Katarzyna Dodd is a European-licensed psychologist, therapist, and author known for developing the Inner Parent Theory—a powerful missing piece in the framework surrounding the Inner Child. She pioneered Emotional Freedom Techniques (EFT) in Poland and created the Inherence® Process, a method for restoring connection with the deep Self. Born and raised in Kraków, Poland, she spent 22 years in the United States before relocating to the Indian Ocean coast of Africa. Her newest book, The Chameleon’s Game, explores the psychological traps of covert narcissism and shows the way back to self-trust and personal clarity.
What inspired you to write The Chameleon’s Game?
Kasia Dodd: The inspiration came from the most unexpected place — the aftermath of something that I once believed was love. For a long time, I couldn’t understand how a relationship that felt so extraordinary, so spiritually connected at the beginning, could turn into a slow erosion of my confidence, clarity, and joy. It was only later that I discovered I had been entangled with a covert narcissist — and that realization changed everything.
Writing The Chameleon’s Game was an act of clarity. I wanted to understand, not what happened between us, but what happened within me — the invisible psychological dynamics that made me stay, even when I could see the red flags. I am a psychologist, and still, I found myself caught in patterns I couldn’t yet name — which showed me how profoundly subtle and complex this form of manipulation can be.
The Chameleon’s Game is not just a story — it’s a mirror of intergenerational trauma and the deeper dimensions of consciousness and transformation. It reveals the hidden mechanisms of covert narcissism and offers psychological insights while telling my own story — raw, transparent, and human — so that others can recognize themselves and know they’re not alone.
This book is for women who have loved too deeply, who have hidden their pain behind self-blame and silence. It’s a book that says: it can happen to anyone — even to someone who “should have known better.” And that’s exactly why we need to talk about it.
I wanted women to know they are not weak, broken, or foolish. They are brave souls who were open enough to love — and now they deserve to be open enough to heal. The Chameleon’s Game is an invitation to come out of hiding, to stop carrying the shame that doesn’t belong to us, and to reclaim the power of our truth.
You’ve developed what you call the Inner Parent Theory. For those unfamiliar, can you explain what that is and how it expands on the Inner Child work many people already know?
Kasia Dodd: For decades, psychology and self-development have focused on healing the Inner Child — the tender, emotional part of us that is often believed to carry early wounds. But over the years of working with clients and through my own deep inner process, I began to see something profoundly different. The Inner Child is not the one who needs healing — it’s the Inner Parent who does.
The Inner Child, in my experience, is not broken. It is the purest, most intact part of our consciousness — our original blueprint of joy, intuition, and vitality. What actually gets wounded is the Inner Parent — the structure of awareness that develops later, as we learn to interpret, control, or suppress our natural emotions to adapt to the world.
When the Inner Parent is immature, fearful, or disconnected, it projects its own fragmentation onto the Child — and that’s when we start believing that something inside us is wrong. Healing, then, is not about “fixing the Child,” but about maturing and awakening the Inner Parent — the part of us that can finally see, protect, and integrate the Child’s natural wholeness.
The Inner Child never needed healing — it only needed a healthy Parent. Without that presence, it cannot fully function in the world; it remains unseen, unsupported, and vulnerable to external control. When the Inner Parent finally awakens and takes its rightful place, the Child doesn’t change — it simply shines the way it was always meant to.
You share parts of your own story in The Chameleon’s Game. What was the hardest part to write — and what helped you turn pain into insight?
Kasia Dodd: The hardest part was writing the truth without turning it into blame. I didn’t want to create another story about a victim and a villain — I wanted to understand how illusion works, how manipulation hides behind love, and how even the most self-aware person can get lost in it.
It was difficult to revisit moments where I had silenced my intuition in the name of love — to see how far I had gone to keep something alive that was never real. But that was also where the healing began. Because when you start looking at your story not through self-blame, but with a gentle willingness to understand, pain slowly transforms into wisdom.
What helped me most was remembering that the book wasn’t about him — it was about coming back to myself. Writing became a form of integration. Every sentence was like reclaiming a part of me that had been waiting to be seen.
And that’s what I hope readers feel too — that even from the deepest confusion, something beautiful can grow. Insight turns pain into meaning.
Many people say “love is blind,” but you suggest that trauma bonds are even blinder. How can people start telling the difference between true connection and emotional chemistry rooted in survival?
Kasia Dodd: Yes — love can be blind, but a trauma bond is blind and magnetic. It feels like destiny because it awakens the same nervous system patterns that were formed in childhood — the ones that equated love with uncertainty, emotional intensity, or the need to earn affection.
When two people meet through those unhealed patterns, the chemistry feels electric — almost sacred. But it isn’t love recognizing love; it’s pain recognizing pain. It’s the nervous system saying, “This feels familiar — I know how to survive here.”
That’s why the first stage of a trauma bond can feel disarmingly safe — like “coming home.” It’s not real safety; it’s familiarity. The primitive brain confuses “familiar” with “safe,” because what is familiar feels predictable, and what feels predictable seems controllable. That illusion of safety is what makes trauma bonds so powerful — and so deceptive.
The real difference between a trauma bond and a true connection is not in intensity, but in sustainability. In a trauma bond, the initial calm quickly gives way to anxiety — the feeling that you must manage the connection to keep it alive. In true love, safety deepens over time instead of disappearing. You can breathe. You can be.
Healing begins when we stop chasing intensity and start valuing stability. When we realize that calm is not boredom — it’s safety. That consistency is not lack of passion — it’s the foundation of trust. True connection grows in the presence of awareness, not adrenaline. And the moment we begin to feel anchored in our own nervous system, we stop confusing emotional chaos with love.
How can someone tell the difference between someone who’s simply immature or selfish and someone with full-blown narcissistic personality disorder?
Kasia Dodd: That’s one of the hardest distinctions to make — especially when the person you care about lives somewhere in that gray area between emotional immaturity and pathology.
Many people can be selfish, defensive, or emotionally unavailable at times — that doesn’t make them narcissists. The real difference lies not in isolated behaviors, but in the structure of empathy and accountability underneath them.
An immature person can hurt you, but when they calm down or reflect, they’re capable of seeing your pain. They might apologize, try to grow, or show remorse. Their empathy may be underdeveloped, but it still exists — it can be reached.
A narcissistic personality, however, is organized around a core fragility that cannot tolerate responsibility. Their entire identity is built to protect them from shame. So instead of facing their own emotions, they project them — making you feel what they cannot bear to feel themselves. In that dynamic, empathy doesn’t just vanish temporarily; it’s replaced by manipulation, blame, and control. They can even use remorse and apology as tools of manipulation — saying the right words not to heal the relationship, but to reset your hope and regain control.
It’s also important to note that there are other conditions that may affect empathy, such as autism — but the difference is crucial. People on the autism spectrum may struggle with emotional attunement, yet they are fundamentally authentic. Narcissists, on the other hand, are masters of manipulation. They don’t lack social understanding; they use it. They may not feel your emotions, but they can read and use them — often turning your empathy into a tool for their own advantage.
Narcissistic Personality Disorder is a serious and deeply ingrained personality disorder — not a phase or a mood. It’s a consistent pattern of traits that doesn’t change over time. This isn’t about occasional selfishness or defensiveness; it’s about a fixed psychological system that sustains itself through control and emotional inversion.
In The Chameleon’s Game, I describe it as a psychological theater — where one person writes the script and the other unconsciously takes the stage. You don’t notice the shift right away because it’s wrapped in charm, vulnerability, and perfect attunement. But over time, you realize that your role is no longer shared reality — it’s performance.
So, the difference is this: An immature person can still meet you in reality. A narcissist needs you to live in theirs.
What lessons do you hope readership will take away from the book?
Kasia Dodd: I hope The Chameleon’s Game helps readers see that what breaks us is never the love we gave — it’s the love we kept giving to someone who couldn’t receive it. The lesson isn’t about closing your heart, but about learning how to give it with discernment — how to recognize when empathy turns into self-abandonment.
I want readers, especially women, to understand that losing themselves in a relationship with a covert narcissist doesn’t mean they were weak or naïve. It means they were open, kind, and emotionally intelligent — and that those very qualities were used against them. The book invites them to reclaim those same qualities, but this time under the guidance of self-trust instead of trauma.
Another lesson is about perception — about learning to trust your inner signals again. Covert manipulation works by eroding your connection to your own truth. Healing begins when you stop trying to make the story make sense, and instead begin to feel what your body has been saying all along.
And perhaps the hardest truth of all: you cannot save a narcissist. You cannot love them into wholeness. The more you love, the more you become a threat — because your empathy reflects what they have lost, and your authenticity exposes what they’re unwilling to face. They don’t hate you because you’re unlovable; they hate you because your light reveals their emptiness.
Ultimately, I hope readers realize that the end of such a relationship is not a failure — it’s an initiation. It’s the beginning of a deeper relationship with yourself, where love is no longer a battlefield, but a mirror of consciousness. Because once you stop playing the role written by the chameleon, you finally become visible in your own.
What boundaries are essential with narcissists?
The most essential boundary with a narcissist is not something you say — it’s something you embody. It’s the inner line where you stop negotiating with distortion. Because with narcissists, the moment you start explaining, defending, or justifying yourself, you’ve already stepped into their game.
The first boundary is psychological reality — holding on to your perception, no matter how much they try to rewrite it. Narcissists survive by bending reality, and your confusion is their control. So, clarity becomes your armor. You don’t need to convince them of the truth — you only need to stay anchored in it.
The second boundary is emotional access. Narcissists feed on your empathy — they provoke, then extract your energy through your emotional reactions. Setting a boundary doesn’t mean becoming cold or cruel; it means refusing to hand over your emotional regulation to someone else.
The third, and perhaps most sacred boundary, is hope. You must protect your hope. Because hope is the doorway they use to re-enter your life. The belief that “maybe this time it will be different” is the hook that keeps the cycle alive.
With narcissists, traditional boundaries like “don’t call me” or “don’t lie to me” are not enough, because they don’t respect boundaries — they test them. The real work is internal: it’s about detaching from the illusion that love or empathy can transform someone whose very disorder is defined by resistance to transformation.
Sometimes the healthiest boundary is distance — not out of anger, but out of reverence for your own peace. Boundaries are not walls; they are the edges of self-respect. And once you honor them, you stop being accessible to manipulation.
How can our readership connect with and support you?
Kasia Dodd: I always say that the most beautiful form of support is connection — when a reader reaches out and says, “Your story helped me find myself in mine.” That means everything to me.
Readers can connect with me through my website katarzynadodd.com or katarzynadodd.pl (for Polish readers), where I share stories, reflections, and new projects that continue the message of The Chameleon’s Game.
But beyond following, what supports me most deeply is when women use the message — when they read the book and begin to speak, to tell their stories, to come out of hiding. Because that’s how this silent epidemic — loving someone who manipulates empathy — begins to lose its power: through women telling the truth, without shame.
So, if my work resonates, share it. Talk about it. Gift it to a friend who needs it. That’s how this movement grows — through awareness, courage, and compassion.
