Ten years ago, I hit rock bottom.
I woke up with a sickening jolt of shame at the memory of crying at my ex-boyfriend’s front door, begging him to come out and talk to me.
We’d just broken up. Again. Our four-year relationship had been one long soap opera: explosive arguments, passionate reconciliations, cheating, two stints in jail (him, not me), and several family-led interventions begging me to leave.
But I loved him. Madly.
Yes, he had anger issues. Yes, he loved a pub brawl. Yes, he was insanely jealous. But I was deep in my ‘I can fix him’ era, and all that intensity, while occasionally terrifying, was also weirdly hot.
Only, that night was different. Our usual pattern was fight, sulk, then make-up sex. But when I showed up to his house to repeat the routine, he didn’t come to the door. Instead, I got a muffled ‘f**k off’ through the glass, and then his friend emerged to tell me, point-blank, it was over.
I was gutted. Not just heartbroken, but humiliated.
I called my mother. She came over and slept next to me while I sobbed for hours. She was relieved it was over, but worried for me. The next morning, she handed me a book on limerence (an unhealthy, involuntary obsession with another person) and gently suggested I see a therapist.
A decade ago, DailyMail+ columnist Jana Hocking saw an expensive hypnotherapist to help cure her addiction to dating bad boys. It worked… sort of
I read the book. I went to therapy. But I still ached for him. I needed something more… forceful. So when a friend mentioned a hypnotist had just moved into her office building, I practically sprinted there.
Surely this woman could rewire my brain to stop going for bad boys (spoiler alert: this wasn’t my first rodeo) and finally make me fall for the elusive ‘nice guy’?
(By which I mean a hot guy who happens to be sweet and kind. Not the entitled ‘nice guys’ who act like your friend then sulk when you won’t sleep with them as a reward.)
She said I’d need at least four sessions at $500 a pop. I was a broke junior producer living off instant noodles, but I was desperate. I raided my savings and paid upfront.
For the next month, she ‘put me under’ once a week, digging through childhood memories, reframing thought patterns, and implanting healthy boundaries in my brain.
But plot twist: those boundaries… she set them very high. So high, in fact, that it has now been ten years since I’ve had a proper boyfriend.
Back in the day, I might have overlooked a few red flags. Now, one tiny whiff of toxic behaviour and I’m out the door faster than you can say ‘avoidant attachment style’.
To be fair, there have been plenty of flings and short-term relationships. Hormones, after all, don’t get hypnotised. But when it comes to settling down, nope. I’ve become maddeningly picky. My mother calls it ‘too picky’. I call it finally having standards.
After receiving a text, I was like a moth to a flame, straight back to his house for one last hurrah
It started with ‘You up?’ Hardly original. Then his cocky attitude lured me in and before I knew it I was checking Uber prices
And no, sadly the hypnotist didn’t cure me of my attraction to bad boys – they still get me going. I just don’t date them anymore. I sleep with them, sure, but I don’t let them near my heart.
Case in point: six months after that devastating break-up, I got a text from Mr Jail Time at 2am.
‘You up?’
No, Jana. Don’t.
‘Did the hypnotist fix you yet? Nice guys are fun lol.’
F**k you.
‘Come over. I’ll behave if you do.’
And, like a moth to a flame, I drove straight to his house for one last hurrah.
But when he suggested getting back together the next morning, I felt… nothing. Not a single butterfly. Just closure.
So yes, while the hypnotist may not have stopped me from hopping into bed with my bad boy ex (sorry!) she did at least stop me from committing to men like him.
But there’s a slight problem: she may have accidentally stopped me dating full-stop.
Since then, I’ve tried everything to undo the spell: more therapy, Eat Pray Love-style soul-searching, even a psychic or two. They all assure me my forever man is ‘on his way’. But it’s been a decade and I’m starting to think maybe he’s not coming at all.
I’m worried my sessions with the hypnotist made me too sensitive to perceived ‘red flags’ and I rule out men without giving them a chance
I’ve even considered seeing another hypnotherapist to undo whatever mind-magic she worked on me. But, in all honesty, I’m too scared they’ll make it worse. Tinkering with your subconscious is risky business.
So would I recommend hypnotherapy? Sure, if you’re trying to quit sugar, smoking or binge eating.
But when it comes to love, I say leave it to the professionals with a psychology degree – not someone who has to ‘put you under’ to rearrange your romantic preferences.
It turns out there are no quick fixes for heartbreak. No magic wands. Just hard lessons, a lot of unsexy self-work, and hopefully one day… a nice guy who still manages to make me feel just the right kind of dangerous.
