Eat, pray, trauma bonds

TW: The contents of this document may be disturbing to some.

I’ve typed, deleted, edited, and rearranged this post about ten times before finally deciding to publish it. Why? Because talking about trauma bonds stirs up discomfort—deep, visceral discomfort—in me. But I’m pushing through, because it’s a conversation that needs to happen.

When we’re young, we’re given a laundry list of warnings. "Don’t do drugs, kids. Don’t get into the car with a stranger. Don’t accept candy from people you don’t know. Don’t talk to strangers on the internet." Our parents prepare us for the threats from the outside world—the ones that can hurt, deceive, and endanger us. What they don’t tell us, though, is that sometimes the person lying next to you in bed can be the most dangerous of all.

When I was 15, I was in an abusive relationship.

Now, I don’t say that from a place of victimhood. I’m not here to cling to pain or resentment. That part of my story has shaped me, yes—but I’ve risen above it. It’s important to note, though, that the damage didn’t dissipate overnight. That relationship, combined with my attachment patterns from childhood, left me with a persistent addiction to the highs and lows of toxic relationships. I repeatedly sought out narcissistic cycles, sabotaging every opportunity for healthy, authentic love.

Love that’s stable, consistent, and nurturing felt foreign. In fact, it felt suffocating. My body rejected it. I would tell myself I wanted the quiet, grounded comfort of a loving relationship—the Netflix and chill moments, the steady presence of someone by my side—but deep down, I couldn’t bear it.

What I had come to confuse for passion was actually chaos. What I thought was love was, in reality, abuse. And so I sought it out. Narcissists—those whose traits are so painfully familiar to me—became my gravitational pull. I still feel the pull, to be honest, but after much inner work and learning, I can now spot their patterns from a mile away. Once you know the signs, it’s easier to break free.

Allow me to give you a glimpse into the dynamics of a trauma bond. If any of this feels familiar, you might be entangled in one yourself. (Note: narcissistic abuse can look many different ways, all of which are valid).

Let me introduce you to Matt and Anna.

Matt and Anna meet at a party and instantly hit it off. Matt is charming, witty, and knows exactly how to engage people. Anna is timid, sweet, and highly empathetic. Matt picks up on this. He sees her as someone who can fill the void he’s desperately trying to fill. They exchange numbers. Soon after, Matt is texting her every day, calling her every night, asking to take her out multiple times a week. He tells her he’s never felt a connection like this before, that she’s the only one who truly understands him, that everyone else has misunderstood him. He praises her career, her friendships, her social life—he feeds off her energy, and she believes it. Why wouldn’t she? We were all taught to give people the benefit of the doubt.

A couple of months pass, and Matt and Anna are exclusive. But things start to shift. Matt stops kissing Anna in public. He stops complimenting her. The sweet, spontaneous dates become a distant memory. He becomes distant, cold—answering her texts with one-word replies.

Anna confronts him: “Why have you been so distant?” His response is blunt: “Stop being needy. I have other things going on too.” That cuts her, but she accepts it. Slowly, though, his behavior becomes more critical.

“Why are you always in sweatpants?”
“Simon’s girlfriend doesn’t look like that.”
“Maybe if you went to the gym more, you’d look better.”
“My ex-girlfriend would’ve done it for me.”
“Why aren’t you in the mood tonight? Are you sleeping with someone else?”
“Whore.”

By now, you’re probably expecting Anna to walk away, block his number, and never look back. But she doesn’t. Why? Because of the dangerous power of intermittent reinforcement. Let me explain.

What Matt did in the beginning was classic love bombing—a powerful tactic narcissists use to draw you in. Love bombing is when someone idealizes you, showering you with constant affection and attention. Narcissists aren’t always doing this deliberately. Sometimes, they genuinely believe that you’re the answer to all their problems. But the truth is, they’re trying to fill a bottomless hole inside themselves, and they need your admiration to do it. They feed off your energy because they don’t have their own source. That’s why they’ll tell you you’re the most beautiful, most intelligent, most talented person they’ve ever met. They need you to believe it too. And when you do, it becomes addictive. Your brain gets a dopamine hit every time they validate you. You become addicted to them.

And then, just as suddenly as they flooded you with affection, they take it away. This is called the devaluation phase, and it always follows. No matter how much you hope things will go back to how they were, they won’t. That charming, loving person is gone, replaced by a neglectful, critical version of them. And the worst part? The cycle doesn’t stay consistent. Sometimes, they’ll revert back to being loving and attentive for a few days, validating you, showing affection—giving you that high again. And just like that, you’re hooked again, desperate not to lose it. You’ll walk on eggshells, doing anything to keep them happy, even if it means compromising your own boundaries and self-respect.

This cycle repeats until one of you finally breaks the pattern. And more often than not, it’s not the narcissist who walks away. They don’t care. They’ll find a new source of validation the moment you stop serving their needs. If you start enforcing boundaries, they’ll discard you without a second thought, moving on to their next “shiny new toy.”

Here’s what you need to understand: None of their behavior is a reflection of your worth. Narcissists aren’t incapable of loving you because you’re unlovable. They’re incapable of love because they don’t have the psychological or physiological capacity to do so. They can’t love you. The real question is, why are you still trauma bonded to them?

For most of us, it’s because we grew up in environments where affection was given intermittently. Maybe love was conditional—based on grades, achievements, or meeting some other standard. We learned that we had to overdeliver to be worthy of love, and when it’s withdrawn, we subconsciously believe that we deserve it. We believe that if we just work harder, give more, we can earn it back. I’ve done it. You’ve done it. We’ve all done it.

Breaking a trauma bond is no easy feat. After my first abusive relationship, I promised myself I would never fall into such a cycle again. But guess what? I did. Twice. And the pattern showed up in my friendships and work relationships too. If you’re caught in this cycle, be kind to yourself. It’s not as simple as just walking away. You wouldn’t blame an addict for struggling to quit cold turkey, would you? It’s the same principle.

What you can do is begin practicing boundaries. Boundaries are kryptonite to narcissists. Every time you say “no,” a piece of their power over you dies. Stop doing things just to make someone like you more. Stop overextending your kindness because you feel unworthy unless you do. Stop letting fear of being labeled a “bitch” keep you from sticking up for yourself. Fine—be a bitch. But at least you’ll be a bitch who sleeps soundly at night.

Break the trauma bond. Break the cycle of generational trauma. Stop sabotaging your chances at authentic love. Let the right people in. Let them show you that you don’t need to perform or prove yourself worthy of their love—you already are.

You are worthy. You always have been.

Sending love & light,

Ayla