’Tis the Season to Hoover

When boundaries go up, the hoover comes out—especially during the holidays.

No Contact Means No Contact

Before anything else, I need to be clear with myself: no contact means no contact.

Whether that boundary is legal or personal, reopening access has never brought me clarity. It has only brought confusion. I know this because I’ve lived it.

Even as a mental health professional, the language around narcissistic or abusive dynamics becomes confusing when you’re inside your own experience. Knowing the concepts doesn’t make you immune to the pull. Understanding the theory doesn’t stop the nervous system from reacting.

The past few days, something surfaced for me.“Vulnerable” doesn’t quite fit.

It was avoidance.

A quiet urge to reach out — not because I missed them, but because I didn’t want to sit with what I was actually feeling.

I didn’t act on it.I noticed it.

And I asked myself the only question that mattered:

What value would this bring to my life?

What I Realized About the Urge

When I replayed past moments — the cycles of closeness and withdrawal, the betrayals reframed as misunderstandings, the way repair always depended on how I asked for it — something became painfully clear.

I didn’t want reconnection.I wanted relief.

What I was tempted by wasn’t love, closure, or repair. It was distraction.

Avoiding reality was the only real “value” that relationship ever offered me.

From the outside, an urge like this might be labeled hoovering, or it might look like a repair attempt. From the inside, it felt like my nervous system reaching for familiarity when I was overwhelmed.

This wasn’t about them reaching out.

It was about me almost reaching back.

What Happens in My Brain

I’ve learned to recognize what happens in my body when this urge shows up.

Hope activates first.Then memory fills in the gaps.Then my nervous system whispers, maybe this time is different.

That reaction doesn’t mean I want the relationship back.It means my brain remembers patterns faster than my values engage.

Sitting with that activation — instead of reacting to it — is new for me. And it matters.

There was a time when I would have reached out just to make the feeling stop. Partly to soothe myself. Partly because I hadn’t fully accepted that what I experienced was abuse.

Now, when the urge shows up, it tells me something else:

I’m tired.I’m dealing with something I can’t control.And my brain is searching for the fastest familiar escape.

That doesn’t make me weak.It makes me human.

The Boundary Turned Inward

No contact isn’t just a boundary with another person.

It’s a boundary with myself.

There’s a reason I set it. And maintaining it means honoring the part of me that already learned the lesson — even when another part wants comfort, distraction, or relief.

If I break that boundary internally, it doesn’t matter how strong it looks externally.

This is what rebuilding self-trust actually looks like:not overriding myself when discomfort shows up.

Sitting With Discomfort Instead of Escaping It

Rumination can feel safer than fear.Familiar pain can feel easier than uncertainty.

For a long time, I confused intensity with connection. I confused chaos with meaning. I confused relief with repair.

This time, the urge itself showed me how far I’ve come.

I almost wanted to feel that overwhelming pull again — the one that used to make me act. And I didn’t.

That matters.

For many people, these urges resurface during quiet moments — holidays, boredom, loneliness, or when life slows down enough that you can finally feel what you’ve been avoiding.

That doesn’t mean you’re failing.

It means you’re no longer numbing.

Choosing Kindness Toward Myself

The kind choice for me right now is distance.

Not out of anger.Not out of bitterness.But out of respect for my own clarity.

I’ve learned the difference between compassion and self-abandonment. Compassion without boundaries collapses me. Distance allows me to stay intact.

Pity has become useful here — not as cruelty, but as clarity.

Pity lets me acknowledge limitation without offering access. It lets me see lost potential without sacrificing my peace.

That’s not cold.That’s grounded.

Conclusion

This reflection isn’t about anyone else.

It’s about me noticing my own internal patterns and choosing not to repeat them.

Not because I’m hardened.Not because I’m resentful.But because I finally value peace more than intensity.

From the outside, fear of being pulled back can sound irrational.

Until you’ve lived it.

Distance brings clarity.Patterns become visible.And you stop negotiating your worth with chaos.

This isn’t a movie arc.There’s no dramatic transformation scene.

There’s just a quiet, steady decision:

Not reaching out.Not reopening doors.Not confusing relief with repair.

Just staying present with myself — until the urge passes.

And it does pass.

Author’s Disclaimer & Professional Boundary Statement

This blog contains personal reflections and first-person accounts of my own experiences, perceptions, and emotional responses. It is not intended to assert objective facts about any specific individual, nor to diagnose, evaluate, or characterize the mental health, motives, or intent of any person.

Although I am a licensed clinician, this writing is not clinical work, therapy, assessment, or professional opinion, and no therapeutic relationship is implied. I am not acting in a professional or evaluative capacity in this forum.

Descriptions of behaviors, dynamics, or patterns are shared solely from my subjective perspective and lived experience, for reflective and educational purposes. Others may experience or interpret the same events differently.

Identifying details have been altered or omitted to protect privacy. Any resemblance to specific individuals, organizations, or circumstances is incidental and not intended to assert factual claims about any person.