Did you know there’s a reason our brain becomes addicted to abusive relationships?
First, let’s remember that no abusive relationship starts off as abusive. It’s wrong to assume that victims are naïve or foolish. Every abusive relationship begins with love bombing—a phase that can last for months. During that time, it feels like complete happiness and deep emotional fulfilment. An incredible, almost heavenly connection, and the sense that “finally, I found my person.” The future abuser presents themselves as the Ideal, the one you’ve been waiting for your whole life.
When the abuse starts, it begins as psychological violence (and in most cases, it stays there, though psychological abuse rarely makes headlines). It’s subtle at first. It’s a test. And almost without realizing it, the victim goes from experiencing an unexpected burst of criticism, rage, or contempt, back into a phase of affection and balance. It feels like a small hiccup in an otherwise perfect relationship; nothing to worry about.
That was the first time. And the first times are spaced out. They don’t happen often enough to form a recognizable pattern. The abuser doesn’t suddenly turn into a monster, and they don’t stay a monster all the time. The shift is gradual. And in between, at random intervals, they become again the person you fell in love with.
This is a manipulation tactic known as intermittent reinforcement.
It’s why victims stay in abusive relationships, whether the abuse is physical or “just” psychological. The periods of abuse are surrounded by moments of deep affection, closeness, and care. At first, this causes confusion. But over time, it makes the victim want to try harder, working tirelessly to follow the abuser’s rules or behavior in hopes of receiving that “reward” again.
Intermittent reinforcement traps the victim in a constant cycle of seeking the abuser’s approval and praise, settling for crumbs of occasional positive behavior, desperately hoping that the abuser will return to the honeymoon phase of the relationship. Like a gambler at a slot machine, victims get hooked, continuing to play the game despite devastating losses.
And the gambling analogy isn’t just metaphorical, it’s psychological. There have been animal studies using slot machine-like setups: at first, treats were dispensed consistently, then they stopped, or started coming at random intervals. In the first case, animals (and humans) eventually stop trying. But in the second, where the reward is unpredictable, addiction forms. After a while, you don’t know if you’ll win, and the odds are low, but the anticipation itself becomes addictive.
In abusive relationships, the “reward” is when the abuser says sorry, shows remorse, or acts kindly. That intermittent kindness is what makes abusive relationships so hard to leave.
When rewards are predictable, our brain produces less and less dopamine each time. It loses its high. But uncertainty? That hooks the brain. It fuels the trauma bond, an emotional attachment formed through cycles of abuse.
What’s worse: the victim starts to intensely value even small acts of kindness from the abuser. In threatening or survival-mode situations, we become hyper-attuned to signs of hope, and we see them as evidence that things might get better. So when an abuser gives a birthday card, flowers, or a gift after harming their partner, it feels like proof that they’re “not all bad,” that maybe change is possible.
Eventually, the victim finds themselves admiring the abuser and feeling relieved or even grateful when abuse doesn’t happen in a situation where they’d usually expect it.
Intermittent reinforcement keeps hope alive. The hope that the person who’s hurting you might become who they were at the beginning. And unfortunately, hope dies last.
That’s why we need to recognize not only the signs of abuse, but also the signs within ourselves. These should be our compass, because abuse isn’t always obvious.
If you constantly feel anxious or fearful about how they’ll react, if you feel blamed or guilt-tripped over things that aren’t your fault, if you experience brief moments of relief where you think “I wish he’d always be like this,” but it never lasts, then you know what’s happening. The sign is you.