Notes On… Repetition Compulsion

A client once said to me, “I don’t get it. I keep falling for guys who make me feel... like shit.” The kind who breadcrumb. Who disappear, then show up just enough to keep that sliver of hope alive. “It’s like I know it’s bad,” he told me. “But I still go back. Every damn time.”

There it was: familiarity mistaken for safety. Repetition compulsion in full swing. That quiet, unconscious pull to recreate an old wound, usually from childhood. Freud named it, but any trauma therapist will tell you, it’s everywhere. Not because we want the pain, but because some part of us still believes that this time, if we love harder or wait longer, we’ll finally be chosen.

This client grew up with a father who was kind but emotionally distant. “I always had to earn his attention,” he said. And now, as an adult, he’s pulled to that same dynamic. Not because he likes being dismissed, but because deep down, a younger version of him is still holding out for a different ending. Repetition compulsion isn’t a flaw. It’s a brilliant, if painful, attempt at mastery. But understanding the pattern doesn’t break it. You can know the story by heart and still find yourself walking straight into the same scene.

So what DO you do? Well, it starts with the tiniest pause. The moment you feel that rush in your body and ask, wait, is this real connection, or is this just a memory wearing a new face? Then comes the harder part: choosing differently. Choosing the person who texts back. Who feels calm, not chaotic. Who’s steady, not spectacular. At first, it might even feel boring, but only because your nervous system is slowly coming down from the high of chasing what you never got.

The pattern breaks when you stop trying to win the old game and start living like you don’t have to. That’s the shift. Not just finding someone new but becoming someone new.