Watch on YouTube here:

Have you ever experienced obsessive love?

Some relationships do not begin with calm, steady affection. They begin with electricity. They feel cinematic, dangerous, flattering, confusing, and just a little bit impossible to explain to people who have never been there.

That is one of the reasons toxic relationships can be so hard to leave. From the outside, people may see the chaos and ask, “Why would you stay?” From the inside, it can feel much more complicated. There may be chemistry. There may be glamour. There may be sex, intensity, rescue fantasies, and the strange thrill of being chosen by someone who also seems capable of devouring you.

In my conversation with Dr. Stephen Paul Edwards, author, international public speaker, and writer of The Venus Flytrap, we talked about what he calls “obsessive love.” His story is dramatic, funny, shocking, and at times deeply sad. It is also painfully familiar to anyone who has stayed in an unhealthy relationship longer than they wish they had (like me!).

And if that is you, I want to say this carefully: I am not here to shame you. I am here to help you relate to those of us who have been through it. 

Key Takeaways

• Toxic relationships often feel exciting before they feel dangerous.
• Obsessive love can mimic passion while slowly eroding your sense of self.
• Wanting to rescue someone is not the same thing as being loved well.
• Red flags can be visible and still painfully easy to ignore.
• No contact matters because one small response can reopen the whole cycle.
• Healing means rebuilding your identity, boundaries, routines, and self-trust.

What Makes a Relationship Toxic?

A toxic relationship is not simply a relationship where two people argue or go through a difficult season. Every relationship has conflict. Every human being occasionally behaves in a way they are not proud of. I am not talking about that.

I am talking about a pattern where the relationship begins to cost you your peace, your identity, your judgment, your support system, your routines, your self-respect, or your sense of reality. I am talking about the kind of dynamic where you are constantly managing someone else’s moods, explaining away behavior that violates you, and shrinking your own needs to keep the connection alive.

Stephen described his relationship as a spiral into obsessive, chaotic love. There was not much calm between storms. It was more like one fire leading directly into another, with just enough heat to make it feel alive.

I related to that more than I expected. I have been open about surviving domestic violence and being in an intense, chaotic relationship with an abusive alcoholic. I know what it feels like to be love bombed, to be dazzled, to be scared, and to still want desperately to make it work. I also know what it feels like to look back and think, “How did I let it get that far?”

That question can be useful. It can also become a weapon if we use it only to punish ourselves.

The Venus Flytrap: When Beauty and Danger Arrive Together

The central metaphor of Stephen’s book is powerful because it is so simple. Early in the relationship, he asked the woman he was pursuing about her favorite flower. First, she said bird of paradise. Then, almost immediately, she said Venus flytrap.

And there it was.

Beautiful. Exotic. Fascinating. Predatory.

Stephen said he knew intuitively that she was the flytrap and he was the fly. That image stayed with me because it captures something essential about obsessive love. The danger is not always hidden behind ugliness. Sometimes the danger arrives dressed beautifully. Sometimes it is charming, sexual, worldly, wounded, and fascinating. Sometimes it makes you feel as if your ordinary life has suddenly been upgraded to first class.

That is part of the trap.

Stephen also used an image of getting up in the middle of the night, taking ice cream from the freezer, and eating it even though you know it is not going to be good for you. Toxic love can feel like that, except with much higher stakes. You know something is off. You may even know it is going to hurt. But another part of you says, “Just one more spoonful.”

I am not judging the spoonful. I am simply saying we need to be honest about the cost.

Why Toxic Love Can Feel So Addictive

One of the most important distinctions Stephen made was that, in the beginning, he was not in love. He was in lust. That honesty matters because many people confuse intensity with intimacy.

Sometimes what we call love is actually activation. Our nervous system is lit up. We are anxious, excited, flattered, uncertain, sexually charged, and desperate for the next sign that we are wanted. That can feel like passion. It can also feel like withdrawal when the person pulls away.

This is where obsessive love and love addiction can begin to overlap. The relationship becomes less about mutual care and more about the cycle: pursuit, reward, chaos, rupture, repair, and pursuit again. You are not necessarily attached to how the person treats you. You are attached to the emotional high of getting them back.

Stephen described part of his relationship as a game: would the fly escape, or would the flytrap devour him? That tension kept pulling him back. I think many people who have lived through toxic relationships will recognize that feeling, even if their circumstances were different.

The bond does not always deepen because the relationship is healthy. Sometimes it deepens because the stakes keep rising.

The Rescue Fantasy: “I Can Save Them”

Another thread in our conversation was the rescue fantasy. Stephen saw vulnerability in this woman. He saw pain. He saw someone who, in his mind, needed saving. And because he is thoughtful, emotionally curious, and drawn to understanding people, he believed he could help her.

That is such a human impulse. It is also a dangerous one when it becomes the foundation of a relationship.

Compassion is beautiful. Compassion without boundaries can become self-abandonment with false validation.

Many of us have done this. We learn someone’s backstory and begin using it as an explanation for behavior that hurts us. We see their trauma, addiction, grief, abandonment wound, or fear, and instead of asking, “Can this person love me in a healthy way?” we ask, “How can I love them hard enough to make them feel safe?”

That question can keep you trapped for a very long time.

In my own experience, I understood that my ex was in pain. I understood that his drinking was connected to deep suffering. I understood that he had wounds. But understanding someone’s pain does not mean you are required to become the place where that pain explodes.

You can have compassion for someone and still leave.

Sometimes leaving is the most compassionate thing you can do for yourself.

Red Flags You Can See but Still Ignore

One of the most painful parts of toxic relationships is realizing that the red flags were often there early. Stephen knew. I knew. Many of you probably knew too.

But knowing and acting upon knowledge are not the same thing.

There is a strange tunnel vision that can happen when something wildly inappropriate or alarming occurs early in a relationship. Part of you sees it clearly. Another part immediately begins negotiating. Maybe they were triggered. Maybe they did not mean it. Maybe this is just because they have never been loved properly. Maybe if I respond perfectly, the situation will calm down.

And so we stay.

Stephen used a striking image near the end of our conversation. He said it felt as if he was being put into a straight jacket, but he was helping buckle it. That is not a comfortable thing to admit. It is also the kind of honesty that makes healing possible.

Because yes, toxic relationships often involve manipulation, control, boundary violations, and emotional chaos from the other person. But recovery also requires asking, “Where did I participate in my own disappearance?”

Not to blame yourself for someone else’s behavior. Never that.

But to reclaim your agency.

Losing Yourself Is Often the Deepest Cost

The drama of a toxic relationship can be spectacular. The stories can be unbelievable. People may focus on the most shocking moments because they are the easiest to retell.

But the deepest cost is often quieter.

It is the loss of self.

Stephen talked about giving up the foundational things that kept him grounded: his routines, his health practices, his meditation, his workouts, the habits that helped him feel like himself. I have seen this happen again and again. A person enters a chaotic relationship with a life, a body, friendships, interests, standards, and a sense of direction. Over time, their world narrows around managing the relationship.

They stop doing the things that made them stable. They stop seeing certain people. They stop trusting their perceptions. They become fluent in someone else’s needs and nearly illiterate in their own.

Losing yourself does not mean you were weak. Often, it means you adapted. You learned how to survive inside a dynamic that rewarded self-abandonment and punished self-possession.

Healing means slowly reversing that process. You return to your routines. You rebuild your friendships. You remember what you like. You practice making decisions without running them through the filter of someone else’s reaction.

It is not glamorous work. It is better than glamorous. It is bettering yourself.

Why No Contact Matters After Toxic Relationships

I am a strong believer in no contact after a toxic relationship, especially during the healing period. I understand how the hook works.

Stephen shared that after years of no contact, this woman tried to reach him again after learning about his book. He felt the pull. Of course he did. These dynamics do not always disappear simply because time has passed. But he did not respond.

And he felt liberated for it. 

He compared responding to an alcoholic taking one drink. I think that is a useful way to understand it. When a relationship has had an addictive quality, one small message can reopen the entire loop. A casual “How are you?” can become a conversation. A conversation can become nostalgia. Nostalgia can become bargaining. Bargaining can become contact. Contact can become the same old trap with slightly updated wallpaper.

Before you respond, ask yourself: “How will I feel a week from now if I answer this message?”

Not how will you feel in the first ten seconds, when your body gets the hit of being wanted again. A week from now. After the anxiety returns. After the confusion returns. After the part of you that fought so hard to heal realizes you have reopened the door.

No contact is not always easy. It is often brutally difficult. But difficulty is not evidence that it is wrong. Sometimes it is evidence that the bond was doing exactly what bonds do: pulling you back toward the familiar, even when the familiar was hurting you.

How to Begin Rebuilding Self Identity After Toxic Love

Rebuilding your self identity after toxic love is a process. I wish I had a more glamorous answer, preferably one involving a dramatic haircut and a montage. Sadly, healing usually asks for something less cinematic and more consistent.

You begin by returning to yourself in small, concrete ways.

What did you stop doing during the relationship? Who did you stop seeing? What routines disappeared? What values did you compromise? What did you used to know about yourself that now feels blurry?

Stephen talked about reestablishing what matters and going back to the things he had sacrificed. That is where so much recovery happens. Not in one grand declaration, but in the repeated act of choosing your own life again.

I believe deeply in the power of being single long enough to enjoy it. When you know you can be happy alone, you become much harder to manipulate. You stop treating every relationship as a rescue boat. You stop confusing attention with nourishment. You can want love without needing it so badly that you hand over your freedom in exchange.

That distinction matters.

Wanting a partner is human. Needing one at the expense of yourself is where things get dangerous.

You Are Not Stupid for Staying, But You Do Have to Learn From It

One of the reasons I appreciated Stephen’s honesty is that his background makes the story even more instructive. This is a man with deep experience in personal development, spiritual counseling, public speaking, and helping people design better lives. And still, he found himself in a destructive relationship.

That matters because toxic relationships do not only happen to people who “should have known better.” They happen to smart people. Successful people. Self-aware people. People with degrees, careers, insight, and friends who love them. None of that makes you immune to chemistry, loneliness, grief, lust, rescue fantasies, or the intoxicating pull of being chosen by someone unpredictable.

The goal is not to romanticize the pain. I do not believe we need to suffer in order to become interesting. 

The goal is to tell the truth about what happened and learn from it without allowing the shame to destroy or define you.

Stephen and I both arrived at a similar place in the conversation: we could be grateful for what we learned, but that does not mean we would choose to go through it again. That is the balance. We can honor the growth without glamorizing the wound.

If toxic love has been part of your story, I hope you take that seriously. Not as proof that you are broken, but as information. Something in you got pulled into the trap. Something in you stayed. Something in you may still feel tempted to answer when the trap calls again.

And something in you can choose differently now.