Why Healthy Love Can Feel Uncomfortable After Abuse
They text you good morning. They ask about your day and actually listen. They don't get angry when you need space. They remember what you said last week and follow up.
And it terrifies you.
Or worse, it bores you. You find yourself picking fights just to feel something. Testing them to see if they'll finally show their "real" self. Waiting for the explosion that never comes.
You're in a relationship with someone kind. Someone stable. Someone who shows up. And yet, something inside you keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or you find yourself restless, even repelled by their consistency.
Healthy love isn't supposed to feel frightening, but for many survivors of abuse, it does. When your body has spent years scanning for danger, reading micro-expressions, and bracing for impact, peace can feel suspicious. Calm can feel empty. Kindness can feel like emotional distance.
If you've ever wondered why the relationship that should feel safe instead feels unsettling, or why “good people" don't create that spark while unpredictable partners do, you're not broken. Your nervous system is simply reacting to a lifetime of conditioning.
One day, Sarah sat across from me and asked, frustration layered beneath her voice, “Why am I still attracted to 'bad boys' even after everything I went through? I thought once I recognised the pattern, I'd be free of it."
I explained what I've come to understand through years of working with survivors: her attraction to chaos wasn't a character flaw or a sign she was "choosing wrong." It was her nervous system doing exactly what it had been trained to do.
Survival Mode and the Nervous System
This isn't about being “addicted to drama" or having “daddy issues", two dismissive phrases survivors hear far too often. This is about how your nervous system adapted to survive an environment where chaos was the norm and peace meant you'd let your guard down.
During an abusive relationship, the brain and body don't simply experience stress, they adapt to it. Your nervous system recalibrates itself around constant threat.
Adrenaline, noradrenaline, and cortisol become your baseline state. Hypervigilance becomes your norm. You learn to read every shift in tone, every silence, every glance. This sensitivity once kept you safe.
But here's the crucial part: once your nervous system adapts to danger, safety feels wrong. Calm feels like something is missing.
Sarah put it this way: “When I met someone who was intensely charming and unpredictable, I felt an instant spark. But the kind guys? Nothing. It's like I was broken."
She wasn't broken. Her body was simply seeking what felt like home.
To understand this more deeply, my blog on understanding nervous system regulation Why You Can’t Just “Calm Down” explains how your nervous system gets stuck in survival patterns and what helps it learn that safety is real.
Mistaking Intensity for Love
When you've spent years equating intensity with passion, it becomes nearly impossible to recognise love in its gentler forms.
Sarah had learned a particular language of love, one written in emotional chaos. Jealousy felt like devotion. Explosive reunions felt like passion. Being pursued after arguments felt like proof of love.
She had never learned the language of respect.
“He doesn't get mad when I walk away from an argument," she said about the kind man she'd met. “He just lets me have my space. It almost feels like he doesn't care."
This is the painful irony: To a dysregulated nervous system, respect can look like indifference.
Sarah had described her previous relationship as “so passionate", by which she meant so volatile she never knew where she stood. The constant uncertainty, the making up after fights, the intensity of emotion, her nervous system had learned to interpret all of that as love.
Understanding the Difference: Intensity-Seeking vs. Trauma Bonding
It's important to distinguish between seeking intensity and being trauma-bonded. Both are common after abuse, but they're not the same thing.
Seeking intensity means your nervous system associates activation with connection, you might be drawn to chaos, but can still recognise it and work to change the pattern. You have awareness and some choice, even if the pull toward familiar chaos feels strong.
Trauma bonding is more entangled: you feel unable to leave despite knowing you should, experience cognitive dissonance about the relationship, and feel an addictive pull to the person even after separation. You might defend them to others while knowing privately that things are harmful. You cycle between hope and despair, idealising them one moment and recognising the harm the next.
Both deserve compassion, but they require different approaches to healing. If you suspect you're trauma-bonded to someone (past or present), my blog on Understanding Trauma Bonds: Why Chaos Feels Like Chemistry explores this dynamic in depth.
Chaotic vs. Healthy Relationship Conflict
Chaotic relationships often involve:
Raised voices and accusations
Slamming doors or breaking things
Silent treatment as punishment
Following you during conflict or blocking exits
Threats (to leave, to harm themselves, to expose you)
You apologise even when you didn't do anything wrong
Healthy conflict looks more like:
"I'm struggling. Can we talk about this?"
Taking space without punishment or stonewalling
Returning to repair once both people are regulated
Staying on the same team, not becoming adversaries
Both people are taking responsibility for their part
Disagreeing without anyone's reality being erased
To someone conditioned by chaos, the healthy version can feel strangely flat—even uncaring.
If the "healthy conflict" list reads like a foreign language—if you genuinely can't imagine conflict without raised voices or punishment—that's not a character defect. That's evidence that you've never witnessed or experienced safe conflict before. You're not expected to know how to do something you've never been shown.
For more on how early experiences shape these patterns, my blog on Unpacking Childhood Trauma and Its Impact explores how childhood environments create lasting templates for relationships.
Therapy offers a safe space for healing and support after experiencing abuse.
Why Healthy Love Feels "Wrong"
When you've spent years in survival mode, peace doesn't feel like relief. It feels foreign. The nervous system develops what we might call a chaos template; it knows how to navigate unpredictability, but not how to rest in safety.
What "Wrong" Actually Feels Like
For many survivors, healthy love triggers specific uncomfortable feelings. If you're experiencing any of these, you're not alone:
Boredom or flatness. Without drama, you feel numb. You mistake the absence of chaos for the absence of feeling. You wonder: Is this really love if I'm not constantly anxious? Where's the passion? But what you're calling "flatness" is actually calm, something your nervous system has never learned to associate with connection.
Suspicion and waiting. They're being nice now, but when will the “real" them emerge? You scan for red flags so intensely that you might create them. "I keep waiting for him to yell," Sarah told me. "And when he doesn't, I almost feel disappointed. At least I knew what to do with yelling."
Guilt and unworthiness. Their kindness highlights how poorly you were treated before. You might feel you don't deserve this, or that you're “using" them while secretly longing for chaos. Some survivors feel guilty for not being more grateful, which only adds shame to an already confusing experience.
Physical discomfort. When they're calm and present, your body might respond with anxiety, restlessness, or the urge to flee. This isn't emotional—it's your nervous system literally not recognising safety. You might feel agitated, like you need to move, or find yourself picking fights just to discharge the uncomfortable energy of peace.
Self-sabotage. You pick fights, push boundaries, test them, or withdraw—not consciously, but because your system needs to confirm that eventually, everyone leaves or turns cruel. You might find yourself being critical, distant, or creating problems where none exist. Your body is trying to return to what it knows.
Regulated vs. Dysregulated Partners
Part of what makes healthy love feel wrong is that emotionally regulated partners behave differently than what your nervous system learned to expect.
A dysregulated partner might:
React instantly with intensity
Escalate quickly from 0 to 100
Blame or withdraw as their primary responses
Make you responsible for their emotions
Expect you to soothe them or manage their moods
Use emotional volatility to maintain connection (or control)
A regulated partner often:
Pauses before responding to difficult emotions
Owns their feelings without making them your fault
Gives space without punishment or silent treatment
Returns to connection without drama or grand gestures
Can self-soothe and doesn't need you to fix their emotions
Stays consistent even when upset
To a trauma-conditioned system, the regulated partner can feel emotionally distant when they're actually emotionally stable. Their calm can be misread as not caring, when actually they care enough to stay grounded rather than react.
If you're recognising patterns of emotional dysregulation in past partners, my blog on Vulnerable Narcissism: The Push-Pull of Loving Someone Who Feels Easily Wounded explores one common pattern of emotional instability that can feel compelling but ultimately destabilising.
To understand more about what emotional maturity looks like in practice, my blog on When Emotions Run High: Emotional Immaturity in Action offers concrete examples of what differentiation and regulation actually look like.
The Body's Adaptation to Chaos
Just as the body adapts to high sugar or nicotine, it adapts to chronic stress. Once activation becomes “normal," stability feels off-balance. Your system has been running on adrenaline and cortisol for so long that without them, you feel wrong, not peaceful, but empty.
Some survivors unconsciously recreate chaos:
Picking fights over small things
Testing boundaries to see where the breaking point is
Doubting commitment and needing constant reassurance
Checking whether a partner will leave or get angry
Creating drama because the absence of it feels intolerable
Not because they want chaos, but because their nervous system only recognises intensity as connection. Your body isn't choosing poorly. It's choosing what it knows how to survive.
The Healing Process: Retraining Your Nervous System
Healing isn't about forcing attraction toward stability. It's about helping the body learn that safety is real, that calm can be nourishing, and that love doesn't have to hurt to be meaningful.
1. Nervous System Regulation First
Teaching your body that calm is safe is the foundation of all other healing work. This may look like:
Staying in a healthy relationship long enough for your body to adjust. This doesn't mean forcing yourself to stay in a relationship that feels wrong just to “retrain" your system. If every fibre of your being is screaming to leave, listen. But if you're with someone safe and your body is simply reacting to the unfamiliarity of safety, that's different. The distinction matters, and a trauma-informed therapist can help you discern which is which.
Grounding practices during urges to create chaos. When you feel the pull to pick a fight or test boundaries, pause. Ground yourself in the present moment: My body wants intensity because that's what it knows. But I'm safe right now. This person has shown up consistently. I don't need to create a crisis to feel a connection.
Noticing “glimmers" of safety. Trauma therapist Deb Dana talks about glimmers, small moments when your nervous system softens into safety. These might be brief: the way they smile at you in the morning, the feeling of their hand on your back, a moment of easy laughter. Notice these. Your nervous system needs repeated exposure to a calm connection to learn it's real.
Somatic practices. Breathwork, movement, gentle self-touch, or simply placing a hand on your heart and reminding yourself I'm safe right now can help regulate your system in moments of discomfort. My blog on Understanding Nervous System Regulation offers specific practices for different nervous system states.
Working with a trauma-informed therapist. Healing trauma-bonded patterns often requires support. A therapist who understands nervous system work can help you stay grounded as you navigate the discomfort of healthy love, and can help you distinguish between "my system is healing" and "something is genuinely off here."
Learn more about finding moments of safety in my blog on glimmers, small moments of safety, which can create change.
At first, healthy relationships feel foreign. But with time and nervous system support, the absence of chaos begins to feel like the presence of safety rather than the presence of nothing.
2. Awareness and Differentiation
Once you have some capacity to reflect (which requires at least some nervous system regulation), awareness becomes possible.
The first step is naming the pattern: “I'm seeking intensity because that's what I learned to associate with love. My nervous system is pulling me toward chaos, not because it's good for me, but because it's familiar."
Naming creates space for choice.
Differentiation means asking: Is this person offering something real, or am I recreating a familiar wound?
This requires learning to distinguish between your trauma responses and your genuine intuition. Your trauma response might say: This feels boring, therefore it's not real love. Your intuition might say: This person is consistent, kind, and respectful—qualities I've never experienced before. The discomfort is about newness, not danger.
For more support with recognising self-abandoning patterns, my blog on People-Pleasing Isn't a Choice explores how trauma teaches us to override our own needs and instincts.
3. Discernment: Trusting Your Gut While Accounting for Trauma
This is one of the hardest questions for abuse survivors: Is my discomfort a red flag, or is it just my nervous system adjusting to health?
Both can be true at different times. Learning to discern between them is crucial.
Signs you might be self-sabotaging a healthy relationship:
The person respects your boundaries consistently, even when it's inconvenient for them
They take accountability when they've hurt you, without defensiveness or turning it back on you
Your trusted friends, family, or therapist see them as genuinely safe
The discomfort is specifically about the absence of chaos, not the presence of harm
When you bring up concerns, they listen, validate your feelings, and adjust their behaviour
You find yourself creating problems or tests where none exist
The relationship gets easier over time, not harder, as your nervous system adjusts
Signs your gut might be right to be wary:
They say the right things, but their actions don't match consistently
You feel you have to perform, hide parts of yourself, or walk on eggshells
They get defensive, minimise your feelings, or turn things around when you express needs
Your body reacts with genuine fear (not just unfamiliarity)—tightness, nausea, freeze response
People who care about you and know your history express concern
The relationship feels harder over time, not easier
You're doing all the emotional work while they remain passive or resistant
If you're genuinely unsure, this is where working with a trauma-informed therapist becomes invaluable. They can help you distinguish between "my nervous system is healing" and "my nervous system is trying to protect me from something real."
Sometimes the answer is both: your nervous system is adjusting to health, and this particular person isn't right for you. That's okay too. Healing doesn't mean you have to stay with everyone who's kind. It means you learn to recognise kindness, receive it when it's offered genuinely, and trust yourself enough to discern when something still doesn't feel right.
4. Redefining What Love Really Means
Part of this healing involves consciously redefining love, not in your head, but in your body. You need repeated experiences that teach your nervous system a new language.
Real love isn't about chasing. It's about respect.
Real love isn't about jealousy. It's about trust.
Real love isn't about someone not being able to keep their hands off you. It's about someone honouring your boundaries and your autonomy.
Real love doesn't leave you questioning your worth. It grounds you in it.
Real love doesn't require you to stay small, manage someone else's emotions, or prove yourself repeatedly. It sees you, accepts you, and shows up consistently.
Sarah is learning this now. It's slow. Some days she still feels the pull toward chaos. Some days the calm feels unbearable, and she finds herself wanting to pick a fight just to feel alive.
But she's also beginning to notice something else: the steady warmth of being held without conditions. The peace of being known without having to perform. The safety of being allowed to be exactly who she is without needing to prove her worth through drama or crisis.
The first time her partner stayed calm during a disagreement, she felt confused and almost angry. Where was the intensity? Where was the proof that he cared?
But over time, she's learning to recognise that his calm is the proof. His consistency is devotion. His respect for her space is the love, not the absence of it.
This is what she's learning to call love. And slowly, her body is learning to recognise it too.
You Deserve a Love That Doesn't Hurt
If this resonates, know that your patterns are not defects; they were adaptive responses to impossible situations. Your nervous system did exactly what it needed to do to survive.
You can learn to recognise healthy love. You can experience passion that doesn't require pain. You can build relationships grounded in stability, not survival.
But often, you need support to help your nervous system learn what it was never taught: that calm can be nourishing, that consistency can be caring, and that love doesn't have to hurt to be real.
At Safe Space Counselling Services, I work with survivors who are navigating exactly this confusion. In a first session, we can explore what your body learned about love, what's keeping you stuck in old patterns, and how to build the capacity to recognise and receive healthy connection, even when it feels uncomfortable at first.
You don't have to figure this out alone. You don't have to force yourself to feel differently. You just need support while your nervous system learns, slowly and with compassion, that safety is possible.
📧 Email: kat@safespacecounsellingservices.com.au
📞 Phone: 0452 285 526
