Toxic Relationships Are Our Greatest Mirrors (If We Dare Look)
“It’s a disaster, right?” my client asked, referring to a recent girlfriend who had love-bombed him relentlessly — then vanished. He later discovered she’d been in another relationship while they were still technically together. When that relationship imploded a few months later, she reappeared with apologies and next-level lingerie, and, like magic, things were back on.
“I know she’s toxic, and I should probably stop, right?”
I didn’t respond. Partly because it wasn’t a real question, and partly because I wasn’t sure. Maybe this fantasy-diva character was exactly what he needed to wake up to his patterning.
“Everyone’s telling me she’s fatal,” he admitted, detailing how his friends had labeled her toxic and urged him to stay away. He seemed both convinced of her fatality and equally unable to leave. So why was he trying to recruit me into a chorus he wasn’t listening to?
“She’s so hot,” he concluded, burying his face in his hands.
The Magnetic Pull of Toxicity
Heat and toxicity tend to go hand in hand. When I asked my teenage daughter why her friend was staying with a guy who repeatedly hurt her, she shrugged, “Mum, it’s not that deep — he’s just hot.” Maybe that was all it was for my client too.
But I have a theory: the not-that-deep and the completely deep tend to go together. Hot people are everywhere (at least where I live in LA), but why is it that one particular person has the power to stop us in our tracks — and cause us untold pleasure and pain?
My client’s on-again, off-again girlfriend gave him the kind of bumpy ride he was deeply familiar with. Growing up with an abusive and dysregulated mother, this kind of pattern carried the comfort of the known quantity, even though that known was disfunctional. Many intelligent people recognize toxic patterns intellectually but find it harder to reach the self-compassion needed to champion real change. More often than not low self-esteem is what is enduringly destructive.
Admittedly, part of me wanted to rescue my client, not just out of altruism but because it’s hard to stay compassionate toward the pain that seems preventable. But I reminded myself that toxic relationships, like all relationships, have a transactional component, even if it is unconscious. My client didn’t want advice — right now, he wanted her, and perhaps to feel less ashamed about his dependency.
Intense emotions in a toxic relationship can trigger the release of chemicals like dopamine and oxytocin, making the person feel euphoric or addicted, while cortisol and stress hormones may keep them in a constant state of anxiety. This neurochemical cycle can create emotional dependency, similar to an addiction, making it hard to break free from harmful patterns and attachments. If I told him he should walk away from this unhealthy situation and he couldn’t, it would only reinforce the sense of inadequacy that kept him living in fantasy in the first place. The fact that something is a fantasy instead of a goal or a dream in the making is what makes it toxic.
Fantasy, by its very nature, creates a sense of unattainability, locking us into a cycle of separation from the very desires we seek to fulfill. Fantasy reinforces feelings of inadequacy and feeds the personal shadow, a concept in Jungian psychology that refers to the parts of ourselves we suppress or deny. The goal of shadow work is to fold in the shamed parts of us into an inclusive greater ever-growing concept of the self. Instead, indulging in fantasy keeps the shadow separate, codifying our desires as elusive and unreachable. Unlike dreams or goals, which can carry an inherent sense of possibility and progress, fantasy often leads to a growing disconnection from what we truly long for — leaving us with a sense of yearning that only deepens with each imagined scenario.
Why We Stay
Even in abusive relationships, therapists are trained not to push clients to leave. Watching someone self-destruct is agonizing. Our instinct is to rescue. But even if we had the power to “save” someone, should we?
Empowerment-based therapy prioritizes autonomy and resilience over one-size-fits-all solutions like leaving. The issue with telling people to leave severely abusive relationships is that often they can’t. And when they hear they should, it deepens their sense of weakness, impotence, and shame — perhaps the most toxic thing of all.
The term toxic relationship has recently become a catch-all for anything uncomfortable. While some relationships are genuinely harmful, overusing the label fosters avoidance, lack of accountability, and stunted personal growth.
When we call someone toxic, we make them “the problem” and ourselves the victim. It turns human dynamics into a simplistic good vs. bad narrative. It’s easier to cut people off than to confront our discomfort. There are nuances of course. Where relationship difficulty meets toxicity can be hard to define in many cases.
As tempting as it is to dismiss, otherize, and pathologize those who hurt us, it’s a cop-out. As my ex-husband — who came from a family of butchers — likes to say, “No matter how thin you slice it, it’s always got two sides.” In the more mystical world of shamanic practice, poisons and medicines and sickness and health are understoon as interconneced in an endless dance of yin and yang.
Back to my client, I struggled to frame questions that reminded him of his agency: “Are you trying to understand something about yourself here, or assess the likelihood of a future with this woman?”
“Is there a future?” he echoed, ignoring the second part of my question. “I mean, I know it’s crazy, but there really might be if we could just figure out a few things.”
Was it my job to disabuse him of this notion? However unlikely I felt their future to be, was it in my client’s best interests for me to try and burst his bubble? I thought back to the lesson from renowned psychiatrist Irvin Yalom’s story Love’s Executioner. In this true account, Yalom writes about his early days as a shrink trying to recruit a delusional patient into reality by proving her fantasy relationship was just that. Finally, he succeeded in getting his point across, only to realize he’d destroyed something of infinite subjective value to his patient. No one should assume they know what’s best for someone else, especially mental health professionals.
When Toxic Relationships Lead to Growth
As a therapist, I remind myself there’s always a bigger pattern at play. Maybe enduring this particular hell is the catalyst for a breakthrough — emotionally, creatively, or professionally.
Swiss psychiatrist Adolf Guggenbühl-Craig explored this in Marriage: Dead or Alive, a book inspired by Carl Jung’s concept of individuation — the lifelong process of becoming one’s true self. Guggenbuhl-Craig argued that a healthy marriage should challenge each partner’s growth rather than simply offer comfort.
“A good marriage is not one without fights, but one in which fights lead to greater understanding. A marriage without conflict is as inconceivable as a nation without crises.”
The same goes for difficult divorces which can paradoxically be crucibles for compulsory growth and hopefully creativity. Trudy Goodman, a renowned mindfulness teacher, told me recently that the devastation of her second marriage fueled her to start InsightLA, a successful nonprofit meditation center. Eat Pray Love emerged from Elizabeth Gilbert’s painful divorce. True self-esteem isn’t about avoiding failure — it’s about rebuilding after things fall apart.
Growth requires struggle. Even the healthiest relationships have moments of toxicity. Life throws curveballs, old wounds resurface, boundaries slip. Avoiding toxicity isn’t the answer — understanding its lessons is.
The Antidote: Look Deeper
Before labeling someone or something toxic, pause to ask yourself:
- What is this situation teaching me about myself?
- What am I avoiding by cutting this person off?
- Most importantly: Am I willing to do the work of understanding, or am I choosing the easy way out?
Relationships aren’t just about the other person; they reflect who we are, what we believe, and how we grow. The key isn’t to ignore red flags but to distinguish between necessary endings and premature fixes that prolong the agony.
Final Thoughts
There’s no teacher quite like heartbreak. Falling in love connects us with bliss, but heartbreak and heartpain give us unique access to our souls. The goal isn’t to stay in destructive dynamics or to wallow in pain, nor is it to avoid relationships altogether, but instead to carefully examine whatever seems toxic, being willing to take full responsibility for your part.
The shadow is the key to the next-level version of yourself. So next time you’re tempted to call a relationship toxic, find your own disowned shadow in the dysfunction, not just the other person. If they were a disowned part of you, how might you fold this part in?
In addition ask yourself, If my higher self had designed this relationship to teach me the perfect lesson, what might it be?
