Trauma Bonding Is the Drug That Makes Abuse Feel Like Love
Under the influence of the narcissist
“Why did you stay in an abusive relationship for so long?”
Recently, questions related to “how I was swayed, and why I stayed” have been under heavy scrutiny — by myself and by others — and the query continues to boggle me.
Far from straightforward, the answers are multifaceted and obscure. On my path towards enlightenment, I’ve examined the irresistible allure of the narcissist, their weird, conceited ways, as well as the typical traits of the narcissist’s ideal partner.
Still, something’s missing.
“Something’s missing!”
I recently confessed this to my closest friend, Morgan, who’s also healing from the aftermath of a toxic marriage.
I was telling her about my current romantic relationship, which happens to be the healthiest I’ve ever been in. Nowadays, obscure word salads, guessing games, and gaslighting are replaced by clear and compassionate communication, and, instead of pain, confusion, and manipulative behavior, there’s mutual care, healing and a sense of safety.
It’s like night and day!
— But, something’s not there, and I can’t put my finger on what it is!
Putting our heads together, as we always do, Morgan and I searched for the missing link.
— It’s the friction, isn’t it? The craziness…‘the thing’.
Morgan puts her thumb, index, and middle fingers together as if picking something out of mid-air. We both study it.
My current relationship makes me feel calm and balanced. It’s void of discord. It’s delightful. But, yes, it’s missing the thing!
Could it be possible that as a result of living with abuse for so long, I’ve started equating trauma with passion?
Is it possible that what I’ve felt missing is the very thing I ran away from?
‘The thing’ is called trauma bonding.
Bonding through shared suffering is common. In extreme cases, we see this between hostages, prisoners, soldiers fighting wars together, and so on.
We feel close to those with whom we’ve shared trauma. Since they were there too, they’re the only ones who can truly understand.
This phenomenon is also rampant in toxic and abusive relationships. Similar to what’s known as Stockholm Syndrome, trauma bonding holds the abused emotionally captive through manipulation: rewards in the form of approval and attention after episodes of physical or emotional violence mimic love and keep the victim hooked.
“Only the one who hurts you can comfort you, only the one who inflicts the pain can take it away.”
There’s something haunting about this quote by Madonna, and how tragically relatable this oxymoron is to those who’ve experienced domestic abuse.
In my last relationship, after my partner had raged at me for hours and I was curled up, crying and emotionally exhausted, I wanted nothing more than to be cradled and held—in their arms.
To an outsider, it would make more sense to physically remove yourself from the situation and seek outside support. But to you, the one who’s experienced the abuse, you want to be comforted by the one who caused the pain. No one else could possibly understand what you just went through. No one—except for them.
The toxic person is a drug.
When I say that we get hooked, it’s not simply an analogy. According to this article from Thought Catalog, we actually form biochemical bonds with our abusers:
“We can become addicted to the highs and lows of dangerous romantic relationships in a way that makes a break-up from a toxic person similar to rehab from a destructive drug addiction.”
According to biological anthropologist Dr. Helen Fisher, “the brains of those in adversity-ridden relationships become activated in an eerily similar way to the brains of cocaine addicts”.
Almost always, cyclical, abusive relationships trap us in a perpetual cycle of tension, abuse, reconciliation, and calm. An inward spiral, the trauma ties us closer to our abusers, one orbit at the time.
The cycle of abuse vs. the cycle of addiction.
Studying further, it’s clear to me that the movements in toxic relationships mimic those of reward and withdrawal experienced by substance abusers.
1. Tension builds This is the phase that builds up towards an incident: your home is strewn with eggshells and you know you’re headed towards the inevitable. Scared of what’s to come, you watch your every word knowing they can tip the abuser over the edge.
2. Abusive episode You said or did the wrong thing and ‘all hell’ is unleashed in a violent, verbal or physical attack.
3. Reconciliation Here, the abuser might apologize, but will most often trivialize the incident or blame it on the victim. They’ll smooth things over while taking minimal or no responsibility. You’ll accept this in order to return to normalcy and to receive the sweet reward that follows:
4. Calm and bliss In the honeymoon phase of the cycle, the abuser is wonderful, charming, and attentive. Because you want this part to last, you do whatever you can to maintain it by keeping them happy. But, tension inevitably builds to take you back to square one.
Similarly, the cycle of substance addiction moves from frustration and anticipation to substance use, and, further onto remorse, shame, and eventually calm, only to repeat again.
The addictive nature of abuse.
There’s something addictive, not just about the reward received during the calm phase, which is perceived as love, but about the commotion itself: The tumult is mistaken for fervor and passion.
Lacking this turbulence, a healthy relationship can feel flat in comparison to someone accustomed to the constant agitation of the abuse cycle.
Regular love often takes time; building slowly, it intensifies and grows stronger. When you succumb to an abuser, on the other hand, whether a narcissist, psychopath or sociopath, you often fall hard and fast, as if the rug was pulled from underneath you.
This kind of ‘love’ feels magnetic and captivating, and before you know it you’re deep in it — you’re addicted.
You may be in a fog, but you’re not blind.
With the narcissist, you often see that you’re being manipulated; you’re not blind to their mistreatment and bad behavior. Still, just like someone addicted to a substance, you’re terrified of letting them go. Aching for them, physically and mentally, and your world revolves around them and your next fix.
Slowly, you begin to doubt whether you’d even be able to go on without them. Clinging to the hope that things will get better and that you’ll heal them, they continue to throw you just enough crumbs to convince you that they have your best interest in mind—despite all the pain you’re experiencing.
Intermittent reinforcement: The thing that feels like love, but isn’t.
The crumbs are called intermittent reinforcement and they’re the drug you crave; both the medicine and the poison, it keeps you trauma bonded to your abuser.
From signs of remorse, via normal affection to excessive praise and attention, the reinforcements serve as reminders of the honeymoon phase of the relationship; the sweet, courting at the beginning, where they showed you just how wonderful and special they can be.
These glimpses of hope encourage you to work progressively harder just to sustain, but regardless of the efforts you put in, it never gets better from here. On the contrary, it’s a downward spiral: Slowly, and over time, you’ll progressively lose yourself, along with your own sense of worth and value.
Caught up in learned helplessness, a feeling of powerlessness to control your circumstances, you see no other option than to stay, and you’re unable to cut the strings to your abuser. Unfulfilled and unsuccessfully, you continue to yearn for comfort in the arms of the one hurting you.
Your brain after abuse.
I wish I could end on a lighter note, but the reality of these relationships is rather dark: “One out of every four women who are the victims of domestic violence attempt suicide” (source) and, even after the fact, “survivors of intimate partner violence are twice as likely to attempt suicide multiple times” (source).
Long-term trauma inflicted by narcissistic abuse often leads to PTSD and has been shown to rewire the brain of the victims due to excessive exposure to stress from living in constant fear, causing cortisol levels to rise.
“Narcissistic abuse hijacks your amygdala. This is the part of your brain responsible for regulating basic functions — like breathing and heart rate” writes Narcissistic Abuse Recovery Expert, Kim Saeed. Further, “chronic exposure to cortisol can shrink the hippocampus: the part of your brain responsible for processing and storing short-term memory.”
Getting unhooked.
There is light—when you make it out of the tunnel.
It’s commonly understood that, like sociopaths and psychopaths, people with narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) can be treated, but not cured. My personal advice is, and will always be, to get the hell out!
In the same way that you can’t break a substance addition while continuing to administer it, you must go cold-turkey: You can only break the attachment to the abuser—and your brain's addiction to cortisol, adrenaline, and other stress hormones—by leaving and cutting contact.
Getting unhooked will take courage and hard work, and, like an addict, you’ll experience withdrawal, even long after the chemical addiction has been broken.
Your road to recovery.
Years after leaving my abuser, I discovered that I’m still in the process of breaking a biochemical dependency on trauma. As I continue to heal and find myself in a nurturing relationship where my needs met by an empathetic and loving partner, there are still moments when my hijacked addict-brain screams for the intensity of the extreme highs and lows that I was accustomed to.
As a recovering addict, this might be a lifelong, but worthwhile, struggle. Like the ex-substance abuser must continuously remind themselves that the drugs never gave them true happiness, we must do the same, and remember that the intensity and the crumbs of intermittent reinforcements were never real love.
Sources | Thought Catalog: Intermittent Reinforcement, Trauma Bonding, The Real Reason Why We Love Bad Boys, Learned Helplessness, Psychology Today: Signs of Trauma Bonding, Trauma Bonding, Codependency, and Narcissistic Abuse, Kim Saeed: How to Overcome Fear After Psychological Narcissistic Abuse, Suicide.org: Domestic Violence and Suicide, American Psychological Association: Suicide and intimate partner violence.
