How to Stop Falling for Partners Who Idealize You (and Then Discard You)

A pathological narcissist can make you feel exalted one moment and then discard you the next over the smallest perceived slight, and afterward they’ll turn around and place the blame on you. If you grew up with caregivers who were sometimes present and sometimes absent, or who blamed you, you can be especially susceptible to this dizzying cycle with partners who first elevate you to an ideal and then cast you aside. There are countless videos about these people—curiously, we keep giving them our attention—but real recovery starts when you turn your focus inward and examine why you attach so quickly to a stranger who presents as flawless and why it’s so hard to let go when they reveal themselves to be emotionally abusive. I’m not a clinician; I’m someone who worked through my own blind spots in relationships and now helps others do the same. Today’s letter comes from a woman I’ll call Whitney. She writes: dear Anna, my parents divorced when I was one month old. I lived with my mother until I was seven, and then her family returned me to my father after she went to prison. Okay—time to highlight things I’ll want to revisit—but first, what’s happened in Whitney’s life so far: this sounds like an extremely difficult childhood. She continues that she lived with her dad and siblings until age 12, when they fled him and went back to her mother. Her father is a narcissist and an abuser; living with him felt like walking on eggshells. They grew up poor, experienced the trauma of war, and often faced threats to their safety, lacking stable shelter, food, and money. Her father neglected the children while her mother acted irresponsibly, leaving many needs unmet. Her mother never accepted her as she grew into a strong, responsible, sensitive person, and her mother’s family often looked down on them—shaming them and treating them like servants, making them feel inferior. Throughout her life Whitney struggled with limerence—intense, idealizing infatuation toward men. She had only one steady relationship at 18 that lasted five years, but he cheated and married the other woman. Three years ago she moved to a new city, leaving family behind, and met a man who helped her find a job. He had also grown up neglected: his parents divorced when he was a teen, he lived with his mother who later remarried and moved next door, and after that she checked on him only sporadically. He often spoke of feeling abandoned and alone, having effectively raised himself while his mother focused on her new family. From the first time they met Whitney felt a strong attraction and believed he felt the same, though neither admitted it at once. After about four months of getting to know one another they finally acknowledged their feelings. He seemed charming: a true gentleman—generous, caring, dependable. She loved him and he said he loved her; they spoke often about the future and he invested deeply in the relationship, emotionally and financially, consistently supporting their shared plans. They stayed together eight months, but once they made things official his behavior changed: jealousy and control surfaced, he couldn’t take teasing, and he constantly tried to change her personality and lifestyle, which felt suffocating. Within three months they had broken up three times over seemingly minor issues like teasing. He always shifted blame onto her, saying she disrespected him, and it hurt that he gave up on the relationship so easily, leaving and making it appear as though everything was her fault. The pain peaked when he ghosted her the day before a planned vacation—she called repeatedly, and he didn’t answer. After two months of no contact she reached out again hoping to reconnect; by then he told her he had moved on and it was over. A few days later she tried again to see him—he was busy—and the realization that she’d lost him drove her into despair; she shaved her head and then never called him again. The following year was the hardest of her life: she left a toxic job, her hair grew back, and she began rebuilding. She joined a good company, achieved things that made her proud, and concentrated on herself. Yet despite progress the limerence lingered—he occupied her thoughts daily and she remained emotionally tied to the idea of him, even while knowing deep down the relationship wasn’t healthy. After two years of no contact she found herself lost when buying her first car and phoned him for help; to her surprise he was glad to assist. They spent a month together searching for a car and talking about their relationship; he was generous with time and money and she began to hope things might finally work out. He showed signs of change and said he was willing to work on the relationship, so they reunited and for a short time she allowed herself to believe in a fresh start. But ten days later, after he had planned a lavish, romantic celebration for her 29th birthday, they broke up again the day after. This time the trigger was seemingly trivial: he deleted an old Instagram photo of her taken by his ex six years earlier. She felt furious, but he flipped the script and accused her of keeping the photo because she was still in love with the ex. She tried to defuse the fight and begged him to stay, but he insisted on ending things because he couldn’t trust her. She had a breakdown and a panic attack; he didn’t answer her calls and instead messaged her to stop calling—it was over for good. She hated how easily he could walk away while she was left shattered and still trapped in limerence, unable to let go. A week later she bought the car herself—good for her. She texted to thank him; he congratulated her and said she could call if she needed anything. But when she did reach out again he told her he couldn’t help her anymore. He said he loved her but needed to move on and forget her. She cried and begged him to fix the relationship, but he refused. Despite everything, he didn’t remove her from social media, leaving a constant reminder of him in her life. She noticed how he had invested in the relationship emotionally and financially, and also how manipulative he could be—tearing things down and making her feel responsible for their problems. On top of this emotional turmoil she’s been financially supporting her family back home, which adds another layer of stress; juggling that responsibility while trying to manage her feelings and move forward has been incredibly hard. Recently she learned about complex PTSD, trauma bonding and limerence—the forces that held her attached to him for those three long years—and she’s working on healing. Still, she’s struggling to understand why he treated her the way he did, what she should do if he reaches out again, why he leaves her on social media, and whether she is to blame for how things turned out or whether his behavior caused the problems. She asked for insight on how to move forward. Whitney—this is a precarious situation and I want to respond to you straight away. Going through your letter, the facts stand out: your parents divorced when you were one, you lived with your mother until seven and then went to your father after your mother’s incarceration—chaos and instability marked your childhood. You lived with him until you ran away at 12 back to your mother; you describe him as a narcissist and abuser, and living with him felt like constant peril. That pattern—walking on eggshells—parallels what you later experienced with this partner. Growing up with scarcity and insecurity—no guarantee of where you’d sleep, whether you’d be fed—does something profound to a person. I relate: though I didn’t grow up in a war, I did experience severe lack and uncertainty, and it left me vulnerable in relationships. When you’ve been deprived and unsafe, attachment can feel like survival: losing someone can seem equivalent to losing everything. Your father neglected you, your mother was unreliable, and many of your emotional and material needs went unmet. Over time you internalized self-blame for having needs, which essentially groomed you—without intent—for this pattern in adult relationships. Your mother’s family shaming you contributed to that; despite the neglect, you developed into a responsible, strong, sensitive person. What’s apparent is a repeated hope that a man will “catch” you so you no longer have to rely on yourself: you rang someone you’d broken contact with to help buy a car, even though you’re capable of doing such things independently. That tendency to reintroduce trouble into your life stems from a deep unresolved wound—strong, irrational, and hard to ignore. Your limerent thinking—placing someone on a pedestal and clinging to the fantasy of who they are—makes it easy to overlook their true nature. Meeting a man who performed the role of protector and provider—helping you find work and showing generosity—triggered that ancient longing for reliable, parental care. But often what appears as generous, fatherly energy is a performance designed to draw out intense romantic devotion: love-bombing. I use a metaphor of squeezing a lemon—manipulative people know how to burst the vessels containing another person’s romantic energy, extract it, and move on. Their kindness is transactional: they want bursts of adoration, not sustained partnership. A genuinely caring partner won’t yank the rug out from under you; someone who behaves this way cannot be relied on to give consistent mature care. You need to wake up to the fact that what felt like the safety you longed for wasn’t real; he could perform caring behavior to get what he wanted, but he didn’t have the capacity to sustain a loving, dependable relationship. Some observers might label his pattern as disorganized attachment or worse, but his actions—ghosting before vacations, leaving after big moments—are cruel and may well be psychopathic or at minimum deeply unhealthy. Is it his fault? Yes: his conduct is hurtful and shows he is unsuitable for a committed relationship. But for your recovery you must shift attention away from him and back to yourself. Ask: what is it inside you that makes you plead for reentry from someone who can walk away so easily? This isn’t about shaming you—many of us have been there—but about directing your curiosity inward so you can learn why humiliation and chasing feel tolerable in hopes of one more chance to be “rescued.” There’s an emptiness you keep trying to fill, and that is a predictable legacy of trauma. The work of healing is to acquire tools, to be honest with yourself, and to build a community of friends who will support you through the process. I applaud you for buying your own car—acts of independence like that matter. Gaining financial and practical autonomy means you’re less likely to stay in destructive relationships due to the belief that you need another person to make basic life things possible. That said, healthy partnerships are a beautiful mutual exchange when you’re both stable, but entering too quickly out of need is risky. Think of dating as a rehearsal: let people show you who they are over time. If someone tells you who they are, believe them. He has shown you who he is—take that seriously. You asked what to do to stop obsessing over him. This has gone on for years; do not accept gentle, vague advice—take decisive action. Discipline yourself to stop talking and ruminating about him. After you’ve processed it and perhaps shared your story for a while, close the door: cut off the conversation in public and private. If painful memories persist, allow yourself brief windows—once or twice a day—to feel and release those emotions, but then return to living. The most effective method is no contact: block his phone and social accounts, do not pick up if he calls, and if someone needs to tell him to stop contacting you, let a trusted friend do it rather than engaging yourself. Let go of the fantasy that you can change his feelings or cajole more attention out of him. The emptiness you feel when you stop obsessing is really anxiety about perceived insufficiency in the moment. As you heal, you’ll discover that life after a breakup can be rich, full of small joys, supportive people, and new possibilities. Seek support: meet friends for tea, attend groups or 12-step style meetings, find a sponsor or a therapist—there are many avenues for help. Conserve your energy; limerence wastes it on an imagined future that will not arrive. In various traditions this reclaiming of vitality is called “soul retrieval”—bring your soul back. Invest in spiritual practice, intellectual growth, physical well-being, and financial stability. Surround yourself with friends who value healthy relationships and who are working on their own growth; avoid people who keep fanning the obsession flame by trading stories of romantic fixation—staying around those people is like a recovering addict hanging out with active users. Put a firm boundary around this chapter of your life and honor that boundary: the more you practice it, the better you’ll become at protecting yourself from people who would harm you and at directing energy toward things that help you flourish. When difficult feelings arise, write them down a couple times a day along with other worries—this daily practice is a tool many have used for decades to heal. If you want practical guidance, there are free resources and techniques available that teach this practice and offer community support. The course I mentioned teaches techniques I’ve used for thirty years; you can sign up for a free version, receive emails, and join weekly calls where these methods are practiced together and questions are answered. If you’re ready, click to enroll and begin as soon as possible—there’s support waiting for you to take the next step.