I think my relationship might be emotionally abusive or controlling.
First of all, what you’re feeling is real.
If you clicked on this path, chances are you’re feeling confused, overwhelmed, and maybe a little scared. You might be wondering: Am I making a big deal out of nothing? Is this really abuse? That’s not an accident. Emotional abuse is meant to confuse you; it’s confusing on purpose
Maybe they’ve never hit you. Maybe there are good days. Maybe everyone else thinks they’re charming or loving or harmless. That doesn’t mean what you’re feeling isn’t valid. Most abusers keep the harm behind closed doors and act generous and caring around everyone else. It adds to your confusion, and makes it harder for people to believe you when you talk about it.
This journey isn’t about labeling someone a monster or telling you what to do. It’s about getting clear on what’s happening and why it feels the way it does. Because this isn’t just in your head: Your nervous system might be stuck in survival mode. You might be hypervigilant, overly attuned to your partners emotions. You might be walking on eggshells just to get through the day. After all, your partner was so great in the beginning, you just want that person back, right?
Unfortunately, that version of your partner may have been part of the charming act they put on for everyone else. It was meant to reel you in and get you hooked, seeing them as the ideal mate, the person you’ve been searching for. But that version doesn’t last long. Occasionally it comes back, but only long enough to give you a little relief and keep your hope alive.
Emotional abuse doesn’t always look like rage or control, it can look like hurtful sarcasm, too many eye rolls, silent treatment, subtle put-downs, or even acting like a great partner but knowing something is missing. Things like this can happen in any relationship, but when they’re part of a repetitive pattern or used to control or belittle you, it’s abuse.
You’re not imagining this. You’re not too sensitive. And you’re not alone.
But it’s really, really hard to see.
The abuser may have been calm, cool, and collected while being manipulative. There are no bruises or broken bones. Even the words themselves might seem harmless: sarcastic, subtle, offhanded, but nothing you can point to as wrong. It’s basically invisible, not just to your friends and family, but sometimes to you, too.
Emotional abuse often hides in plain sight. It starts out in such insignificant ways that it’s easy to dismiss. An inappropriate remark. A selective memory (aka intentional forgetting). A sarcastic joke that wasn’t very funny. Stories that confuse you because the lie is wrapped in pieces of truth. A subtle silent treatment that feels intentional, but they say they’ve just been busy. You may not know it’s happening, but it’s already doing harm, making you question things and wonder if you’re the problem. Since the incidents seem minor, you often brush them off as no big deal. But the impact still lands.
Over time, each one adds a teeny tiny bit of uncertainty in the back of your mind. Eventually, they pile up, and the uncertainty grows. By then, you’re probably blaming yourself for most of it. You think you’re too sensitive or expecting too much. They didn’t even have to say it outright to make you feel like it’s your fault, their tone or body language said it for them.
Individual moments seem harmless; those teeny tiny dings don’t do much on their own. It’s the cumulative effect that does damage. It’s like a slow leak from a pipe. 1 drop of water does nothing. But over time, the water accumulates, and you have a puddle. Let it go and eventually you’ll have a flood. If you try to find the problem by zooming in on a single drop, you won’t understand why you’re bathroom is flooded.
Notice how easily Bob flipped the conversation, shifting focus to Sally’s reaction and invalidating her feelings to make himself the victim. His choice of words wasn’t unintentional, they did exactly what he wanted them to. They undermined Sally, adding to her confusion, anxiety, and growing belief that she is just too sensitive. Meanwhile, he looks like the good guy who was trying to give her a compliment.
*This is called a backhanded compliment or a neg. It’s an insult that gets hidden in or disguised as a compliment so that the insult is what lands, but the compliment allows the abuser to claim innocence and blame the victim for being too sensitive. It’s very common, and it turns the abuser into the victim.
Over time, it takes its toll
You don’t wake up one day and realize you’ve lost yourself. It happens so slowly and gradually, you don’t even notice. You edit your words to prevent an argument. You start to doubt yourself in small ways, nothing that significant. You downplay hurtful behavior or tell yourself they’re just stressed. Your body is learning what pokes the bear and what keeps the peace. It’s paying super close attention to your partner’s responses, words, and behaviors...and adapting to them.
That’s your nervous system trying to protect you. When something feels threatening, even something as little as their tone of voice, a look, or the cold shoulder, your system shifts into survival mode. You do what it takes to stay safe and keep them calm. In emotionally abusive relationships, you gradually shift towards people pleasing behaviors—anything to please them, appease them, and stay on their good side.
*Note: People pleasing isn’t just ‘being too nice’ or being ‘selfless.’ It’s about making sure people like you. It feels like caring about others, but it’s actually based in fear. You might be afraid that if you say no, set a boundary, etc., they’ll get mad or the connection will suffer, so you do what pleases them even if it costs you. People pleasing is a trauma response.
But the cost adds up. You start shrinking in small ways—less joy, less energy, less sleep, less you. You stop trusting your own gut. You start thinking their reactions are your fault, and if you had just said it better, softer, clearer, they wouldn’t get so upset.
When their behavior doesn’t match who you thought they were, or who they sometimes are, your brain tries to bridge the gap. That’s cognitive dissonance. The mental gymnastics you do to explain away their cruelty, justify their kindness, or make sense of why it hurts so much even though they keep saying they’re sorry.
Over time, your nervous system stops signaling danger when you’re in pain. Pain has become familiar, which your nervous system calls safe. These cycles start to feel like safer than leaving.
You still love them…but how?
This is the part that messes with your head. Your nervous system thinks it's love, so it will feel like love. And if it feels like love, you'll believe that it is, in fact, love.
Yet you can list the things they’ve done that hurt you, that you know are not normal or ok. You know something’s not right, but you also know that it feels like love. Still longing. Still that ache in your chest when they pull away. That doesn’t mean you’re broken, weak, or don’t deserve better. It means you’re human.
You’re not imagining the good moments. They happened. They still happen. Maybe they’re amazing. Maybe they make you feel seen in a way no one else ever has. That’s real.
But in emotionally abusive relationships, those moments are often followed by distance, blame, or withdrawal. It creates a pattern your nervous system latches onto: “when I do something good, I get those great moments, but when I do something they don’t like, I get punished.” Over time, you start walking a tightrope, chasing the “good version” and hoping if you just do it right, they’ll come back.
This pattern of hot and cold behavior is a form of conditioning called intermittent reinforcement. It’s the same mechanism that keeps people pulling slot machine levers. When rewards are unpredictable, you always think the next one will be the jackpot…or the next one…or the next one…
When it’s predictable, you know if something good is coming or not. But when it’s random and inconsistent, the next spin could be the jackpot…so you stay, and hope. Every time they give you one of those good moments, it strengthens your hope.
But when love is becomes a reward, you start working for it and trying to prove yourself without even realizing it.
The cycle of harm and comfort actually strengthens your emotional attachment. This creates an intense attachment to your abuser to the point where leaving will hurt more than the abuse itself. (That’s actually a common excuse, used to rationalize staying.)
If you have attachment wounds, maybe from growing up with inconsistency, neglect, or emotional unavailability, this kind of pattern can feel familiar. And we know what the nervous system thinks familiar means…safe. Sometimes, it even gets confused with love.
So if you’ve been beating yourself up for not being able to walk away, stop. It’s not because you’re weak or naïve. It’s not a personal failure. It does not mean you are broken. It means you’ve been conditioned to stay. Intermittent reinforcement is a strategy meant to trap you.
Love isn’t supposed to hurt like this.
Healthy relationships aren’t perfect. There’s conflict, missteps, hurt feelings. But you should never have to feel afraid, confused, or like you’re constantly walking on eggshells.
Confusion is a red flag. When you’re repeatedly confused about what you did wrong or why your partner is so angry, and they won’t engage with you respectfully or at all, it’s an abusive pattern. Period. You aren’t doing anything wrong, you’re being punished only so they can wear you down.
Besides confusion, you’ll feel guilty for getting hurt or upset. You blame yourself for things they did or for expecting human decency. That’s control, plain and simple. And over time, it chips away at your sense of self and you start to feel shame.
Shame is what keeps people stuck. You start to believe you’re the problem, that maybe you are too sensitive or dramatic. Your inner critic gets louder. You second-guess your memory, feelings, and instincts. You don’t know how things got so bad or when it even started, and it feels like the more you try to fix it, the angrier they get.
That’s because they’re not trying to fix it. They want you to be confused, hurt, and exhausted. That’s how they get you to give in to just about anything. They’re not trying to love you, they’re training you to be compliant.
You should never have to walk on eggshells because any little thing could set off an explosion. You shouldn’t feel small, afraid, or ashamed in a relationship. Your needs and your feelings should get just as much care and attention as theirs.
That’s not love. That’s abuse, and it is unlikely to change no matter how much they promise to try.
Bob taught Sally that expressing hurt feelings to him will make him mad. He conditioned her to stop complaining about his bad behavior by intentionally blowing up anytime she was upset. He knows she didn’t actually do anything wrong, he’s not even angry, just annoyed. But he wants to treat her however he feels and let her bend over backwards to cater to him, without having to do much for her. And he doesn’t want to have to hear about it. So he blows up every time Sally complains. She’s learned that trying to resolve an issue only makes things worse, so she bites her tongue and cries in private.
You’re not weak…you’re human
You can’t make sense of this with logic. It’s about survival. When your nervous system is stuck in freeze mode, “just leaving” can feel impossible.
You might feel paralyzed. You might be terrified of being alone, or of what they’ll do if you try to go. You might not be able to afford to leave. Maybe you have kids. Or maybe you’re still holding on to hope that the good version of them will come back.
None of that makes you weak. It makes you human. And the truth is, leaving isn’t always the first step. Seeing clearly is.
That clarity takes time. You’ll probably cycle through it—questioning, then feeling sure, then doubting yourself again. That’s normal. Especially when everyone around you keeps minimizing it or saying things like, “But they seem so nice.”
You don’t have to be ready to act. You just have to be willing to look at what’s really happening.
That’s where unraveling begins. And you’re already doing it.
Why it’s so hard to leave
People love to say, “If it’s that bad, why don’t you just leave?” First let me say that while they might mean well, that is truly dismissive and a little insulting. If you’re offended or upset by those kinds of comments, you have every right to be.
Walking away isn’t that simple. If it were so easy to do the things we know we should do, we’d all be eating perfect diets and exercising 4x a week. But our behavior is driven by what we feel, not what we know. Your friends and family are on the outside, they’re judging an extremely emotional situation without having to factor in the emotions.
The truth is you might feel paralyzed. You might be terrified of being on your own, or of what they’ll do if you try to go. You might not be able to afford to leave. Maybe you have kids. Or maybe you’re still holding on to hope that the good version of them will come back.
Your nervous system has adapted to this relationship, and no matter how bad it is, if you try to leave, it’s going to sound all the alarms and tell you all the horrible things that will happen so that you won’t be able to do it. (But it’s lying.)
That’s not weakness, it’s neuroscience. It’s part of being human, and nothing is wrong with you for struggling to leave what others think shouldn’t be that hard.
Deciding to leave is a complicated process. You’ll probably cycle through questioning if you’re doing the right thing, then feeling certain that you are, then remembering something sweet, or thinking about the messy logistics of leaving, and you start doubting yourself again, wondering if you’ll regret it…so you tell yourself you shouldn’t do anything until you’re 100% sure.
That’s normal. Especially when everyone around you keeps minimizing it or saying things like, “But they seem so nice.”
Normal doesn’t always mean good though. That cycle that ends in indecision is your nervous system tricking you into inaction. Because guess what? Inaction means staying, and that’s exactly what your nervous system wants you to do. You’re going to go through these cycles and it’s going to be confusing, but just knowing that might bring you a little clarity and peace in its own way.
You don’t have to be ready to act. You’re here, and that means you know something isn’t right and you’re trying to understand. That takes courage. And it’s more than most people in abusive relationships do.
What you’re feeling is completely valid, and what you’re doing is incredibly difficult and scary. Yet here you are.
You should be proud of yourself. This is strength.
Before you go…
I sincerely hope this journey gave you something valuable: clarity, comfort, validation, maybe even a little relief from the confusion. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, raw, or unsure what comes next, that’s okay. You’re doing hard things. Really hard things.
If and when you want to keep going, UNRAVEL has more to offer. A curated resource list is coming soon, but in the meantime, follow the highlighted links you saw along the way.
You’ll find more information—in a slightly more academic tone, as these pages dive into their topics from an educational perspective…but still in clear, relatable language. No 7 syllable words or sciencey jargon here.
I’d love to know how you’re doing and hear your story. If you feel like sharing, you’re more than welcome to do so here. Your experience matters.
Thank you for trusting me to guide you. I wish you a lifetime of healthier, happier relationships.
Every relationship is unique, and emotional harm doesn’t always follow the same patterns. What you’ve read here reflects common dynamics, but it’s not a diagnosis. I hope something resonated—but please know this isn’t therapy, or psychological, medical, or legal advice. It’s here to offer clarity, not conclusions.