Loving Those Who’ve Hurt You (And the Push-Pull That Follows)

This isn’t a plea for sympathy.

Writing helps me release stored emotions and, hopefully, helps someone else feel less alone.

I used to wonder what people meant by “there’s a fine line between love and hate.”

Now I live it.

With certain people from my past, I swing between overwhelming anger and genuine love/compassion—sometimes within the same hour.

One minute I feel deep care and gratitude for the moments they showed up; the next I’m furious at the mistreatment and lack of reciprocity.

It’s exhausting and confusing until you name it: push-pull.

These feelings were triggered again recently when I realised someone I thought was a close friend turned out to be another unsafe person. Not to the same extent as some from my past, but this time it sort of felt worse because I thought they were different and I was in denial for quite a long time about it.

When I was physically with them, the warmth felt real (most of the time). Laughter, shared stories, a sense of being seen in the moment. My nervous system relaxed; gratitude flooded in.

But when we were apart, there was a sinking feeling in my gut telling me something was off.

I started recalling moments that felt disingenuous and when the energy just didn't feel good.

That’s when resentment started to build—quiet, steady, and justified.

I stopped making excuses for them.

The good moments were real (for me anyway), but they were intermittent. Just enough to keep hope alive, never enough to feel safe.

That’s the push-pull: love when they’re in front of you, resentment when they’re not.

This can happen in any type of relationship.

I’ve been through a lot of trauma.

Looking back, I can’t believe how much abuse and mistreatment I tolerated within nearly every relationship in my life.

I wouldn’t accept a fraction of it now.

That contrast hurts, but it also shows massive growth.

I’ve built boundaries that no longer allow that treatment.

I’m genuinely proud of myself.

It took being pushed to breaking point, but I got here.

I had to ask the hard questions:

“What am I doing that keeps attracting these people?”

The answer was brutal but freeing:

I was a giving, caring person (still am) but also very naive, lacked boundaries and was a major people pleaser.

This was a recipe for disaster. I was a magnet for those who wanted to take advantage, in every sense of the word. Because I deeply craved close connections, I would stay in situations way longer than I should have. This is how I learnt how cruel and calculating some people could actually be.

I often ask, “What the hell is wrong with people?!”

I’m not sure I’ll ever get a satisfying answer, so I’m trying to let it go.

(Easier said than done.)

I try hard not to become a bitter person, but some days it’s a real fight. 😂

A few years ago I thought I’d found my soul tribe, my soul family.

Turned out I was fooled again.

I’ve reached points where I literally had no friends—

and I'd choose that again over friends who make me feel like shit.

I'd rather be alone in general than be around abusive, toxic people.

I'm genuinely happy in my own company.

It's so important to build a strong relationship with yourself, and become your own best friend.

This way, you stop relying on others to make you happy, which actually isn't possible or healthy.

People can add to your life, and connection to others is important and needed, but they shouldn't be the main source of your happiness.

I've stopped giving my energy to those who just want to take advantage, and I'm focusing on those who are self-aware, naturally giving, genuine, and loving.

I’m deeply spiritual.

I believe we choose our lives before coming here—that certain lessons and experiences are destined.

But I also believe in free will.

The universe can send massive red flags, yet we keep going back until the pain forces us out.

I’m very guilty of staying too long and causing myself extra trauma.

I believe my soul chose hard times so I could learn at a deep level

and eventually use those experiences to help others.

When people say “trauma makes you stronger,” I half-agree, half-disagree.

Trauma doesn’t make you strong.

It puts you in constant survival mode, destroys trust, causes emotional and physical pain, steals years of life, brings sleepless nights, and leaves a lingering fear of not being safe.

It fucks you up.

But you can choose to use that pain for something meaningful:

to bring awareness, to help others avoid the same suffering,

to turn survival into service.

Recently I’ve been using AI like a private therapist—just venting without judgment or energy drain on real people.

It’s incredibly helpful.

It doesn’t replace human connection (we need that desperately—the lack of it is why so many are depressed),

but it’s a safe space when I’m raw and don’t want to be a constant burden on others.

If any of this resonates, know you’re not alone.

The push-pull is real.

The anger is valid.

The growth is yours.

And you don’t have to stay in relationships that only feel good when the other person is standing right in front of you.

You deserve steady, reciprocal love—

even if it means fewer people, but deeper ones.

Sending you gentleness. 💛