Read A Story From A Recovering Trauma Bonding Addict

Song playing in the background while I write:

“Don’t Touch My Hair” by Solange featuring Sampha

I’m a recovering trauma bond addict. I only recently started telling people about my addiction because I finally understand what it is and can admit that Ihave an issue. My addiction was first brought to my attention by a woman I dated a few years ago. Initially, I was offended by her assertion that I was a trauma bond addict; however, after looking into it, I realized that she wasn’t completely wrong. Now I’m able to explain what trauma bonding is to others: like how I search potential partners for some sort of traumatic past event, like being molested as kid, or a shameful memory, like growing up poor, in order to make a connection with them. Trauma bonding stems from me not thinking I’m good enough for another person to love because of my past, so I look for a flaw in them to justify us being together. As I’m writing this, I think about how I had difficulty dating anyone who didn’t have past trauma. I judged them the same way a black culture extremist would second-guess a black person for not seeing a movie they felt like every black person should see, like “Do the Right Thing” by Spike Lee (even though I feel like every black person should see that movie at least once). 

Showing interest in someone with trauma, as a way to feel equal in a relationship, wasn’t my only motive for wanting to date someone I felt was damaged. I also did it because I thought I could help somehow.  A part of me believed I could make this person better since I was able to see their problem or problems. That’s the savior complex in me. I had to get help with that as well. 

  Trying to help somebody get through something that you have in common before you even help yourself is the same as trying to help everybody on a plane put on their oxygen masks first before putting on your own. At some point you will pass out from the lack of oxygen. 

The old me would go up to a woman and ask her what her trauma was, as if I were asking what her zodiac sign was. Once I got her to share some pain with me, I would then ask questions to find out how strong of a support group she had. The purpose behind that was so I could establish if she would oppose the idea of the two of us forming our own support system, where we would be the only members. I was in desperate pursuit of someone to team up with because I wanted to re-create the community I had with my parents before they split up. It’s a lot of damage, folks. 

I honestly believed that the more damaged she was, the more I cared for her. You could say I thought I was some sort of emotional healing philanthropist that went around helping people overcome their trauma. The only pleasure I got out of it was believing I could help someone heal, because I didn’t know how to help myself.  

Trying to build a relationship based on trauma is a horrible idea. Every part of it is a formula for destruction. You can’t help somebody heal until you yourself are healed, but I dated who I knew how to communicate with. I knew how to have a conversation with a woman who came from a single-parent household because I came from a single-parent household. When I talked to a woman whose parents were together, the conversations were awkward for me. I would ask myself why a woman who hasn’t been through what I’ve been through want to be with someone like me. 

I was used to doing the best that I could to get by, and I felt as though somebody who came from that same way of living could understand me when I wasn’t able to explain myself or when I did something toxic as a result of not dealing with my trauma. 

My instinct is to connect with people who are damaged, because I’ve trained myself to believe it’s easier than connecting over other things we have in common. I wish there was a pill I could take that would deactivate that part of me. I wish that, before I left the house every day, I could pop a pill that prevented me from looking for flawed parts of a person in order to avoid feeling alone in the world. In fact, I would prefer this pill make me seek out others who want to be as happy as is humanly possible. But then I ask myself, “Do we really need something else to be addicted to?” And the answer is “No.” So, instead of wishing for a pill to make it all go away, I have to train my mind to believe that I can have somebody who will love me despite my past trauma.

I write as a form of healing for myself and others. If you enjoyed what you read, you can “tip the writer” at Venmo or Zelle @maronziovance