This post is Part 4 of a series.

Many people have an uncanny attraction, a kind of unconscious radar or heat-seeking missile, for members of the opposite sex (or sometimes same sex) who blatantly or subtly resemble—psychologically if not physically—the parent with whom they had difficulties. And these are the people we tend to “fall in love” with or with whom we become romantically involved. The parallels are usually imperceptible at first (to ourselves though not to others), becoming more apparent as the relationship progresses. We choose such people unconsciously and unwittingly. That is the very nature of a neurosis. It’s a “blind spot” or a complex. Who in their right mind would consciously choose—or remain with—a partner who is rejecting, unavailable, or abusive? That would be pure masochism. But it is much more than masochism. It is a powerful unconscious repetition compulsion at play. (See my prior post.)

The Wounded Inner Child

That wounded, rejected, abandoned little boy or girl within us is still vying to win mommy or daddy’s love. In order for the repetition compulsion to play out, the love interest must, by definition, possess at least some of the emotional deficits or traits as the original parent. Indeed, that is what the repetition compulsion is all about: an unconscious recreation or recapitulation of these relationship dynamics, so as to provide an opportunity to alter the outcome. The needy inner child thinks: “This time will be different. I will get this new person to love me. I can change him or her, if only I try hard enough. I won’t fail again. I will make them love me. Then I will finally feel loveable and worthy of love.”

But tragically, this futile effort is doomed to failure. For if, as part of the repetition compulsion, we specifically choose individuals who cannot love us precisely because of their own emotional limitations and problems, what are the chances of them doing so? Can we “fix” them? Force them? Transform them? Cure them? Not very likely. The rational, intellectual adult part of ourselves knows this. But the wounded little boy or girl within is still striving to do so, just as he or she previously tried with the parents or caretakers. And the vicious cycle continues. Such relationships will not work —they cannot, despite our best efforts. Each inevitable failure triggers and reinforces deep-seated feelings of inadequacy, inferiority, and unlovability. And so it goes.

The “Bitter Pill”

So what is the secret to resolving the pesky and persistent repetition compulsion? Are we doomed to repeat the same mistakes ad nauseum? Not necessarily. This knotty problem can be gradually disentangled, but always with great difficulty. That’s because it requires relinquishing the compulsive defense mechanism itself. The repetition compulsion has a basic survival function. It defends against the re-experiencing of all those overwhelmingly painful feelings we denied during childhood about our imperfect parents and ourselves: sadness, anger, rage, despair, hopelessness, and hurt.

These were narcissistic injuries. They were emotions that we were environmentally and developmentally unprepared and unable to cope with at that time, and that we continued avoiding into adulthood, but that we must now finally confront. These are frightening metaphorical demons we must summon the courage to face — not just cognitively or intellectually, but experientially or emotionally. The childish hope and denial that once kept us afloat and sane in a raging sea of sadness must now be surrendered, and reality accepted: Tragically, our natural infantile or childhood dependency needs for love, affection, attention, understanding, acceptance, caring, etc. were never adequately met, and they never will be. Why? Because that time in our lives is over, ancient history, and can never be relived. What happened, sadly, happened. The bell cannot be unrung. What was done cannot be undone. To persist in hoping for this to happen is to be neurotically stuck in the past. As Breuer and Freud (1895) once said, we “suffer mainly from reminiscences,” which prevents us from fully living in the present and future.

I call this critical turning point in treatment the “bitter pill.” And I am not talking here about some medication! But the “bitter pill” is nonetheless strong stuff, so one needs to be psychologically prepared and ready to swallow it: Never will we receive from our parents (or anyone, for that matter) all we needed. Nothing can ever change that. This is an agonizing and infuriating loss that must at last be fully acknowledged, grieved, mourned, and accepted in order to get past it. The secret to doing so, as I’ve elsewhere suggested (1996), “entails the mature acceptance of the traumatic facts of one’s emotional mortification, the causes and consequences, as well as a resolute willingness to swallow the following bitter pill: We cannot change the past nor undo the wound. . . We can, nonetheless, allow ourselves to feel our rage and grief over this irretrievable loss. . . . We may even—with some good fortune, time and grace—find within ourselves the capacity to forgive those whom we feel inflicted our agonizing injuries.” (p. 286)

With this courageous, conscious acceptance, confrontation, and coming to terms with the past, the repetition compulsion, like the past itself, loses its disastrous domination over us in the present. The spell is at last dispelled. The unconscious curse is lifted. The bewitchment is broken. We gradually grow more free to create new and different relationships. Relationships that, rather than repeatedly ravaging and re-wounding us, nourish, replenish, and restore our soul.