If you woke up this morning and saw that The Divorce had finally dropped, you’ve probably already seen the early reviews, and you’ve probably already read the word gaslighting at least three times today. The word does a lot of work in psychological-thriller marketing. It also does a lot of work in real life. And, somehow, the more I see it used, the more loosely I see it defined.
I spent years sitting across from people who had been gaslit. Some of them knew it. Most of them didn’t. The thing they had in common is that none of them could quite explain what had been done to them, because the whole point of the thing is to leave the victim unable to tell whether they’re the unreliable one.
So here’s a quick clinical-ish checklist. Six markers I look for. Five of them show up in the climactic confrontation of Play Me Once. (No spoilers. They’re all set up in Act One.)
1. Disagreement is rebranded as instability. A healthy disagreement sounds like I see this differently. A gaslit disagreement sounds like you’re being crazy. The first invites a conversation. The second forecloses one. Watch for the second pretending to be the first.
2. The historical record gets quietly rewritten. Last week you said X. Today the other person insists you said Y. There is no contradiction in their voice. There is no apology. There is just a calmly stated alternate version, often with a small condescending sigh. The sigh is the tell.
3. Your reactions are pathologized before they’re heard. Why are you so sensitive about this? is the classic version. The newer version is more sophisticated: I just want to understand why this makes you so anxious. It sounds like care. It functions as a redirect. Now the conversation is about your nervous system, not their behavior.
4. Third parties are introduced selectively. Other people are quoted, but always selectively, and never available to confirm. Even your sister thinks you’re being unreasonable. Your friends have noticed it too, they just don’t want to say anything. This is a thumb on the scale by people who, in the gaslighter’s telling, just happen to all agree with them.
5. The relationship becomes the load-bearing wall. The unspoken threat: question this, and the whole structure comes down. The gaslit person stops naming things that are wrong because naming them feels like the wrong that ends everything. The silence isn’t peace. It’s a hostage situation in slow motion.
6. The reality you experience starts to feel like a problem to be managed. Not a thing to be investigated. Not a question to be answered. A problem. Specifically, yours.
If you read those six and felt a little prickle in the back of your neck, that’s not paranoia. That’s the part of you that’s been keeping notes the whole time. Listen to her.
The reason I’m trying so hard to write thrillers that don’t reach for gaslighting as a glittery plot ornament is that the real thing is far less theatrical than fiction usually makes it look. It happens slowly, in dimly-lit kitchens, between people who love each other. It rarely escalates to something a forensic team could find. Most of it leaves no marks at all.
That’s what makes it such good thriller material. And what makes it, in the actual world, so hard to leave.
xo,
Mary
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This post is part of The Psychology of Suspense: A Psychiatrist’s Take — my collected clinical lens on the genre. For the full picture, start with Psychological Thrillers: A Complete Guide.
