Your Ex: The Love–Hate Rollercoaster of Loving a Dismissive Avoidant

You love them. You hate them. And somehow, you keep flipping between the two.

At some point, it clicks: they couldn’t do intimacy. They got close, panicked, freaked out and ran. And instead of owning that, they made you feel like the problem. They gaslit you. They hurt you. They made you question your sanity.

But the truth? You were the one they really loved, you were the one who got closest. And closeness is exactly what they can’t handle.

So you begin to understand. You see the unprocessed childhood wounds. You see the patterns. You get it.

And yet… the emotional chaos doesn’t just switch off.

Because unlike other toxic relationships, this one doesn’t leave you with just hate.

With a narcissist, eventually the fog lifts. The anger settles into clarity. You walk away and never look back.

But with a dismissive avoidant? It’s worse.

It’s a constant loop: Love them. Hate them. Miss them. Resent them. Repeat.

Because they’re not all bad. That’s the meat hook you can't detach from.

You remember the connection. The laughter. The chemistry that felt off the scale. And just when you start to detach, your mind drifts back to those moments… and suddenly, there’s love again.

Then you remember the cruelty.

The push-pull. The disappearing acts. The inability to communicate. The breadcrumbs that kept you hooked just enough to stay dysregulated.

And your nervous system? Completely hijacked.

That’s the real damage. Not just the heartbreak—but the confusion. The cognitive dissonance of someone who seemed to love you, but couldn’t show up in a way that felt safe - that felt like love.

It’s brutal.

Even now, there can be fleeting moments—a flash of anger when I think about how selfish and careless that behaviour was. Because it was cruel. Whether intentional or not, it leaves scars.

And yes, there are similarities to narcissistic traits—especially the lack of empathy in those moments. But the difference is what keeps you stuck: you know they’re not entirely heartless.

And that’s why it takes so long to let go.

But then… something shifts.

Slowly, painfully, over time—you begin to come back to yourself.

The love–hate swings quieten. The pain loosens its grip. The obsession fades.

You begin to see things clearly:

They’ve likely used someone else to move on. They haven’t changed. And the next person?

They didn’t win. They didn't get your ex because he loves them - it's the opposite.

They inherited the same problem.

“He didn’t steal my man—he stole my problem.”

And for the first time… you actually mean it.

This is where the real healing begins.

You stop waiting. You start living.

You say yes to life again. You reconnect with yourself. You build something that has nothing to do with them.

And most importantly, your nervous system settles. You’re no longer in survival mode.

If you’re in it now, here’s the shift:

Instead of asking why they did this, ask:

• What can I build for myself now?

• Where have I abandoned myself?

• What would my life look like if they were no longer the centre of it?

• What have I always wanted to do—but didn’t?

  
  

And then—do those things.

What I actually did:

• I bought a house and created a space that felt safe and entirely my own

• I took up new hobbies—gardening, caring for the elderly, painting, and piano

• I reached Grade 6 in piano in just two years

• I learnt to speak fluent French

• I wrote two novels inspired by my pain

• I focused on my work and built stability

• I committed to the hard, uncomfortable therapy—the kind that actually changes you

• I accepted invitations, travelled, and re-engaged with life

• I dated again—but with discernment, not desperation

  
  

The truth you finally accept:

There is no version of them that comes back and makes it right.

Real repair would require:

• Deep self-awareness

• Accountability

• Emotional processing

• Therapy

• Empathy

  
  

And they’re not capable of that—at least not now.

So you stop hoping.

Not because you’re bitter. But because you’re free.

And that’s the win.

You realise something powerful:

You saved yourself.

You didn’t run towards love to escape yourself. You didn’t run away from it either. You stayed. You processed. You healed.

You learnt how to stand in your own skin—fully, unapologetically.

And that is the greatest lesson of all.

You are whole. You are steady. You are the winner in the story because you did the work they likely never will. And for that you should be immensely proud.