumental relating—we see why narcissistic individuals so often lack emotional depth. It’s not just about being “selfish” or “cold”; it’s about a complex web of developmental wounds and protective strategies that leave genuine emotional engagement fragmented or inaccessible.

And for us as clinicians, understanding this helps us meet narcissistic patients with more empathy ourselves—even as we navigate the challenges of their defenses.

How This Shows Up in Relationships and Therapy

Relational patterns: hot, cold, shallow

In personal relationships, narcissistic empathy deficits create painful, repetitive cycles. Many narcissists initially present as charming and attuned, drawing partners in with apparent warmth. But as relational demands deepen, their capacity to resonate emotionally often collapses.

I’ve seen countless relationships follow this arc: early idealization, increasing emotional demands from the partner, followed by withdrawal or devaluation when the narcissist feels exposed or threatened. Partners often report feeling “unseen” or “emotionally alone”—even when the narcissist is physically present.

A classic example: one client described her husband, a grandiose narcissist, as incredibly supportive during her job promotion—until she began expressing doubts and stress about the new role. At that point, he became dismissive and critical, unable to tolerate her vulnerability or provide genuine empathy.

Transference and countertransference in therapy

In the therapy room, these empathy deficits play out in subtle but powerful ways. Narcissistic patients often evoke strong countertransference reactions, especially feelings of frustration, emptiness, or even guilt in the therapist.

Transference is frequently marked by idealization at first. Therapists may be seen as brilliant, life-changing figures. But as therapy progresses and deeper emotional work is attempted, the patient may shift into devaluation or disengagement, triggered by the very empathy the therapist offers.

I’ve had patients who, after an intense session exploring early trauma, would return the next week aloof and intellectualized, as if retreating from the emotional closeness. Recognizing this as a protective move rather than resistance is key.

Differences between narcissistic subtypes

Understanding subtype differences is crucial here. Grandiose narcissists often avoid emotional depth entirely, maintaining distance through arrogance, charm, or intellectualization.

In contrast, vulnerable narcissists frequently experience overwhelming emotions but lack the ability to process or integrate them. They may appear needy, emotionally labile, and hypersensitive to perceived slights—but their empathy is often fused with self-focus and dysregulation.

Clinically, I find that grandiose patients need help building basic emotional awareness and tolerance, while vulnerable patients benefit more from work on affect regulation and relational boundaries. Pushing for empathy too soon with either group risks triggering defenses or collapse.

Why fostering empathy is so difficult

One of the hardest aspects of treating narcissistic patients is that empathy itself can feel intolerably threatening. To resonate with another’s pain means confronting their own disavowed wounds—and for many, this is a line they simply can’t cross without significant therapeutic preparation.

It’s why interventions aimed at “teaching empathy” often backfire. Empathy deficits in narcissism aren’t just a skills gap; they’re deeply intertwined with identity, shame, and survival strategies.

A more effective approach is to start by helping patients develop basic emotional literacy and self-compassion, which then lays the groundwork for more genuine other-oriented empathy over time.

The paradox of empathy in narcissism

Here’s the paradox: while narcissistic patients crave admiration and connection, their impaired empathy and emotional depth often sabotage the very relationships they seek.

Therapeutically, this creates a delicate balancing act. We must validate their longing for connection while gently challenging the defenses that prevent it. And we must do so with profound patience, recognizing that the path toward greater empathy is long and non-linear.

In the words of one wise supervisor I had: “You can’t rush someone into feeling what they’ve spent a lifetime avoiding.”

Final Thoughts

So why do narcissists lack empathy and emotional depth? It’s a complex interplay of neurobiology, early relational trauma, entrenched defenses, and adaptive survival strategies. What looks like coldness or callousness is often a profound disconnection from self and others, born of developmental necessity.

For us as clinicians and researchers, the task is to approach this deficit with curiosity, compassion, and clear-eyed realism. We can’t expect quick fixes—but we can offer a relational space where, over time, the capacity for deeper feeling and genuine empathy might cautiously emerge.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from this work, it’s this: beneath the grandiosity or the fragility, there’s often a terrified child who once learned that feeling too much could break them. Helping them reclaim even a fragment of that lost emotional life is one of the hardest—and most rewarding—things we can do.