What are flying monkeys in narcissistic abuse?

How Smear Campaigns Turn Good People Into Weapons

One of the most disorienting parts of narcissistic abuse isn’t just what happens between you and the narcissist. It’s what starts happening around you—while you’re still in it.

You’re already trying to make sense of the relationship. Already navigating confusion, mixed signals, emotional highs and lows. And at the same time, something else is quietly unfolding in the background. The shift in how people respond to you. The subtle distance. The feeling that something has changed—but no one is saying it out loud.

And you can feel it before you can explain it.

Because what you don’t yet realize is that the narrative is already being built—without you.

That’s where flying monkeys come in.

To understand that, you have to understand what flying monkeys are—and how they operate inside a smear campaign. The term “flying monkeys” comes from The Wizard of Oz, where the Wicked Witch sends out her monkeys to do her bidding—to carry out tasks, deliver messages, and enforce control without her having to do the work directly. In narcissistic abuse, the term has been adopted to describe people the narcissist recruits—knowingly or unknowingly—to support their narrative, spread misinformation, defend their behavior, and isolate the target.

Flying monkeys are not always obvious. They are often:
friends,
mutual connections,
family members,
online communities,
people who want to stay neutral.

And that’s what makes them so effective.

Because narcissists don’t just manipulate people—they manipulate perception. They understand that if they can control how others see you, they don’t have to control you directly anymore. And so the smear campaign begins—not loudly, not all at once, but quietly, strategically, and often long before you realize anything is happening.

While you’re still trying to understand the relationship…while you’re still giving grace…while you’re still holding onto the version of them you believed in…

They are already planting seeds.

Small comments.
Subtle character attacks.
Carefully placed doubts about your stability, your reactions, your truth.

You’re “too emotional.”
“You’re the problem.”
“You’re unstable.”

The language is almost predictable in narcissistic abuse, but when it’s delivered slowly, individually, and behind closed conversations, it doesn’t feel like an attack. It feels like concern. And that’s how it spreads.

Because most people don’t question what they’re hearing. Especially if they’ve never experienced narcissistic abuse themselves. They base their understanding on what feels easiest, what avoids conflict, what aligns with the version of events they were given first.

And neutrality—what so many people believe is the safe option—becomes part of the problem. Because in narcissistic abuse, neutrality is not neutral. It allows the narrative to grow without interruption. It gives the narcissist space to rewrite reality in real time.

And over time, that version becomes the accepted truth.

I didn’t see it happening when it started. That’s the part that still stands out to me. I was still inside the experience, still trying to make sense of something that already felt confusing enough. What I didn’t realize was that, behind the scenes, a smear campaign was already unfolding.

Messages were being sent. Conversations were happening. My name was being spoken in rooms I wasn’t in. And my reality was being replaced.

I was part of a community—a meme group where I had relationships, shared humor, and felt like I belonged. And then, without warning, something shifted. People who once interacted with me stopped. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just enough to feel it.

But they didn’t stop interacting with my abuser.

They continued. Publicly. Casually. As if nothing had changed.

And that contrast is where the truth lives.

Because what changed wasn’t my presence.

It was the narrative about me.

He had already gone into people’s inboxes. Already told them who I was. Already labeled me in ways that fit the pattern narcissists use over and over again—crazy, unstable, the problem. And not one person stopped it. Not one person questioned it. Not one person said, “This doesn’t sound right.”

And that silence gave it power.

That’s how flying monkeys operate.

They don’t always attack you directly. Sometimes they just step back. Sometimes they withdraw. Sometimes they continue engaging with the narcissist while quietly disengaging from you. And in doing so, they reinforce the narrative without ever having to say a word.

They become a form of supply. Because flying monkeys feed the narcissist’s ego. They validate their version of events. They allow them to feel right, justified, even admired—while the target is being isolated in real time.

And that isolation is not accidental.

It’s strategic.

Because once enough people align with the narrative—even passively—the narcissist no longer has to work as hard to control the situation. The environment begins to do it for them.

And if you don’t understand what’s happening, you start questioning yourself.

What did I do?
Why is this happening?
How did I lose all of these people?

But the truth is, you didn’t lose them overnight.

The narrative replaced you.

That’s the part that’s hardest to accept.

That just because someone didn’t treat them that way doesn’t mean they’re not capable of it. That people can hold completely different versions of the same person and never realize the contradiction. That good people—people you trusted—can be pulled into something harmful simply because they didn’t recognize it for what it was.

Because they chose neutrality. Because they didn’t question it. Because they didn’t know. But the impact is still the same.

And once you see it clearly, you can’t unsee it.

You begin to understand that this was never about you being “too much” or “not enough.” It was about someone controlling the story—and using proximity, relationships, and shared spaces to make that story stick.

And when that realization lands, You stop trying to explain yourself to people who were never given the full truth. You stop chasing validation in spaces that have already aligned with a narrative you didn’t create. And you begin to see that what felt like rejection was, in many ways, redirection.

Because anyone who can be turned against you without question… was never fully anchored in truth to begin with.

That doesn’t make it less painful.

But it does make it clearer.

Coaching & Support

If you’re trying to understand flying monkeys, smear campaigns, or how narcissistic abuse reshapes your relationships, this is exactly the work we do.

Join a class or coaching session to protect your reality, rebuild your confidence, and take your power back.