Why I Chose the Dangerous Option Over the Safe One: Why we might choose to stay in toxic environments.

Last night, I found myself thinking about a guy who was once completely besotted with me. We were teenagers, I was around 17 or 18, and he was a few years older. Out of all the guys I knew back then, he stood out. Handsome, calm, grounded, the kind of guy every girl fancied, but what made him different was his integrity. He didn’t drink, didn’t take drugs, not out of rebellion, but because of the legacy his father had left behind. He refused to repeat those patterns. He had values, and he lived by them.

And he saw me.

Even though I was with someone else, a boyfriend who was, in hindsight, psychologically, emotionally and verbally abusive and more… but that’s a story for a different day, this guy held a gift for me for almost a year. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said, “I’d like to give it to you. But I want to give it to you in person.”

When I finally received it, I remember being completely floored. It wasn’t just a physical gift, it was a reflection. A reflection of the truest part of me. He knew me. Somehow, he saw beyond all the masks I wore. It made me feel so deeply seen and celebrated that I didn’t know what to do with it. My eyes welled up, and I remember thinking, What am I doing?

Here was a man who made me feel safe, valued, deeply respected. And I walked away. I chose someone else and friend-zoned him before even entering into this toxic relationship with my then boyfriend.

Not because I didn’t care. But because I was scared.

I returned to the toxic relationship, and looking back, I now know that I wasn’t choosing love, I was choosing familiarity. I went into freeze. Into please and appease. I went back to danger, not because it felt good, but because it felt known.

Some women are drawn to "bad boys" over "good guys" because their nervous system is wired to seek what feels familiar, not what’s healthy. If they grew up around chaos, inconsistency, or emotional unavailability, their body may associate those patterns with love and safety. So even if a good guy offers calm and stability, it can feel uncomfortable or even threatening because it’s unfamiliar. The thrill, unpredictability, and emotional highs and lows of a bad boy can activate adrenaline and dopamine, creating a kind of addictive pull. In short, the known danger feels safer than the unknown call, until healing helps the nervous system feel safe in stability.

That wasn’t the only time I did this. Another beautiful soul, a long-time male friend, came into my life during that same period, someone else who saw me, respected me, valued me. And again, I ran.

I stayed in that toxic relationship for nearly five years. At the time, I couldn’t see just how abusive it really was. And I certainly couldn’t see how much I believed I didn’t deserve anything better. And when I did finally have the courage to leave him, he insisted “ you will never find someone that loves you as much as me”… this I have come to learn is a very common sentence emotionally manipulative people use to control and fear monger. So if anyone’s ever said that to you, know that you are worthy of better and will find better, I know because I did and so will you.

This is the trap of trauma.

The nervous system prioritises what’s familiar, not what’s good, or kind, or healing. It latches onto what we’ve known. And what I had known, from relationships around me, from family dynamics, from culture, was toxicity, betrayal, distrust. That was the blueprint.

So when safety showed up, I ran.

When love knocked, I bolted.

When I was seen, I froze.

And that’s why so many of us stay in toxic relationships, not just romantic ones, but friendships, family dynamics, work environments too. Because we confuse familiarity with safety. Because our bodies learned, at some point, that silence was safer than expression. That pleasing was safer than asking for what we needed. That shrinking was safer than being seen.

Years later, I met my husband.

And this, this was the biggest challenge of all.

He was like no one I’d ever met before.

He saw me.

We laughed together, which was something I never had in the previous relationship.

And most importantly, I felt like I could fully be myself around him, something I had never experienced with a man before.

His low-maintenance, grounded, humble approach to life deeply humbled me. His presence softened me. And for the first time, I experienced what I now know to be true, unconditional love in a romantic relationship.

Being with him was so powerful, so healing, that I was willing to give up everything to be with him, my family, my country, my old identity. A part of me knew: this is the path home to myself.

But what I didn’t see coming was what safety would awaken in me.

Because when your nervous system finally starts to feel safe, it also finally feels ready to heal.

And healing doesn’t always look like peace and zen.

Sometimes healing looks like chaos rising to the surface.

All the pain, the fear, the distrust I had buried my entire life started surfacing in ways I couldn’t control or understand.

It was terrifying.

It was destabilising.

There were times I thought I’d lose him. Times I thought I should leave, to protect him from my wounds. Times I was sure I’d push him away.

But somehow… he stayed.

He saw it through.

He held steady.

And eventually, I came through the other side.

Even now, I still have moments , little flickers of insecurity, flashes of fear, but I understand them now. I meet them with compassion instead of shame. They’re no longer roaring wildfires threatening to consume me. They’re just glowing embers, still there, but no longer in control.

Here’s what I’ve learned….

Our nervous system clings to what’s known, even if it hurts, and that’s how the patterns persist. That’s how the beliefs like “men can’t be trusted,” “I’m always too much,” “love isn’t safe” get reinforced again and again.

But the moment we become aware of the pattern, we start to get free and from that self-awareness, we can control the internal dialogue and literally create new neuropathy’s in our brain, letting the old path of thinking get overgrown and diminish over time. And yes it takes time and patience, effort, therapy and what ever support helps you the most.

We often sabotage not because we’re broken, but because we’re afraid.

Afraid of what we don’t know.

Afraid of what we do deserve.

Afraid of trusting something so good, we fear we’ll ruin it.

So we choose the familiar chaos instead.

Our nervous system clings to what’s known, even if it hurts, because the unfamiliar feels unsafe.

But it goes even deeper than that.

Sometimes we subconsciously choose the painful path, the toxic relationship, the friend who betrays us, the situation that depletes us, to reinforce a belief we’ve held for so long, it has become part of our reality.

Beliefs like:

“Men can’t be trusted.”

“People always leave.”

“Love isn’t safe.”

“I’m not worthy of good things.”

And so we choose the path that lets us say, “See? I knew it. I was right all along.”

Because validating the belief feels safer than rewriting it.

Because our belief system is the framework through which we experience the world, and anything that challenges it can feel threatening, even if it’s kind, even if it’s loving, even if it’s safe.

This is the power of a limiting belief:

It will shape your reality until you question it.

Until you meet it with presence.

Until you teach your body a new story.

And that, not just awareness, but embodied safety, is how patterns begin to shift.

This is why I do the work I do now.

To help others recognise the freeze, the please, the appease, and meet it not with blame, but with embodiment.

You don’t have to go back and relive every childhood memory.

You just need to meet yourself here, now, with compassion.

With the right tools, breath, movement, somatic awareness, creative expression, the body can begin to trust again.

And from that place, you can choose differently.

You can choose healing.

You can choose love.

You can choose you.

If my story resonates, know this: You’re not alone.

You’re not broken. You’re not weak.

You’re simply healing.

And it’s safe to begin again.