Lately, a lot of people have been reaching out to me with a very similar question.
Different stories.
Different relationships.
Same ache.
“How do I break a pattern with someone who hasn’t been showing up for me… even when I know better?”
So today, I want to share part of a Dear Abby–style response (shared with permission and name changed), because I know many of you will recognize yourself in it.
Below is the question exactly as it was written to me.
The Question
Dear Sefora,
Thank you.
I feel like I’m fully in the grip of addiction-level distress. I don’t know what to do to help myself.
I’m in tears as I write this and must repeatedly stop myself from texting my ex. Part of me continues in the delusion that he can or will offer solace. Probably it’s some type of trauma loop where making contact with him weirdly could temporarily calm me, somehow assuage my anxiety for a moment. But IF I were to text or call him, he wouldn’t reply because he is doing his distance/discard thing, and I’d go deeper into misery and regret for doing what I knew wouldn’t help! I know all of this YET I feel compelled to reach out. But (almost all of the time) I stop myself.
As I’ve said, he is a narcissist, possibly extremely so… but I’m not in a position to diagnose him with NPD. Narcissism was not even on my radar in terms of him, but after 2.5 years in this relationship, my Kaiser therapist, who I see only every 3–4 weeks, introduced the possibility and asked that I read The Wizard of Oz and Other Narcissists. After doing so, I couldn’t help but agree that my ex fits the criteria to an alarming degree. So this is all fairly new—this realization and the related realization of my role in agreeing to be in relationship with him.
My question therefore is:
I am in emotional agony following a recent breakup with a narcissistic person, and it feels like I am addicted to this vortex of painful energy. What can I do to calm myself and end the cycling thoughts, compulsion to communicate, etc.?
Thank you,
Lana
My Response
Dear Lana,
First of all, thank you for pouring your heart out and sharing what I know to be such a difficult experience.
And I want you to know—I have been through this myself, so I truly understand how painful this can feel.
Part One: Why This Feels Like Addiction
(and why that doesn’t mean anything is wrong with you)
The first thing I want to say is that intermittent reinforcement has been shown to be the most difficult pattern to interrupt.
This goes all the way back to basic psychology—Skinner and even earlier—that when care, attention, or connection is scattered, infrequent, and unpredictable, it becomes incredibly hard for us, as humans, to stop reaching for it.
So in many ways, trying to let go of someone who has intermittently supported you can feel exactly like breaking an addiction.
One of the most important things to have compassion for here is this:
Your brain is trying to support you.
It’s trying to ease your heart.
It’s trying to calm your anxiety.
It’s reaching for something that sometimes was there.
Your nervous system learned that if it reached often enough, it might get relief some of the time.
So when that compulsion shows up, instead of shaming yourself, see if you can meet it with gentleness and say:
“Thank you, brain, for trying to support me.
I see you trying to help.
I’m going to give us support in a different way now.”
That shift alone can soften the intensity.
Then, as best you can, redirect your attention toward something that actually feels supportive.
Part Two: The Deeper Pattern That Needs Your Attention
The second thing I want to say is this.
If you find yourself reaching toward someone who cannot—or will not—meet your needs, there is usually a deeper pattern asking for your care.
People reach out to me all the time who have dated—or are trying to end things with—someone unhealthy.
The part that needs special attention is this:
You chose this person for a reason.
Very often, this kind of reaching is familiar.
It echoes early attachment experiences or long-standing relational dynamics where love had to be worked for, waited on, or hoped for.
To truly interrupt this pattern, it’s not enough to simply stop reaching.
You have to identify—and begin to train—what it feels like to be with someone who does meet your needs.
You have to retrain your brain and your nervous system to recognize safety, consistency, and emotional availability.
This is where intentional interruption matters.
When the urge to reach out arises, gently interrupt it and redirect your attention toward the felt sense of being supported.
Toward the experience—real or imagined—of someone showing up, staying present, and responding to you with care.
Over time, this begins to retrain your reticular activating system, the part of the brain that filters what you notice and what feels possible.
You’re teaching your system a new expectation:
Support exists.
And you don’t have to suffer to receive it.
A Final Word
For now, I want you to hear this most of all.
You are not broken.
You are not weak.
You are grieving a bond that your nervous system believed in.
You were trained, somewhere along the way, to work hard to receive love.
And it gets to be easier.
With the right support, this cycle can soften, loosen, and eventually release.
I’m holding you in so much care.
Love,
Sefora
