This year is slowly winding down, and wherever you look – whatever platform you open, whichever feed you scroll through – everyone seems to be saying the same thing: thank God it’s almost over.
2025 has been a year that stripped many of us down to the bone. Relationships ended in waves. Stories of break-ups, breakdowns, and quiet personal collapses seemed to drift through every timeline. Women were killed across Europe day after day for the simple fact of being women. Everywhere you turned, there was another tragedy, another obituary, another warning shot from a world that feels increasingly hostile to us. And in the middle of that collective mess, I had my own. This year, I was raped again – by another Polish man. And one month later, barely able to breathe, I walked straight into a relationship with a narcissist. A direct collision. A perfect storm. But I also walked back out. And that counts for something. Now December is standing at the door, and I’ve made a decision: this last month belongs to my health. Because no matter how deep I dug, no matter how far I searched, one thing became painfully clear: there is almost no public conversation about what narcissistic relationships do to the body. We talk endlessly about the psychological damage. About emotional volatility. About self-esteem. About trauma bonding. About the financial drain. About the chaos. But almost no one talks about the physical fallout. A relationship with a narcissist is not only a psychological crisis. It is a full-scale collapse of your ecosystem. Your children feel it. Your pets feel it even the fish that barely registers anything except food. Your home energy shifts, your sleep changes, your immune system crashes, your nervous system burns out. During those weeks, my body started shutting down. Cramps, nausea, constant migraines, waves of shaking. I couldn’t eat. A slice of bread felt like swallowing a brick. I woke up exhausted and went to bed shaking. And he didn’t care. He kept pushing, arguing, escalating, feeding off the stress while my body was slipping into emergency mode. I was genuinely close to writing a will — not out of drama, but out of logistics. Because if something happened to me, I knew exactly what would happen to my dog. My ex would dump her in a shelter without hesitation. And that fear alone kept me awake at night. And while all this was happening, access to medical care slowly disappeared. He refused to use condoms. He refused to let me see a gynaecologist. He ignored every boundary I tried to set. Even when I bought condoms myself, he refused them. He came inside me despite me telling him clearly that I did not want children. And in a country where healthcare is expensive, unreliable, and often inaccessible without private pay, every delay becomes a risk. Every appointment becomes a luxury. Whenever I tried to book a medical visit, he found a way to block it — calling constantly, creating conflicts, manufacturing emergencies, arranging deliveries exactly at the time of my appointments. A single tyre delivery for his Mercedes was enough to trap me at home and cancel my visit.People don’t talk about this. But they should. And that’s where this story begins. Day after day, I ate less. Not because he refused to buy food — on the contrary, he bought plenty — but because every time I ate while he was home, my body reacted like it was under attack. Nausea hit me within minutes. My limbs went weak. I couldn’t stand upright without cramps slicing through my stomach. My migraines became a daily battle I never won. And whenever the pain eased just a little, he expected sex.
If I said no, conflict erupted.
If I hesitated, he pushed.
If I pulled away, he guilted, criticised, or demanded closeness as if my body existed solely to regulate his emotions. It wasn’t intimacy. It was pressure dressed up as affection. A suffocating cycle of touching, grabbing, arguing, and then insisting on tenderness as if nothing had happened — as if my job was to soothe him no matter how destroyed I was. My body couldn’t take it. I reached a point where I didn’t want to go to his place anymore — because what he called “home” felt to me like a pressure chamber. A place where my nervous system stayed braced for whatever came next. And when I finally left, my body collapsed in a different way. The hair loss was immediate and frightening. I don’t have thick hair to begin with, so every strand mattered — and suddenly, whole clumps came out in the shower. I avoided talking about it online because it wasn’t aesthetic. And while the internet believed I was slim by style choice, the truth was simple: my clothes were hanging off me. I had to punch a new hole in my belt because my body was shrinking under the stress. I genuinely thought I was the only one going through that — because no one says it out loud. But when I started searching, digging, and comparing notes with other women, I realised something terrifying: I wasn’t alone at all.
Hair loss.
Rapid weight loss.
Chronic digestive issues.
Migraines.
Nausea.
Shaking.
Immune crashes.
Sleep disruption.
Hormonal chaos.
Physical decline that looked almost clinical.
It was everywhere — hidden in comment sections, in anonymous posts, in whispered exchanges between women trying to make sense of what their bodies had endured. And the science supports it. Research on violent and controlling partners shows a clear pattern: Long-term psychological and sexual coercion produces measurable physiological damage. Chronic stress from partner violence alters the nervous system, disrupts hormonal balance, weakens the immune system, affects digestion, triggers hair loss, intensifies migraines, and creates symptoms that mirror autoimmune flare-ups. The body starts shutting down — quietly, systematically — while the outside world thinks everything is fine. And that is where this conversation needs to go next. What frightened me most was realising that my physical symptoms weren’t random. They weren’t imagined. They weren’t “stress exaggerations,” as some still like to call women’s reactions. They were biological consequences of prolonged coercion — consequences that thousands of women experience but almost no one names. And that silence has a long history. For centuries, when women showed physical symptoms linked to emotional distress, doctors called it hysteria. A diagnosis invented to dismiss us. A label designed to imply our bodies were unreliable narrators and our minds untrustworthy witnesses. And the echo of that word still sits behind how women’s pain is treated today. Modern medicine doesn’t call it hysteria anymore. But the reflex is the same: When a woman collapses under the weight of partner violence, she is often given a psychiatric label before anyone checks what her body has survived. The science is brutally clear. The medical system often isn’t. Controlling and violent partners create a state of chronic physiological threat. Your nervous system stays locked in survival mode. Cortisol spikes become constant. The digestive system slows down. Hormones destabilise. Hair follicles shift into shutdown. The immune system weakens. Your heart rate changes. Sleep becomes fractured. Some women develop symptoms that look like autoimmune disorders. Others develop chronic pelvic pain. Some start fainting. Many lose weight rapidly. These are not metaphors. They’re measurable biological cascades. One study linked long-term partner abuse to persistent “autonomic dysregulation” — meaning the nervous system basically stops returning to baseline. Another showed significantly higher rates of chronic pain, migraines, gastrointestinal illness, fatigue syndromes, and reproductive health issues among women experiencing intimate partner violence. Other research found that constant verbal aggression and sexual coercion trigger inflammation markers similar to those seen in severe illness. And when I compared these findings with what women were whispering online, the match was almost perfect.
The shaking.
The nausea.
The hair loss.
The weight loss.
The inability to eat.
The migraines.
The cramps.
The sense of dying slowly in plain sight.
This is not “stress.”
This is the body being worn down by force.
But here’s the part that hits hardest:
When women finally escape and try to seek medical help, they often collide with another problem — misdiagnosis and disbelief. I learned this the hard way.
Instead of being examined physically, instead of anyone asking about the conditions I had been living in, my first encounter with a psychiatrist ended with a label. A severe diagnosis stamped on my record after a quick assessment, based not on my symptoms but on my family history. My body was screaming from trauma, malnutrition, sleep deprivation, and hormonal chaos — and the system called it a disorder. If a man had walked in with the same symptoms after surviving violence, every specialist would have descended on him.
But when a woman does, she is often told:
“You’re overwhelmed.”
“You’re emotional.”
“You’re unstable.”
Or the modern version of hysteria:
“You’re exaggerating.”
And while doctors debate labels, women’s bodies continue to break down. This is why no woman should rush into psychiatric evaluation immediately after leaving a narcissist or an abusive partner.
Your mind is not the only thing in crisis — your body is, too. And unless a doctor understands the physical consequences of coercion, you are at risk of receiving the wrong diagnosis, the wrong medication, and the wrong narrative about your own health.
Which brings me to the point that almost no one talks about but every survivor needs to hear:
After leaving a controlling partner, your first priority is a full physical evaluation.
Because some partners — especially those who use sexual coercion and reproductive control — sabotage your health intentionally. Whether it’s refusing condoms, preventing medical appointments, blocking contraception, or pushing for pregnancy as a means of control, the result is the same: your body becomes a battleground long before your mind understands what’s happening.
And that is where the next chapter of this article must go — into the concrete medical aftermath of partner control, the reproductive risks, and the steps every woman should take the moment she leaves.
𝕀𝕗 𝕀 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝔸𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟, 𝕀’𝕕 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥 ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕖
(The Medical Checklist I Wish Someone Had Handed Me Before I Walked into Any Psychiatrist’s Office)
Before I ever let a psychiatrist stamp my identity with a diagnostic label, before a psychologist interpreted my trauma reactions as personality traits, before anyone tried to fit my symptoms into a clinical box — I should have checked my body first.
Not because the mind doesn’t matter.
But because trauma warps the body so aggressively that you end up looking “mentally ill” on paper while your biology is simply screaming for help.
Here is the list I wish someone had forced into my hands on day one.
1. 𝔽𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝔹𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕 ℙ𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕝
What to check:
• Complete Blood Count (CBC)
• Red/white cells, haemoglobin, platelets
• Inflammation markers
Why:
My unexplained weakness, shaking, constant exhaustion and near-fainting spells weren’t “emotional instability.”
They were the aftermath of chronic cortisol spikes, sleep deprivation, and nutritional collapse.
Any doctor who sees only “stress” without checking these numbers is working blind.
2. 𝔽𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟, 𝔹𝟙𝟚 & 𝔽𝕠𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝𝕤
Why:
Rapid weight loss, near-blackouts, nausea after meals, and cognitive fog often mimic anxiety disorders — but are classic signs of deficiencies triggered by prolonged stress, malnutrition and disrupted eating patterns.
A narcissist’s environment starves you emotionally first, physically second.
3. 𝕋𝕙𝕪𝕣𝕠𝕚𝕕 𝔽𝕦𝕟𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 (𝕋𝕊ℍ, 𝕗𝕋𝟛, 𝕗𝕋𝟜)
Why:
Extreme stress derails thyroid regulation.
Hair loss, sudden weight drops, irregular temperature regulation, trembling and mood swings are textbook thyroid symptoms — yet women are routinely diagnosed with “emotional dysregulation” instead.
4. 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝔼𝕟𝕫𝕪𝕞𝕖𝕤 (𝔸𝕃𝕋, 𝔸𝕊𝕋, 𝔾𝔾𝕋)
Why:
The nausea after every meal, the inability to digest, the sharp cramps — these aren’t imaginary.
Your liver and digestive system get hammered under chronic stress.
And if you were chronically under-eating or vomiting from anxiety, your liver pays for it months later.
5. 𝕂𝕚𝕕𝕟𝕖𝕪 𝔽𝕦𝕟𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 (ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕖, 𝕌𝕣𝕖𝕒)
Why:
Constant dehydration from crying, panic, not eating, and adrenaline overload quietly compromises kidney stress markers.
Doctors miss this routinely.
6. ℂ𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕤𝕠𝕝 𝔻𝕒𝕪 ℂ𝕦𝕣𝕧𝕖
Why:
You need hard data on what narcissistic abuse did to your stress system.
If cortisol is flat, spiking or reversed, you will look like you have a psychiatric disorder — when in reality, your nervous system is simply burned out.
7. ℍ𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕠𝕟𝕖 ℙ𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕝
Why:
Reproductive coercion, forced sex, and chronic fear change your cycle.
Amenorrhea, hormonal shutdown, irregular bleeding — they mimic psychiatric symptoms, but they’re physiological trauma responses.
8. 𝔽𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝔾𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝 ℂ𝕙𝕖𝕔𝕜-𝕌𝕡
Why:
Stress-induced gastritis, ulcers, and reflux present as “anxiety symptoms.”
In reality: your stomach is inflamed.
It’s not a mindset issue — it’s mucosal damage.
9. 𝔼ℂ𝔾 + ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕚𝕒𝕔 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕋𝕖𝕤𝕥
Why:
Chest tightness, palpitations and breathlessness get misdiagnosed as panic attacks in women all the time.
But trauma reshapes the nervous system — and the heart reacts.
Rule out damage before anyone labels you.
10. 𝕍𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕟 𝔻
Why:
Low levels mimic depression.
And after months trapped indoors with a controlling partner, you will have low levels.
It’s biology, not madness.
11. 𝔽𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝔾𝕪𝕟𝕒𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝 ℂ𝕙𝕖𝕔𝕜-𝕌𝕡
Why:
Reproductive coercion, sexual pressure, semen exposure you didn’t consent to, and forced contact do real physiological harm.
You need:
• Ultrasound
• Infection screening
• Cervical health check
• Hormonal evaluation
Not because you’re dramatic — because your body was not respected.
𝕎𝕙𝕪 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥 𝕄𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤
Because without this data, psychiatrists will label survival responses as disorders.
Because without these checks, women walk out with a misdiagnosis instead of a treatment plan.
Because after narcissistic abuse, the body is the first casualty — and the last thing anyone evaluates.
If I could go back, this is exactly where I would start.
Not with a couch.
Not with a questionnaire.
Not with a diagnosis.
But with blood, organs, hormones and the real, measurable damage that a toxic man left behind.
________________
Read more -> https://sierravistahospital.com/blog/the-negative-effects-of-a-toxic-relationship/
https://www.medreport.foundation/post/for-review-how-toxic-relationships-affect-physical-health
https://www.businessinsider.com/physical-signs-body-bad-toxic-relationship-2019-3
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