Why You Can’t Stop Obsessing Over the Abuser (Even After You Leave)

Ending up in harmful partnerships is a common and painful outcome for people who experienced abuse and neglect growing up. When mistreatment was normal in childhood, adults often find themselves drawn to partners who repeat that pattern. Some people with childhood PTSD, when they finally recognize a relationship is destructive, can act decisively — they declare it over, pack their things, and leave. That looks like the right move. But paradoxically, the period after setting a boundary is when many trauma survivors are most at risk: once the relationship has ended and a calm life begins, old wounds can trigger an overpowering, irrational pull to return to the person who hurt them. That pull can lead to one of the worst choices of a lifetime. Today’s letter comes from someone named Jenny. She writes, “I grew up with a father who was physically violent and emotionally absent, and a mother who was anxious and stayed despite the abuse. My dad could be loving one moment and then explode without warning the next. He had rage fits and would hit my sister or me; he never struck my mother but he would rage at all of us. I took the brunt of it because I couldn’t accept that he could be so cruel — he had loving moments, then suddenly was out of control. It felt like he was addicted to rage; exploding seemed cathartic for him and anyone nearby became collateral damage. I developed an eating disorder at 13 to cope. As an adult I cycled through emotionally unavailable relationships of different intensities. They hurt, but I’d eventually stop obsessing — usually by falling back on the eating disorder. Last year, at around this time, I finally tore myself away from the most painful, baffling relationship I’ve ever had. I’ll call him Billy. I’m writing because I still have this tape of dread and anxiety playing on loop in my head. There’s guilt for blaming him, shame for feeling I somehow wasn’t enough to deserve better treatment, and an overwhelming inability to let go. I feel like a dog with a bone. Since I left, I’ve been unpacking things I couldn’t see while inside the relationship, but memories keep replaying and I’m trapped in a cycle of shame. I met Billy right before the pandemic and we became intimate too quickly. This relationship taught me to never move that fast again. A few months in I asked if we’d still see each other after things reopened; he said, ‘Let’s see how things go,’ and my Spidey senses flared. I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore. I’ll circle that — I’m marking things I want to revisit. I’ve been in enough emotionally unavailable relationships to know I didn’t want that pain again. Billy called me, tried to explain that he’d said ‘let’s see’ because he didn’t want to scare me off and begged for a chance. It felt different from my past partners because he wanted to talk and seemed to care. Other warning signs showed up and I tried to leave, but by then I was hooked. At first he seemed genuinely upset when I wanted to break up and implored me to give the relationship a chance. We were exclusive and he told me he wanted only me, that I should be his girlfriend. Yet his behavior suggested otherwise — he was on Tinder. Every time I tried to leave, he would give reasons that made me doubt my interpretation. He’d switch back to being loving and present, and I would stay, feeling guilty, confused, and terrified to end it even though I knew I needed to. Early on, the worst incident happened. We had a picnic, played Scrabble; I won and joked about my smarts. Billy called me the C-word for bragging and then said I couldn’t take it when I got upset. I should have left then. That night, when we were intimate, he became a different person: he smothered me with his hand, repeated ‘Shut the f up’ with hostility, and I froze. I didn’t get up or leave; I went through it and afterward curled into a ball while he fell asleep. Before that, our intimacy had been gentle, so I was bewildered. In my car I sobbed and told him I wasn’t okay with how he treated me and that it was over. The next day he asked to call, making every excuse: he thought that’s what I wanted, we were still getting to know each other, now he knew not to do it, he joked about my shirt making him lose control, his boss would vouch he’s a good guy, he was drunk, he’d never do it again. He begged for the benefit of the doubt. I was terrified of the pain, so I stayed. I felt relieved when he tried to mend things and when we were intimate again he acted extra gentle to reassure me. I told him that if it ever happened again I would block him for good. We’d have a month or two of calm. He paid for and planned a couple of trips, but I still had a nagging sense that something wasn’t right. I was in therapy; my therapist urged clearer communication of my needs. But things escalated: sometimes he’d blatantly ignore me, cross his arms, pretend I wasn’t there, make subtle insults, be emotionally absent. When I raised it he said I was reading into things and being negative, then there’d be good days and I’d get confused. I started applying for jobs and grad schools to shift my focus back to myself. The night before I started a new job he was aggressive during sex again — he told me to ‘shut up’ without the f-word. I froze. I rationalized that it wasn’t as bad as before, but I had the image of him smiling — not a friendly smile, more like a bared-toothed expression. I tried to leave again. I told him, clearly, ‘When you do that I feel unsafe. If you want to explore that sexually, we need dialogue; I don’t want it sprung on me. It’s traumatizing.’ He begged me not to give up on us and acted sick about what happened. In hindsight it all seems like lies, but I still don’t know. I finally left for good when I was accepted to grad school and realized we’d been together a year without feeling supported or on the same page about big life decisions. When I ended it he tried to make it look like it was his idea, which was confusing. He offered to be the bad guy if needed and said it didn’t feel right for him either. It took everything for me to make the final break. It’s been eight months of no contact and a year since I saw him. I blocked him everywhere and even asked him to block me because I didn’t trust myself not to reach out. I started seeing a new EMDR, trauma-informed therapist. While with Billy I’d deferred going back to school; now I reapplied to programs that fit me. I took art classes and even won an award — something I’d never done before. I start school in the fall and want a clearer head, but I still feel broken and vulnerable. I blame myself, wondering if being prettier, smarter, or easier-going would have earned me more respect or clarity. Maybe if I’d enforced boundaries he would have truly wanted me. I’m angry at myself for staying, as if I made his behavior acceptable. I know my complex PTSD made me cling because I was desperate for love, but the constant replaying of his words and actions is exhausting. I feel like a loser for still being upset and confused a year later. How do I get him out of my head? I’m still thrown because he showed a charming, innocent public face. I don’t know what was real. You say limerence applies to relationships without a real connection, but there was surface-level commitment with Billy without the substance beneath. It frustrates me that he blocked me — it seemed so easy for him to move on while I remain damaged. The one positive from that period is that I hurt enough to begin caring for myself instead of returning to my eating disorder; it’s been a year since I acted on it. So I left two destructive patterns behind. The eating disorder is now a neutral memory, but my ex still holds too much emotional charge. I tried daily practices but tired of the replay. I fear Billy never cared, which would mean I’m unlovable. I’m exhausted by the obsession. Please help, Anna.” Thank you, Jenny. I’ve circled several passages and I’ll try to clarify what you wrote and offer help. Your childhood — an unpredictable, explosive father and a mother who stayed despite that volatility — is, sadly, reflected in your relationship with Billy. We often, unconsciously, seek partners who mirror familiar patterns from our family of origin. Knowing that doesn’t instantly change behavior, but it explains a lot and it means you’re not to blame; it’s how you were wired growing up, and now you have the opportunity to break the pattern. Your father’s alternating warmth and sudden rage sounds very similar to Billy’s cycle. Your description that your dad seemed addicted to anger fits with how Billy popped into hostility for reasons that often coincided with your accomplishments — small victories like winning Scrabble or starting a new job seemed to trigger his aggression. That’s a very troubling sign. You used an eating disorder to manage pain in the past, and not returning to that behavior is real progress. Give yourself permission to feel how you feel without harsh self-judgment. You’re right to reject the idea that if you were ‘better’ he would have been different — his choices are his, and they’re not your responsibility. Keep noticing that you didn’t fall back into destructive coping and that you’re getting help from an EMDR-informed, trauma-aware therapist — that’s significant. The background tape of dread and anxiety makes sense after being with someone who alternated between saying what you wanted to hear and failing to truly show up. There’s also a chance you brought some unavailability into the relationship — people often repeat familiar patterns with partners who match how they feel inside. Intimacy early on can lock attachment rapidly: sex often accelerates bonding, making it much harder to leave, especially when abandonment wounds are active. So moving quickly into intimacy with Billy made it harder for you to pull away when red flags appeared. Your instincts — your ‘Spidey senses’ — were consistently warning you and were trustworthy. When he shrugged about the future with a ‘let’s see how things go,’ that could be read as cautious at face value, but in the context of your history it rang true as an alarm. You did the right thing trying to leave, and his persistent pleas, explanations, and sudden re-affection are characteristic of trauma-bonding: intense ‘on’ and ‘off’ cycles that keep people tethered. The Tinder discovery and his pattern of gaslighting — convincing you you’d misread things — were clear indicators. The Scrabble episode, the insulting comment, and the violent switch during sex were major red flags. What you described — being smothered, being told to shut up repeatedly with genuine hostility — wasn’t a playful kink; it was hostile and terrifying. When someone freezes, it should signal to a partner that they’ve crossed a boundary — his explanation that he ‘thought that’s what you wanted’ or that he was drunk, or that a shirt made him lose control, or to call his boss as a character witness — these are classic manipulative excuses. They try to reassign blame and manufacture credibility. You were terrified of the pain leaving would cause, so you stayed, which is understandable given your early attachment wounds. You did set a firm boundary — telling him you’d block him if it happened again — and when he violated it you felt dreadful that your boundary collapsed. That’s hard to live with, but remember: staying is often the result of well-worn survival strategies, not moral failure. Even so, you didn’t return to your eating disorder, and that is huge. Your therapist’s guidance to communicate needs better may have been sincere, but that advice can miss the deeper problem when a partner is abusive and out of control. You can state your needs clearly and still be unsafe because the other person is escalating. His pattern of stonewalling, passive-aggressive ignoring, and intermittent niceness is classic emotional manipulation — he turned the dial when needed to keep you invested. The night before you started a new job, when he again used hostile commands during sex and smiled in a way that looked like bared teeth, your intuition identified danger. Trust that. You made the final break when you saw your life trajectory shifting toward grad school. When he tried to frame the breakup as his idea, accept that whatever cover he offered is fine — you needed to leave and you did. Abuse often erodes self-esteem and your sense of worth; abusers drain validation and then use praise as bait. His approval would never be enough to heal the wound he kept reopening. The validation he gave was ultimately meaningless because it wasn’t genuine or sustained inside you. What you’re doing now — reapplying to school, taking art classes, winning an award, starting therapy — is how you reclaim yourself and pull that pattern out. This is how the pattern is changed: by radically choosing different actions and self-care. You have made progress: eight months of no contact, blocked him everywhere, asking him to block you, and investing in healing. That is enormous. This does not feel like limerence to me. Limerence involves idealizing someone you haven’t truly known. Your situation is different: there was a real, if flawed and manipulative, relationship; what remains is a lingering attachment and unresolved emotional charge. That attachment will fade as you keep building a rich life, deep friendships, creative pursuits, and meaningful work. You’re already doing the things that accelerate that healing. Practical steps for quieting the obsession: when memories or thoughts of him rise, have a few go-to sensory images or competing thoughts to turn to — the smell of good coffee, the feeling of warm earth when gardening, a small sensory anchor that interrupts the loop. If you tire of the same daily practice, consider getting fresh support: join free group calls, therapy groups, or community programs where you can work through specific fears and layer by layer dislodge this emotional cement. Keep reminding yourself you know what actually happened: his hostility, the manipulative words, the controlling behaviors. Your written account already proves what was real. That he projected a nice public image doesn’t negate the abusive behavior you experienced — many manipulative people present as charming in public. Your pride at being blocked is understandable and will pass; it’s a small ego sting in the context of the larger healing arc. Stay connected with trusted friends, especially women who can understand and support you. Consider free, peer-led recovery meetings that focus on patterns around love and boundaries — for example, Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous (SLAA), groups for codependency recovery like CoDA, or Al-Anon-style meetings that address relationship harm. Those can give practical boundary tools and companionship from people on similar paths. Finally, remember this is healing work that takes time; the emotional charge will ease as you continue to grow, do meaningful things, and make new connections. You’re already moving in the right direction. If you want more guidance about recognizing when you’re investing too much in a harmful relationship, there’s a related video available to watch, and there are additional resources and calls you can join for support. Keep going — you’re making powerful changes, and they will keep shifting your inner life toward safety and self-respect. [Music]