It’s a rainy Friday afternoon, and you find yourself staring at your phone, heart racing, hands slightly shaking. It’s a message you never expected, and yet somehow always feared. A simple, unassuming text from your ex, the narcissist you thought you’d managed to escape. “Hey, just wanted to check in. I miss you.”

This is hoovering—a technique named after the Hoover vacuum cleaner, for its ability to suck people back into toxic relationships. It’s the narcissist’s ace card, played when they feel their control slipping. The term hoovering might sound whimsical, but for those on the receiving end, it’s a disorienting rollercoaster of manipulation, emotion, and self-doubt. It’s the ex who suddenly appears when you’ve moved on, the estranged family member reappearing at the holidays, the friend who ghosted you months ago and now wants to reconnect. Every time it happens, it’s as if the rug is pulled from under you.

Narcissists hoover because they need control and validation like oxygen. The moment they feel you slipping away, they’ll tug on any string they can. Their supply—the energy, attention, and admiration they crave—begins to dry up. And that’s when the hoovering starts. It’s their way of keeping the cycle of abuse and dependence going, ensuring they still have access to their target’s emotional resources. Their fragile egos, masked under layers of charm or intimidation, are desperately trying to fend off what they fear most: irrelevance.

Hoovering doesn’t have a single face. It can be deceptively sweet, as in “I’ve been thinking a lot about you. I know we had our issues, but I just want to talk.” It can be guilt-laden: “I haven’t been the same without you. I need you in my life.” Sometimes, it’s even aggressive, reappearing as a rage-filled outburst meant to provoke any response—good or bad. And that’s the core: the narcissist doesn’t care how you respond, just that you do. The emotions they manipulate—whether love, guilt, or fear—serve the same purpose: to pull you back in.

There’s an almost predatory precision to hoovering. It often comes when you’re least prepared, timed to strike when you’ve started to heal, when you’re feeling fragile, or when a significant event happens in your life. They’ve mastered reading the signs of vulnerability, and they will exploit them at every opportunity. But the initial message or call is rarely the full move. It’s a hook, and what follows is a calculated series of actions designed to wear down your defenses, re-spark feelings, or cause enough confusion that you begin to second-guess yourself.

Narcissists are masters at understanding human psychology—especially the psychology of the people they’ve abused. They know your triggers, your fears, your insecurities. It’s not an accident when they reach out with just the right blend of remorse or nostalgia. They’ve observed you, cataloged your responses, and now, with precision, they’re using that information against you. They may bring up fond memories, say they’ve changed, promise to make amends, or even dangle the prospect of closure—something their victims often crave.

But here’s the thing: narcissists never change. What they get out of hoovering isn’t about love or reconciliation. It’s about control, about winning. They can’t tolerate the idea that you could be thriving without them, or worse, that you’ve moved on entirely. Hoovering is a means of reasserting dominance, of proving to themselves (and to you) that they still have a hold over your life. Even if you reject them, the fact that they elicited a reaction—any reaction—is proof that they’re still relevant, still in control.

And what happens if hoovering fails? When the texts go unanswered, when the calls go to voicemail, when you’ve blocked every attempt at contact? For a narcissist, this failure is an unbearable blow to their ego. In their world, they are the center, the one who decides when things begin and end. When they lose that power, it sparks a deep rage or a sense of desperation. They may lash out, trying one last, more extreme attempt to provoke a reaction. Or they may slink back, looking for another supply. Either way, their bruised ego seeks relief, and they will either intensify their efforts or shift their gaze elsewhere, searching for someone new to ensnare.

The effects of hoovering on the person being targeted are profound. It can rip open old wounds, stir up unresolved emotions, and derail the healing process. It leaves you questioning yourself, your decisions, and even your reality. After all, if they’ve come back, does that mean they’ve changed? Maybe they did love you after all? These doubts are exactly what the narcissist wants. They want you stuck in limbo, unsure, emotionally raw, and vulnerable.

And for the person who’s just escaped a narcissist, hoovering is a final test of willpower. The temptation to respond is strong, if only to finally say your piece, to get closure, to tell them off, or to seek validation that they’re as terrible as you always knew. But giving in, even for a moment, means stepping back into their game, where the rules are always skewed in their favor. The only true way out is silence, boundaries, and the hard work of rebuilding your sense of self-worth.

Hoovering might seem like a last-ditch effort from someone who misses you, but it’s nothing more than a manipulative move on the narcissist’s chessboard. It’s about power, not affection. Control, not connection. And for those who have survived it, recognizing hoovering for what it is—a trap—is the first step in breaking free for good.