Why Narcissists Know Exactly How to Push Your Buttons—and How I Finally Disconnected

"You Have 1 New Message"

One Wednesday afternoon, I was at work, just getting into the flow of my day. The office had a nice vibe, thanks to a great team, so it was one of those days when work didn’t feel much like work. I was in the middle of preparing a quote for a customer when I felt the usual afternoon urge to stretch my legs. So, I got up, headed to the washroom, and then wandered outside to the picnic bench. It was part of my routine to reset my focus before diving back into work.

As I was out there, my watch buzzed. I glanced down and saw a missed call with an area code that seemed oddly familiar but didn’t ring any specific bells. It was from Arizona, a place I hadn’t thought of in years. I didn’t recognize the number, but my gut immediately felt uneasy. Without thinking much of it, I decided to go back to my desk and grab my phone.

Another buzz—this time, it was a voicemail. I had no reason to be spooked by a call, yet something deep down told me I might not like what I was about to hear. Curiosity got the better of me, so I played the message.

And just like that, my world flipped upside down.

"Tiffany, it’s Mark. You need to call me back right now. It’s urgent. There’s something important I need to tell you."

A chill ran through me, freezing me in place. Urgent. Important. Words he’d used countless times, always vague, always creating a sense of mystery or danger that only he could resolve. Even after all these years, his words could still lock me into that old, familiar grip.

I felt myself spiral, my mind racing, searching for some rational explanation that could calm the anxiety. But in truth, I didn’t know how to manage it.

When the Past Calls: A Reminder of How Narcissists Keep Us Hooked

Growing up, whenever I tried to express my emotions—especially when they were intense or complex—the people around me made it clear they didn’t want to hear it. They’d brush off my feelings, tell me I was “too sensitive,” or imply I was overreacting. Over time, I’d learned to suppress my emotions, burying them so deeply that they rarely surfaced.

After my divorce, I knew I needed to confront those years of pent-up feelings, to finally work through the weight of it all. But whenever I tried to open up about what had happened in my marriage, people seemed too busy or too uncomfortable to listen.

It felt as though I was making a big deal out of nothing—at least, that’s how they acted. Their responses were always quick, dismissive solutions, as if they thought it was easy to move on and couldn’t understand why I was still caught up in it.

So, when Mark left a cryptic, manipulative message like this, every old fear and doubt bubbled to the surface, unchecked and raw.

As soon as I heard the voice, my stomach churned, and a cold wave washed over me. I felt my heart racing as I hurried back to the washroom, glancing in the mirror. The reflection showed someone rattled, with flushed cheeks and wide, frazzled eyes.

I barely recognized myself. I’d been perfectly fine just moments earlier, but that voice—that voice—triggered a storm inside me. It was my ex-husband. I hadn’t heard from him in years, and for good reason. I thought I’d buried that chapter under layers of new beginnings and self-growth, yet here it was, all clawing its way back to the surface.

It wasn’t even about what he said, which was vague at best. It was more the tone—that old, demanding tone. That same voice that once commanded me to jump, no matter where I was or what I was doing.

Memories flooded back. I felt like I had to call him back immediately, to jump at his call like I used to in our relationship, back when my self-worth was somehow tied to his moods and approval.

When the game gets tough: Time to call a friend

I left the washroom and headed back into the office, looking for Tyrone, my coworker and best friend. Tyrone could sense something was up as soon as he saw me, “What’s going on?” he asked gently, seeing right through my attempt to play it cool.

I tried to brush it off, awkwardly. “Guess who left me a message?”

He looked at me, knowing it was anything but a casual guess. “Who?”

“It’s my ex-husband. He says it’s urgent, that he has something important to tell me,” I said, voice barely above a whisper, feeling the weight of it all over again. I played him the message.

Tyrone listened intently, then he looked at me with a quiet calm and said, “There’s nothing here, Tiffany. He’s got nothing.”

I stared at him, confused. “But what if it really is important?”

Tyrone shook his head. “Listen again. He never actually said what’s urgent or important, did he?”

Seeing my confusion, Tyrone put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. “I’ve been through this, too. My ex used to play these same games, leaving cryptic messages with just enough bait to make me worry. It’s an old trick they use, Tiffany—dropping emotional triggers into a message to manipulate you, to activate old programming they set in place a long time ago. They know exactly how to press your buttons.”

Tyrone leaned in, more serious now. “These are triggers they’ve planted in us to make us respond automatically. When she used to berate me for not picking up right away or for having to explain myself, she was conditioning me, creating that emotional reflex. It’s like a code in your mind that they can tap into whenever they want. It looks like he has done the same thing to you."

He encouraged me to play the message again. “This time,” he said, “listen without the emotions he’s trying to pull out of you. Just focus on the words.” I played it. And suddenly, it became obvious. He hadn’t actually said anything important. There was no real message—just an urgent command to call him back, with no context or explanation.

Tyrone looked at me and said, “He’s relying on the old patterns. He knows that tone triggers you because it’s been ingrained. You’re being pulled by a memory, not the man himself.”

Tyrone explained that in toxic relationships, these manipulative moments feel familiar because they’re intentionally designed to. They aren’t really about what’s being said—they’re about planting seeds of confusion and self-doubt.

The same energy he used to call and leave a message could just as easily have gone into actually explaining his reason for calling, but that wasn’t the point.

I felt both a rush of relief and a lingering shame. How could I let a message, just a few seconds long, bring back so much after not hearing his voice in over four years? But Tyrone reminded me it wasn’t weakness. It was just a pattern—a muscle memory of sorts.

“He’s counting on you to respond,” Tyrone continued, his voice gentle but unwavering. “That’s the whole game. He doesn’t want you to know what’s going on—he wants you to stay in suspense, to feel that anxiety. But there’s nothing real here, nothing you need to respond to. He’s just testing the waters, seeing if he still has a hold on you.”

My Buttons Now

Tyrone’s words started sinking in, filling the hollow space Mark’s voice had left behind. I knew Tyrone had been in my shoes; he knew the suffocating feeling of being pulled back by someone who thought they owned his emotions. He knew the shame, the frustration, the doubt. And here he was, helping me piece together the truth, guiding me back to a place of clarity.

I took a shaky breath, feeling my mind start to clear, as if a fog had lifted.

“You’re right,” I said quietly, feeling my strength return. “He didn’t actually say anything. He just wanted to see if he could make me react.”

Tyrone nodded, his face warm with encouragement. “Exactly. And you’ve already taken back your power, Tiffany. You’re not obligated to respond to him. You don’t owe him your peace of mind.”

A wave of relief washed over me. I realized then that I didn’t need to keep replaying this pattern. Just because he knew how to push my buttons didn’t mean he still had access to them. I wasn’t the person he thought he could control anymore.

Hearing Tyrone break it down like that was powerful. It was as if he’d handed me a roadmap out of the maze I’d been stuck in for years. I looked at Tyrone, feeling gratitude swell up in my chest. “Thank you,” I whispered. He didn’t need words to understand; he simply gave a small nod, a reminder that I wasn’t alone in this.

This experience was my wake-up call. I needed to take back control of my triggers, to learn to rewrite my response to them. It was like a switch flipped in my mind. The call wasn’t really about something urgent. It was about control. It was about using a trigger he’d planted years ago to see if he could still make me jump. But not anymore.

In that moment, I realized Tyrone was right. My ex didn’t need anything from me—he wanted my reaction, my worry, my time. But now that I saw through it, I didn’t feel obligated to give any of that away.

I never called back. He never tried calling again. And every day since, I’ve kept that lesson close: just because someone knows how to push your buttons doesn’t mean they own them. Those buttons are mine now, and no one has the right to press them but me.

letstalk@tiffanyandtyrone.com