The Gift of the Ick
Most people think the “ick” is about the other person.
He chews weird. He texts in lowercase. He calls his mom “Mommy.”
But the real ick—the one that stays—isn’t about them at all.
It’s about you.
The Session
Julie sat across from me, fidgeting. Her brother Bobby was back in the house. Loud, erratic, entitled. She said she couldn’t eat when he was around. Felt like she had to be on guard. But the moment we scratched beneath the surface, she pivoted to Daniel—the off-again boyfriend turned ambiguous support system. That’s when I knew: Bobby was just the portal. Daniel was the dungeon.
Her eating disorder, her shame, her self-betrayal—all of it lived in the unresolved, codependent gravity between her and Dylan. Not violent. Not explicitly abusive. But transactional, suffocating, performative.
Then it happened.
In a moment of spiraling guilt, she referred to Daniel as “Jake”—her emotionally manipulative ex from years prior.
That slip gave up the game. Her unconscious was no longer hiding it: You’re in the same dynamic again. Different face. Same shame.
And then came the ick.
What the Ick Really Is
The ick isn’t about your partner doing something mildly gross.
It’s about you watching yourself betray your own standards in real time.
It’s what happens when:
You catch yourself smiling through coercion
You feel a hand on your thigh and your body tenses, but you say nothing
You’re doing things you swore you’d never do again
You feel a part of yourself dying to avoid disappointing someone you don’t even respect
Julie wasn’t confused anymore. She was disgusted with herself.
“Why am I letting him buy me food I don’t even keep down?”
“Why do I feel like I owe him intimacy?”
“Why do I keep saying yes when I want to scream no?”
She called it what it was.
“It’s like I’m trading sex for survival. I feel like a prostitute.”
She wasn’t exaggerating. She wasn’t being cruel to herself. She was waking up.
Why the Ick Is a Gift
The ick is the body’s alarm system that says:
“You’re not confused. You’re compromised.”
When used well, it’s not just a red flag—it’s a door out.
Julie had spent months negotiating fake boundaries with a man who wanted her body, her compliance, her silence. He “loved” her, but only in the way someone loves access.
And she kept trying to convince herself that being needed was the same as being chosen.
The ick made that illusion impossible to maintain.
In that moment, she didn’t need advice.
She needed permission to act on what her body already knew.
If You’re Feeling the Ick…
Ask yourself:
Am I physically recoiling, but emotionally justifying?
Am I performing intimacy I don’t want, to preserve “peace”?
Am I calling this confusion when it’s really a violation of self?
If yes, you’re not crazy. You’re waking up. And it means your standards are coming back online.
Let the ick guide you out. Let it dismantle the performance.
Because that feeling? That’s your dignity returning.
And it is the greatest gift your nervous system can give you.
