“People tell me I should be happy he’s in jail, but I miss him.”
This is one of several common statements I hear when I first meet with a survivor.
Many survivors believe they are not allowed to love the person who hurt them. They worry that if they miss them, grieve the relationship, or still care about them, something must be wrong with them. I’m here to discuss why that simply isn’t true.
Below is an excerpt from one of my favorite authors, who writes extensively about abusive relationships:
“The abuser’s mood changes are especially perplexing. He can be a different person from day to day, or even from hour to hour. At times he is aggressive and intimidating, his tone harsh, insults spewing from his mouth, ridicule dripping from him like oil from a drum. When he’s in this mode, nothing she says seems to have any impact on him, except to make him even angrier. Her side of the argument counts for nothing in his eyes, and everything is her fault. He twists her words around so that she always ends up on the defensive. As so many partners of my clients have said to me, ‘I just can’t seem to do anything right.’
At other moments, he sounds wounded and lost, hungering for love and for someone to take care of him. When this side of him emerges, he appears open and ready to heal. He seems to let down his guard, his hard exterior softens, and he may take on the quality of a hurt child, difficult and frustrating but lovable. Looking at him in this deflated state, his partner has trouble imagining that the abuser inside of him will ever be back. The beast that takes him over at other times looks completely unrelated to the tender person she now sees. Sooner or later, though, the shadow comes back over him, as if it had a life of its own. Weeks of peace may go by, but eventually she finds herself under assault once again. Then her head spins with the arduous effort of untangling the many threads of his character, until she begins to wonder whether she is the one whose head isn’t quite right.”
This excerpt illustrates just how complex an abusive relationship can be. From the outside, people who witness the abuse often recognize it for what it is. What they don’t always understand is why their friend, family member, or client still loves the person who caused them so much pain.
The answer isn’t weakness. It isn’t a lack of intelligence. And it certainly isn’t because the survivor wanted to be abused.
It’s biology.
Healthy relationships are built on consistency. Our brains learn that a person is safe because they are predictably kind, supportive, and trustworthy. In abusive relationships, however, affection and abuse exist side by side. The same person who terrifies you is also the one who comforts you afterward. The same person who tears you down may later apologize, cry, promise to change, or remind you of the person you fell in love with.
Those unpredictable shifts create what psychologists call intermittent reinforcement. The brain never knows when the next moment of kindness is coming, so it becomes increasingly focused on earning it. Ironically, unpredictable rewards can create stronger emotional attachments compared to the consistent ones. It’s the same principle behind gambling. People just keep pulling the lever because they remember the last win and believe another one is just around the corner.
During the cycle of abuse, the body is flooded with stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline during frightening incidents. When the abuse temporarily stops and affection returns, the brain experiences relief and releases chemicals like dopamine and oxytocin. That emotional relief can feel incredibly powerful. Over time, the brain begins to associate the abusive partner with both danger and comfort, creating a powerful attachment that is often referred to as a trauma bond.
This is why a survivor may genuinely miss the person who abused them, even after they have escaped. They aren’t necessarily missing violence, manipulation, or fear. More often, they are grieving the version of the person they loved, the future they hoped for, and the moments when the relationship felt safe.
Grief doesn’t require that someone is good all the time. It only requires that they mattered.
When someone says, “I should be happy he’s in jail, but I miss him,” they are often carrying two truths at once. They can feel safer because the abuse has stopped while simultaneously mourning the loss of someone they deeply loved. Those emotions are not contradictory; they are evidence of how complicated abusive relationships truly are.
As advocates, family members, and friends, our job is not to judge survivors for what they feel. Our job is to understand that healing rarely follows a straight line. Missing an abusive partner does not mean a survivor wants to return. Loving someone who hurt you does not erase what they did. Feeling conflicted is not a sign that healing has failed, it is often a normal part of the healing process. Missing your abuser is not a crime.
When we replace judgment with understanding, we create space for survivors to tell the truth about their experiences. As you read this, you might have thought of someone in your own life who is experiencing abuse or who has expressed that they still love the person who hurt them. Before responding with frustration or judgment, pause and consider what they have survived. Instead of saying, “I don’t understand why you still love them,” try asking “How can I support you?” Instead of criticizing them for missing their abuser, recognize that what they are experiencing is often a normal response to prolonged trauma and manipulation. A harsh comment can reinforce the guilt and isolation that survivors already carry. A compassionate response, however, can become a lifeline. It can remind someone that they are seen, believed, and worthy of support, even when their emotions don’t make sense to others. If you are the person who still loves the one who hurt you, try and extend this grace towards yourself. Healing is complicated, and you deserve compassion, not shame.
Here is my challenge for the reader, the next time someone says, “I miss the person who abused me,” don’t hear it as a reason to judge them. Hear it as an invitation to understand the complexity of trauma. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can offer isn’t advice, it’s empathy.
Bancroft, L. (2002). Why does he do that? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men. Berkley Books.
If you need any additional information, have a question, or have a concern, feel free to reach out to Options at our 24-hour toll-free helpline 800-794-4624. You can also reach an advocate via text by texting HOPE to 847411 or clicking 24-Hour Chat with Options.
Written by Alese Meyer
This grant project is supported by the State General Fund for Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault, sub-grant number 26-SGF-07, as administered by the Kansas Governor’s Grants Program. The opinions, findings, conclusions or recommendations expressed in this publication are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Office of Kansas Governor.