“I need space. I’m just an independent person. I’m not ready.“
This time last year, I was navigating the challenges of my first (long-distance) relationship with my now ex-boyfriend; I was in love with him, and he refused to come to any compromise about the distance. Instead, we were on the verge of breaking up every month, but we always ended up back together because he felt sorry for me. Despite my desperate efforts to prove myself a valuable and loyal partner, he never learned to love me properly, let alone trust me. I taught myself to tiptoe around his moods, pretend my needs weren’t relevant, and continuously accept the bare minimum from the fear that I would push him away from being ‘too much.’ However, I felt like it was wrong for me to blame him — his previous girlfriends had cheated on him before, so it was natural for him to be wary. I believed this up until the moment I found out that he had been talking to another girl during our relationship. He thought he was protecting himself, but all my ex-boyfriend showed me was how lonely love can be. That relationship fundamentally changed me as a person, all because somebody I loved decided it was easier to hurt me than respect me.
Undeniably, the reality of avoidance (i.e., avoidant attachment) hurts people and spreads their fear to everyone who tries to love them. Avoidants shut down when you express a need, disappear when things get serious, and refrain from consistent emotional intimacy. It teaches you a painful lesson; while it isn’t true, you learn that asking for basic levels of connection is “too much.” The damage becomes apparent in the way you start to think: that love has to be earned through endless patience, endless understanding, and endless self-sacrifice.
the almost
“I want to be better for you. You mean everything to me. I want to try.”
Avoidants aren’t heartless or evil. Many are thoughtful, funny, and filled with wonderful traits that are the reasons you fell in love with them in the first place. They act as incredible and caring partners in the early stages of a relationship, when closeness hasn’t yet triggered their fear. And when they open up to you about how they’re scared to let people in, it can make you feel chosen, like you’re good enough to be granted access to the side they refuse to show other people.
The inevitable distance that follows is what makes it so confusing. You’ve seen their openness and adoration. You’ve touched it, and you’re fixated on being in that space with them.
Rather than giving you nothing, avoidants give you just enough. They provide rare glimpses of who they would be if they allowed themselves to let their walls down through periodic moments of genuineness and warmth. These episodes keep you invested, and you delude yourself into continuing to stick it out because even though you’re getting hurt in the process, what’s more important is keeping them in your life. That they’ll eventually meet you halfway by pandering to their needs.
The almost is the most intoxicating part, because it gives you hope. You see progress, and so you see potential. You see their fear. You see their tension when they open up. You see how badly they desire connection but don’t know what to do with it. For a second, everything feels possible.
But that’s the paradox. Avoidants don’t show the version of themselves they are, only the version of themselves they could be. It creates an endless cycle of emotional gambling, hoping that the next time they decide to love you will be soon. You end up craving this inconsistency, and this is why the almost is so powerful. You can nearly believe that it is love.
the truth
“I’m scared of losing you, but I’m even more scared of letting you really see me.”
Avoidant attachment is built on the belief that if you don’t let anybody get close, then you won’t get hurt. The truth is harsher. If you don’t let anybody get close, then you never grow.
Pain is essential to connection, growth, and becoming the best possible version of yourself. Shielding yourself from the risk of pain by rejecting love from those who have done nothing but prove that they have good intentions simultaneously shields you from connection, emotional maturity, and accountability.
When your life is built around the avoidance of pain, you don’t avoid the suffering that comes with pain—you merely experience a quieter version of it. A life lacking emotional sensitivity can’t be described as safe, as those with avoidant attachment styles claim it is; it’s small. The potential for something good is worth taking a risk, especially when nothing broken can change without it.
And from my personal experiences, the person who refuses pain becomes the one who causes it. You cannot love someone into courage, nor is it your responsibility. They have to choose vulnerability themselves.
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