Jul 23, 2025
You meet someone new, and it feels electric. They just get you in a way no one else does. But then, slowly, the same old patterns creep in. Maybe they start pulling away, or their jealousy becomes suffocating, or you realize you’re bending yourself into knots to keep them happy. You tell yourself, This time will be different—but deep down, you know how this story ends.
If this sounds familiar, you’re not alone. As a therapist, I’ve worked with so many smart, self-aware people who ask the same question: Why do I keep choosing partners who hurt me? The answer isn’t that you’re broken or destined for bad relationships. It’s that love—especially early love—isn’t just about the person in front of you. It’s about the invisible blueprint of relationships you’ve carried since childhood.
We all grow up learning what love looks like from our families. If your parents were unpredictable with affection, you might mistake anxiety (“Do they even like me?”) for chemistry. If you had to earn love by being “perfect,” you might attract partners who keep you striving for their approval. This isn’t a conscious choice. Your nervous system confuses familiar with safe, so even when a relationship hurts, leaving can feel terrifying—like stepping off a cliff into the unknown.
The hardest part? These patterns don’t announce themselves. You might think you’re drawn to someone because of their sense of humor or their confidence, only to realize later that you’ve recreated the same dynamic you swore you’d escape. That’s why blaming yourself (or your partner) never works. This isn’t about fault; it’s about recognizing the cycle so you can finally break it.
So how do you stop repeating the past? Start by looking for the threads that connect your relationships. Do you always chase people who are emotionally unavailable? Do you lose yourself in partnerships where your needs come last? Those aren’t accidents—they’re clues. Therapy can help you decode them by shining a light on the beliefs you’ve carried for years, like “I’m too much” or “Love has to be earned.” When you understand where those stories came from, you can start writing new ones.
This isn’t about giving up on love. It’s about making space for a different kind of relationship—one where you feel seen, not exhausted; where conflict doesn’t mean catastrophe; where you’re loved for who you are, not who you’re trying to be. That might sound impossible if you’ve been stuck in the same cycle for years, but I’ve seen clients make this shift, and it always starts with the same realization: “I don’t have to keep choosing from my old blueprint.”
The right relationship won’t feel like a rollercoaster or a test. It’ll feel like coming home—to yourself, first. And that’s a story worth rewriting.