Surprise! You’re emotionally unavailable!
I’m laughing as I type this — because what else is there to do but laugh at the irony?
I’ve written about my exes before and recently, I’ve spoken about how your ex probably isn’t as toxic as you think. But I think this realization takes the cake for most frustrating.
While we can hash out our past relationships and talk about them with that sweet, sweet hindsight, the fact that you and I are probably just as emotionally unavailable as them, is the real pain in the ass. Because while they stay in the past, here we are in the present and there we will be in our future relationships.
Wait what?
In my most recent breakup, I sorted through all of the evidence, I pieced together fragments of conversations, text threads, all of it. I wanted to know why, after being told that he was in love with me, that he cared for me, that he one day wanted to marry me, every few months or so, we’d be in the same fight.
After an uneventful month or two, he’d start to get distant. I’d sit next to him and watch as he mentally checked out. I could feel him physically, but I could see in his eyes he was elsewhere. Over time, I learned to leave it alone. But the more I did that, the more it drove me insane and eventually, it made me angry. Because, when he finally said what was wrong, after my trying to manage my feelings and his, it was always some dumb excuse — “I need to get this done” or “All of my stuff is at my house — I can’t work here.” What confused me was that he constantly did things that I knew he didn’t want to do, things that I never asked him to do, and even if I said this, he’d soldier on until I could feel the resentment, and I really felt alone.
I didn’t know what I was doing wrong. I didn’t know what more I could’ve done. I gave him space. I gave him support. I spent nights alone. I spent days trying to keep myself busy when he told me he had things to take care of and when I’d check in, I’d learn that he stayed inside and played video games all day.
There was just such a dissonance between his words and his actions. Because he said he cared and he said he appreciated me, that he wanted to build a life together. But, it didn’t make any sense as to how I could try to build a foundation with someone who was constantly running away from it.
For those of you who are familiar with attachment theory, this is what you call the ‘anxious/avoidant cycle.’ Those whose attachment style is anxious or insecure are in constant need of reassurance from their avoidant partner — a way to feel connected, loved, validated. And the closer the anxious partner gets, the more the avoidant partner retreats. Each time I’d seek to understand why my partner was in need of space, each time I’d try and try to get him to open up to me — tell me what was really going on, he deflected and left.
After we broke up, I thought to myself I’ll never beg anyone to love me the way that I need to be loved. I’ll never need to ask for reassurance again because my future partner would never let me question their wanting to be with me.
Since then, I’ve rekindled a past love interest — actually, my first real love. We had seen each other throughout the years, but time and circumstance always stood in the way of our being together. Whether I was with someone or he was, we both still wondered what could have been had we given it a real shot, had the situation been different. Now, in the midst of a pandemic, we’ve found love in a hopeless place (haha?). But really, we’ve spent every night FaceTiming for hours, laughing constantly about everything and nothing and really really considering giving this the shot we always wanted to give it.
But here’s the thing, the closer we get to this reality — the realer it feels, the more I want to run away. Ain’t that a bitch, right? On paper, he’s perfect for me: we’ve both been through a lot in our childhoods and we’ve both made something of ourselves. We’ve been with partners who didn’t seem to value who they had and we value the same things in a relationship: communication, commitment, compatibility. It’s all there. In fact, in my mind, I’ve wondered if this was all supposed to happen, that this is really meant to be. The real thing.
So, why do I find myself pulling back? Deflecting?
His transparency scares the shit out of me. I’ve realized that his emotionality, his ability to tell me straight up what and how he’s feeling, is too uncomfortable for me. His consistency and dependability — the things I’ve wanted, I’m afraid of. It’s like a switch in my brain flips and alarms go off: TOO CLOSE, ABORT.
I find myself questioning my own feelings. If it’s real, I wouldn’t have these thoughts, right?
The thing about avoidant partners is, they do care — they do want to be there. But anxious and avoidant lovers are just two sides of the same coin: they both crave intimacy, but are simultaneously afraid of it. They just manifest in different ways. Anxious individuals seek to please their partners for fear that their true selves, their real selves won’t be enough for their loved ones. They’re anxious that the person will leave so they hold too tightly, maybe acting out for the attention they’re starved for. Avoidant ones can only withstand so much attention before pushing their loved ones away. For, if they let someone in, that person could leave, too. So fuck ’em, right?
I’m simplifying, of course. There are tons of books, articles, and blogs about attachment theory and moving from anxious or avoidant to a more secure attachment style.
But, the fact that the emotional intimacy, the closeness I’ve desired for so long and so earnestly for years is the same emotional intimacy that I’m unwilling to show in this new relationship is just plain ridiculous. I can’t help but think that the celestial powers that be are playing the cruelest joke on me.
More realistically, though, I’m learning that multiple truths can exist at the same time. I can be anxious in some relationships and avoidant in others. I can also learn to be more secure in these relationships, and that’s what the focus is on now: letting myself find comfort in the discomfort of intimacy and vulnerability. Allowing myself to love fully who I’m becoming and believing that he’ll love her, too. And, in the end, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll be cool.
