Contrary to what everyone says, time does not heal. It does not make things better. Sometimes, time makes things worse.
If you feed your body primarily junk food and sodas over time, for instance, the damage compounds. So, expose yourself to an abuser who is abusing you more and more frequently, and the pattern stands.
In a toxic relationship, the abuser plays three roles in what we call the drama triangle. They can be the “savior” to whom you should be grateful to for saving you or helping you become a better person; the “persecutor” who blames you and points out all the things you’re doing wrong; and the “victim” who’s going through a very hard time.
You may respond to what the victim is saying, like showing them empathy and kindness, only to suddenly be met by the callous persecutor who cuts you with their hurtful comments. It is a confusing time, making the eggshells you already tread feel even more precarious. And in this way, your trauma bond also deepens as you side with them to explain away why they act this way—at the expense of hurting yourself—whilst you blame yourself even more.
You spend a lot of time engaging in what I call Cognitive Photoshop—applying all sorts of mental filters to the situation to make meaning out of it. Such as, “We weathered a new crisis together, we will come out even stronger,” or, “At least he doesn’t beat me,” or, “At least he apologizes sometimes.”
More sophisticated abusers also know the art of the con, hooking you in with accountability. They tell you they really want to get better but sometimes their old demons (an addiction, their past relationship histories) get the better of them. So could you please help keep them accountable even if they might find it hard to change? And even though every change is piecemeal, transient, and they will regress—and you will pay for it dearly—you think it’s your job to help them, or love them better so they heal.
The more we invest, the harder it is to walk away. As Annie Duke, champion poker player and author of the book Quit writes, both behavioral experiments and real-life situations show that human beings are terrible at knowing when to cut their losses.
At the end of the day, after multiple rounds of increased abuse and the subsequent intensification of your trauma bond, you are exhausted.
You may have run away because you felt unsafe, but it was unplanned, so you went back again. And every time you go back, it feels like you’re just doomed to be there. (The stats show that the average abused woman leaves seven times, during one of which times she may be killed).
You may have called the police and realized that the system is rigged against you. It’s dismissed as a domestic, a private situation, a hysterical woman.
Or you realize you have few resources left inside or around you. You’ve alienated your friends because he’s slowly primed you to isolate yourself, or they’re just so sick of listening to your latest ideas on how to help him. And you’re so afraid of all the other people who judge you.
And chances are, he’s had a smear campaign against you for a long time, so everyone thinks you are the loose cannon who’s indebted to him. You’re the lucky one to have him.
You don’t know where to start—and the trauma bond is quietly working in the background so you stay alive.
But “alive” simply means you’re functioning, your heart is beating, maybe you’re going to work or taking care of the kids. “Alive” doesn’t mean you have any quality of life left. You are an empty shell.
