Why You Cling The Most to People Who Treat You The Worst

Have you ever known you were being mistreated and reacted by trying to become exactly who you thought the other person wanted? Changing yourself completely to please someone who is hurting you is a very common response rooted in childhood trauma. Losing yourself in an attempt to placate an abusive partner is one of the most damaging adult consequences of early harm, because when someone is mistreating you the worst option is to disown your own perceptions and hand over your power. So why do people do this, and how does it show up in adulthood? Below are responses to letters; the first comes from a woman who will be called Leila. This is what she wrote: “Hi Anna, I’m going through a divorce after only ten painful months of marriage. I noticed red flags before we tied the knot, but I rushed into marriage in three months because I was terrified of losing the chance to marry him. I worried he might change his mind. I believe I have CPTSD — I grew up with a highly critical mother who only showed affection if I did exactly what was expected. Any deviation led to love being withdrawn. My ex never appreciated anything I did for our marriage. My hurts were ignored, my opinions dismissed, and everything I did was criticized. He repeatedly said he could do better than me, claiming he deserved someone younger and more attractive. Instead of leaving, I tried to fix things by doing more. I’m circling this because I want to revisit parts of this letter after a first pass. After ten months of marriage and six months apart during which I tried to reconcile, I promised to be more obedient, respectful, understanding, and kinder to his family, but he was still unsatisfied. I felt abandoned, unwanted, and worthless. When you asked about the obedience thing: I practice Islam. I don’t wear hijab, but I do the five daily prayers. Islam brings me peace, but sometimes faith is weaponized by others. I cherish my religion and want to practice it in a tolerant way that never excludes others. I learned Islamic values from my parents growing up, but they didn’t force me; I chose to study more at university. I was born and raised in Canada. My ex grew up in the Middle East until he was 25. His family judged and criticized me harshly for not practicing their cultural form of Islam. In their view, women should be obedient and quiet. They told me I didn’t belong in the Arabic community since I wasn’t born in the Middle East. That left me feeling ashamed and guilty. After the difficult marriage, I keep replaying moments wishing I’d done things differently — perhaps said different words — thinking that might have saved it. There were many moments I experienced as abandonment. My ex once told me to pack a bag and leave; I went to my parents, who then kicked me out because my mother was angry that I wanted to work on the marriage. I stayed in a hotel for two weeks until they let me come home, and their emotional abuse continued until it turned physical. When my mother hit me I felt numb and convinced I deserved the pain everyone was inflicting on me. I left and paid my brother to let me stay with him. The divorce is finalized and my mother and I aren’t close anymore. I worry I only escaped that abuse temporarily, and if another abusive situation arises I would deeply believe I deserve it. Please help me heal from abandonment wounds and stop ruminating and punishing myself for the choices that led to being kicked out of my ex’s house and my parents’ home. Thank you for your insight.” This is a devastating story. It may be hard for Leila to fully recognize just how badly she was treated, so the letter will be reviewed detail by detail. Starting with the marriage: Leila explained she rushed into marriage after three months because she feared losing him. That admission is important, because it signals a familiar trauma-driven pattern: the need to hurry into commitment out of fear of abandonment. That fear — trying to secure love quickly so it won’t disappear — is heartbreaking. Leila also wrote that she believes she has CPTSD from growing up with a critical mother who only offered affection when she obeyed. That kind of conditioning—learning to live by other people’s rules to gain love—is functional in certain situations, but if it becomes the default way of relating to everyone, it explains why she tried to “fix” the marriage by complying. About her ex: she says he never appreciated her efforts, ignored her hurts, dismissed her opinions, and criticized everything she did. That describes someone profoundly self-centered. It’s not a formal diagnosis, but the pattern looks like love-bombing followed by disinterest and discard, which is a common dynamic in emotionally abusive relationships. He repeatedly told her he could do better because he was young and handsome — statements that reveal contempt and are deeply wounding. If he believed the match was wrong, it’s puzzling why he married her at all, but that puzzle doesn’t change that his behavior was abusive. Leila said she took his cruelty not as a cue to leave but as a cue to try harder. That is trauma-driven thinking: when someone treats you badly the impulse can be to change yourself to meet their imagined standards, to erase your identity in the hope of winning their love. That strategy rarely works long-term. You can sometimes temporarily avert conflict by complying, but you cannot build a sustainable relationship on self-denial. Leila’s attempt to become more “obedient, respectful, understanding, and kinder” was likely a response to being shamed for not fitting their expectations — and it didn’t satisfy him. When someone continually demeans a partner, doing more for them rarely repairs their contempt. Leila explains the “obedient” angle further by describing her faith: she prays and was raised with Islamic values, but doesn’t wear hijab. Her faith brings peace, yet in some contexts religion is used to control and exclude. Her ex’s family, raised in a different cultural context, judged her for not practicing Islam as they expected and insisted women be obedient and quiet. That cultural clash exacerbated the alienation she felt. The family’s hostility — the emotional danger of not being “authentic” to their norms — combined with her upbringing where love was conditional on obedience, created intense pressure for her to conform. Leila kept replaying the thought that if she’d been different the marriage might have worked. That is classic CPTSD thinking: believing love would come if only the true self could be hidden and replaced with a version that pleases others. When parents repeatedly reject a child unless they conform, children learn to chameleon themselves and may eventually struggle to remember who they truly are. Leila may be approaching that point, and it’s urgent to halt that self-erasing process. Her experiences of being abandoned were not merely perceptions. She was explicitly told to leave her ex’s home and then found herself kicked out by her own parents when she sought refuge, because they were angry she wanted to try to repair the marriage. Being forced into a hotel for two weeks and later subjected to threats and emotional abuse that escalated into physical violence are not ambiguous events — they are abandonment and abuse. Her recounting that she “felt like she deserved the pain” and became numb are clear signs of deep internalized shame and trauma-related dissociation. Numbness is a symptom, not a failing, but it keeps the protective alarm turned off so the person cannot see how toxic the situation is. Financially, Leila paid her brother to stay with him for a time — an image of a young woman alone and unsupported. Now the divorce is final and she has limited contact with her mother. That distance might be healthy, but it also leaves a lingering vulnerability: the part of her that believes she deserves abuse. Shame and self-blame can be stubborn vestiges of childhood wounds, and they make it likely someone will tolerate future abuse. What helps? First, cut off contact with the ex and keep it cut. That is a sensible, healing boundary. With the mother, a pause in contact seems appropriate given the physical abuse. Independence and space are needed so identity can recover outside of the parental and spousal criticisms. Leila already has strengths — she went to university and has a meaningful faith — and those can be foundations to build a new life. If therapy isn’t already in place, a trustworthy, knowledgeable therapist for regular sessions would be very important now. The trauma she describes is significant, and steady therapeutic support will help her process events, reclaim a sense of self, and learn to trust her own needs. Community matters as well: groups, friends, and fellow believers can become a network to provide companionship and grounding. Joining women friends who laugh and support one another, people who answer the phone late at night when panic strikes, will help prevent the isolation that keeps trauma bonds alive. Recovery from a traumatic relationship often resembles withdrawal from addiction — there’s an intense craving for the drama and the fix supplied by the relationship. That craving covers deep sadness and, without support, it’s easy to relapse into old patterns. Practical tools can help too. Writing exercises and grounding techniques — a small routine of taking paper and a pen everywhere — make it possible to externalize and calm overwhelming feelings in the moment. Those tools act like oxygen for scuba diving into life’s challenging spaces: they keep you breathing when distress threatens to overwhelm you. A small ritual — an informal cue among friends like saying “bunny slippers” — can be a reminder to slow down, be gentle, and self-soothe during hard moments. There are free resources available, such as courses and group calls that teach practical steps to manage intense emotions. Using structured techniques to put feelings on paper or sharing in group calls can reduce the solitude and accelerate healing. The next letter is from a woman who will be called Tracy: “Hello Anna, I’ve watched all your videos — they help me stay calm during my new boyfriend’s dysregulation. We’ve been together only a month. At first he was extremely positive, passionate, and present. Then he read a letter related to an upcoming court case about three years of childhood sexual abuse, and he retreated. He says he needs to get the ‘demon off his shoulder’ and recover an older version of himself — one he’s happy to let me see. I’ve waited for two weeks, answering occasional crumbs of a hello promptly to prove I haven’t abandoned him. He texted four days ago, 'You’re not going anywhere, are you? I’d understand if you did,' and I answered that I’m in this for the long haul and that he can take all the time he needs. He left my last message on read after I wished him a good day. He tried to kill himself four times, once just a month before he met me. He also has five children who he sees every other week and adores. Should I give him more time? It’s so early in this relationship and we haven’t had background conversations. I’m desperate and confused. Until I hear back I’ll give him patience and kindness. Thank you.” This is an urgent situation. The relationship is too new to assume the role of rescuer for someone who is that unstable. A month of dating doesn’t provide the foundation required to be a steady partner to a person who has attempted suicide multiple times. That level of risk — four attempts, one very recent — indicates someone in severe danger who needs professional, intensive care. Entering a whirlwind relationship as a supposed lifeline can destabilize both people and is unlikely to help the person heal. This is especially true where suicide attempts are so recent. Even if the court case against a perpetrator is necessary, dealing with those legal and emotional ramifications can plunge a survivor into intense turmoil. There’s no easy way to go through that, and it can produce long stretches of withdrawal or dissociation. If the man has retreated and is not available emotionally, responding immediately to his crumbs and promising a long-term commitment is premature and unfair to both parties. It’s almost certainly unwise to label the relationship “for the long haul” after only a few weeks. That is the kind of commitment someone with an attachment wound might make in the heat of emotion. The right move here is compassionate distance. Let him occupy his space without taking responsibility for his healing. Gently stepping back — allowing him to drift away while expressing kind wishes for his recovery if he reaches out — sets a healthier boundary. Pressing on with constant reassurance and immediate replies is emotionally costly and keeps one stuck in an insecure place. His mental health crisis requires professional help first; a romantic relationship cannot replace that. If he wants to work deeply on himself, the hope of future reconnection can be acknowledged later with clear, calm boundaries: “I care about you and I wish you healing, but I can’t be in a relationship with this level of instability right now.” A final note to Tracy and to others: healing your own attachment wounds will reduce the urgency to rescue people who are not ready for a relationship. Relationships with people right out of a suicidal crisis are not safe or sustainable solutions. If someone is in such immediate danger, the priority is that they receive professional intervention and support from trained clinicians and crisis services. The next letter is from a woman who will be called Gina: “Hi Anna, I had a terrible childhood with a narcissistic mother and an alcoholic father who was emotionally and physically absent. I have an anxious attachment style. I’ve repeatedly dated narcissistic and emotionally unavailable men. I’ve been in therapy to try to break this pattern. Last year, while traveling abroad, I met a charming recently divorced man. We dated briefly and were physical. At first he contacted me daily, then every three to four days, then every ten to twelve days. I returned to his country to work for a year and the communication was confusing: he’d message but make no effort to see me in person. My anxiety flared, I checked my phone constantly, lost weight, and had insomnia. After ten days of silence I messaged to end the connection, saying perhaps we could reconnect if he could be consistent. He replied he didn’t want a relationship but might orient toward one if we stayed in touch. He asked to meet face to face; I agreed but changed my mind because something felt off. I suspected he might be seeing someone else. I texted he wasn’t being respectful and said I felt he kept me on the back burner; I also noted his emotional unavailability. I blocked him while he was typing. Later I saw him with another woman in town. I feel conflicted: on one hand I finally expressed my needs and set a boundary, and on the other hand I reacted angrily and now feel childish and guilty months later. I wonder if I misjudged him and if I missed out on the love of my life. How do I let go?” This pattern is very familiar: an anxious attachment style plus early family injury produces intense confusion and self-recrimination when relationships go awry. Meeting someone who alternates between interest and absence is precisely the kind of trigger that activates anxious attachment and limerence — an obsessive infatuation that hijacks clear thinking. The behaviors described — hot and cold communication, unkept promises, ghosting for long stretches — are classic signs the other person is not genuinely available. Often, such men have concurrent partners or are emotionally keeping options open. The pattern of initial intensity followed by long silences and lack of effort to meet in person is a strong indicator of non-commitment. Gina did well to say she wanted to end things when the pattern of neglect became clear. Setting boundaries and calling out disrespect is growth. Blocked while typing or having acted from a place of high emotion is understandable — the anxiety can make people do things they later regret. Still, viewing the boundary as manipulation (“I’ll leave if you don’t change”) rather than a statement of self-respect can be tempting, and manipulative partners can use that opening to offer what sounds like a compromise. But consistency is not a promise of transformation; it’s a baseline quality for a healthy relationship. If someone truly wants a relationship, their behavior will demonstrate effort and accountability right away — not conditional “maybe later” language. To move on, disengage. Stop contact. Surround yourself with supportive people and practices that strengthen self-regard and challenge the anxious narrative that blames the self for the other’s unreliability. Healing attachment wounds takes time and consistency: regular therapy, reliable friendships, and tools for emotional regulation. Replacing reactive attempts to hold the relationship (texting, obsessing) with proactive care — connecting with friends, attending groups, learning to stand with the discomfort of being single — will reduce the pull of limerence. Over time, as self-respect becomes practiced behavior, different people will be attracted and better relationships can form. It is not that the romance fixes attachment wounds, but healing those wounds makes it much easier to choose partners who are genuinely emotionally available. Finally, a letter from Talia: “Hi Anna, I discovered I have CPTSD two years ago and I’ve been working through it in AA and ACA groups. I left a toxic trauma bond but then moved across the country with my ex-boyfriend and our five-year-old, even though from the start I made clear I didn’t want a romantic relationship with him. He has unresolved CPTSD and reacts to boundaries as threats, smothering me with unwanted affection and making sexual advances I always reject. I stayed in that arrangement to save money, sometimes using our child as an excuse to avoid moving out. I was unemployed for a long time during the pandemic and the idea of supporting myself feels overwhelming. My childhood was full of negative messages about money, contributing to a poor sense of security. He frequently explodes over small things, threatens to throw me out, then begs me to stay. I’ve turned down a lovely nearby apartment to remain and save money. I regret it and worry my recovery is being stifled by settling. I don’t trust myself to be an adult; my inner child doesn’t feel safe. I see that I put myself in this kind of situation repeatedly. CPTSD runs parts of my life and keeps me stuck in a cycle of victimhood, recreating my parents’ dynamic where the mother felt trapped and the father always dissatisfied. How can I develop a stronger sense of security when fear of responsibility holds me back?” This is a crucial, brave question, especially because there’s a five-year-old involved. The first point is to honor how far this person has come: recognizing CPTSD, joining recovery fellowships like ACA, and leaving a trauma bond are significant achievements. A toxic trauma bond with a young child is particularly destabilizing; surviving and moving forward after such a relationship takes courage. The move across the country may have seemed necessary at the time, but cohabiting with a man who insists on romantic involvement while he cannot accept boundaries creates untenable dynamics. Even if she told him she didn’t want a relationship, living together with a child blurs boundaries and fuels ongoing conflict. His repeated outbursts and threats are particularly damaging — for the mother, and for the child who witnesses instability. The priority should be ensuring a stable, safe environment for the child, even if that means making hard choices now. Financial fear is real, especially after unemployment and childhood messages that equated security with scarcity. But “daunting” is not the same as impossible. Many single parents find ways to work part-time, access community resources, and rearrange expenses while building toward independence. Practical steps can reduce the overwhelming nature of the change: calculate what is actually required to cover basics, explore flexible or remote work options, look for affordable housing, and seek local supports for childcare and employment services. Small practical moves — a few job applications, a resume update, a modest wardrobe refresh for interviews — add up and create momentum. It’s also important to change the living arrangement. Cohabitation with someone who cannot accept boundaries and who alternates between rage and pleading is likely to keep recovery stifled. Moving out is not just about separation — it is also an act of protection for the child and a kind choice for the partner, who can only heal if he is not continually triggered by the relationship dynamics. Staying together “for the kids” can be reasonable for a time, but not when the household environment is chaotic and frightening. Children benefit more from calm, consistent parenting in two stable homes than from daily exposure to parental conflict. Consider options for shared custody or coordinated parenting that minimize exposure to explosive outbursts. Practical recovery strategies: keep attending ACA and similar groups; they create a community of people who understand the patterns and can offer tangible help. Start small with steps toward independence — a savings plan, an apartment search, job training — and enlist support from friends, family, or community agencies. Use daily practices to calm fear: short writing exercises, quick meditations, or even five-minute grounding practices that can be done while a child is occupied. Creativity helps — using car nap times or a child’s screen time to get a moment of quiet writing and reflection. Over time, small pockets of self-care accumulate into real change. There are also courses and resources that teach practical co-parenting and shared custody strategies; learning how to co-parent with boundaries can both protect the child and facilitate more predictable interactions with the ex. If the ex is the child’s father, helping him to settle and become less triggered is in the child’s interest too, so separating physically while maintaining respectful, structured contact can improve everyone’s functioning. Above all, taking responsibility does not mean punishing yourself for past choices. It means making deliberate, stepwise decisions to secure a safer environment for the child and for yourself. Facing fear and doing the work is how security is built. Many parents have had to create stable lives under harsh circumstances and found pathways through practical problem-solving, community help, and steady emotional work. The child’s well-being is the guiding principle: plan moves that increase predictability and safety for that child, even if the first steps are small and imperfect. Across these letters, several common themes emerge: childhood trauma shapes attachment patterns, which in turn color adult relationships; old wounds can make people either endlessly compliant or desperately persistent with partners who harm them; recovery requires firm boundaries, trusted support, and concrete practices; and while therapy and community groups are essential, simple tools like writing, meditation, and small acts of self-care provide immediate relief and help sustain long-term growth. Declaring independence, pausing contact with abusive or destabilizing people, building a network of friends who remind you of your standards, and seeking professional help are all practical, effective steps toward healing. The path is not instantaneous, but small, consistent actions compounded over time create new patterns and a life more aligned with genuine safety and belonging.

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