I used to think love was supposed to hurt a little. That maybe the highs were only that good because the lows nearly broke me. I called it passion. I called it complicated. I called it “us against the world.” But looking back now, I see it for what it really was: a trauma bond.
It wasn’t just love. It was addiction.
And here’s the messed up part — I knew it wasn’t healthy. I knew I was being manipulated. I knew every apology came with strings, every silent treatment was a punishment, and every reconciliation was another round in the ring. But I couldn’t leave. Not really. Not fully. Not yet.
Because trauma bonding doesn’t just wrap itself around your heart — it tangles itself into your nervous system. You get addicted to the cycle. The tension. The release. The “I miss you” after days of coldness. The rare moments of affection feel like gold after the emotional droughts. It’s survival disguised as intimacy.
You start to think this is just how love is when it’s real — chaotic, all-consuming, painful, passionate. But love doesn’t have to come with a side of anxiety. Love shouldn’t make you second-guess your worth. Love isn’t supposed to make you beg to be seen.
Still, I stayed. I stayed longer than I care to admit. And every time I thought about leaving, this strange ache would crawl up my spine and whisper, “But what if this is the best you’ll ever get?” That voice isn’t yours — that’s the conditioning. That’s the bond. That’s the trauma talking.
The truth is, walking away feels impossible when you’ve been emotionally trained to believe chaos is comfort. When you've been gaslit into thinking you're the problem. When your body is stuck in fight-or-flight but your heart still hopes for one more good day.
But you can leave. And no, it won't feel like freedom at first — it’ll feel like withdrawal.
You'll grieve them. And the version of you that only existed in the context of that relationship. You'll want to go back. You might even go back once or twice. I did.
But each time, the illusion fades a little more. The love you thought you had starts to look more like a cage. And eventually, staying becomes harder than leaving. That’s when the healing starts.
If you’re reading this and you feel seen — you’re not crazy. You’re not weak. You’re not broken for still loving someone who hurt you. That’s what trauma bonding does.
But let me be clear: you don’t owe your life to someone who keeps wounding you in the name of love.
Leaving isn’t giving up. It’s choosing yourself.
And there’s nothing more powerful than that.
