Loving Someone, Part 2

All of this felt wrong and off in my body, but my brain was shouting loudly that we must be overreacting because that’s what we do.

I learned about attachment styles shortly after I left my marriage- the result of a deep dive into therapy Instagram, I’m sure. Today, I think I sit closer to secure attachment than I have most of my life. But a year ago, I was solidly planted in anxious attachment.

Anxious Attachment from The Attachment Project:

These individuals are sensitive and attuned to their partners’ needs, but are often insecure and anxious about their own worth in a relationship.

If the loved one rejects them or fails to respond to their needs, they might blame themselves or label themselves as not being worthy of love.

Generally, adults with anxious attachment need constant reassurance that they are loved, worthy, and good enough.

The strong fear of abandonment might often cause anxious adults to be intensely jealous or suspicious of their partners.

This fear might also lead them to become desperate, clingy, and preoccupied with their relationships. Adults with an anxious attachment style are often afraid of or even incapable of being alone.

They seek intimacy and closeness and are highly emotional and dependent on others. The presence of the loved one appears to be a remedy for their strong emotional needs.

I’m stopping myself from elaborating more on how this has impacted me most of my life and how I’ve evolved- for now- because there’s so much to say, and I don’t want to derail this story. I do think it’s an important detail, though, and you’ll see why. And I promise I’ll circle back to this topic many more times in future posts because the work I’ve done on my attachment style has made lasting and powerful changes in my nervous system over the last year.

If you missed part 1, go here.

Jay arrived at my apartment early in the afternoon that Saturday after Thanksgiving. It was cold and rainy, he had a beanie on his smooth, bald head, which I’d become quite fond of- not the beanie, but his head. I never pictured myself dating a bald guy before I met him.

I wishfully assumed that whatever tension I picked up on the day before would dissipate when we saw each other in person, but I was wrong. He didn’t seem to be upset with me, but he didn’t seem to be excited to see me, either. He mostly seemed devoid of any kind of emotion, avoidant. And that was the mood the rest of the day and into the night, from breweries to dinner to my couch for a movie and into my bed, even as he took my clothes off.

“Can you tell me what’s going on? You’ve been so… distant?” I asked, my head on his chest, in the middle of the night, neither of us able to fall asleep.

“I have been distant. I know. I’m sorry. It’s… nothing,” he said quietly in a way that felt like anything but nothing and a lot like don’t ask me again. A few tears silently ran down my cheeks and onto his skin. If he felt them, he didn’t flinch.

I dozed off and woke sometime later, still in the dark, and found him laying on my couch with his dog- he always brought her over. When I asked him what he was doing, he said something about her barking and him waiting to see if she needed to go outside.

Idk. I can’t remember much because I was beginning to get lost in this battle in my head. My gut was on high alert. All of this felt wrong and off in my body, but my brain was shouting loudly that we must be overreacting because that’s what we do. And I had worked so hard that year to try to recognize when my anxiety was making me believe lies.

Of course I would feel like this has to do with me, I thought, because I finally let myself fall for him. Of course my anxiety would blow this out of proportion because it wants to sabotage anything good, I was certain. It makes total sense that the very week I wanted to tell him I loved him out loud I would also begin imagining that he was suddenly upset with me and would abandon me.

He came back to bed, and I slept the rest of the night on his chest, his arms wrapped around me, his hand in my hair. At breakfast I asked if he’d come do a little holiday shopping with me, fully expecting him to say yes because that’s just the kind of thing we did and he usually didn’t leave until after lunch on Sundays. He declined in a tone that sounded like he just turned down an invite to an acquaintances BBQ- polite but short- saying he really needed to get back home early for errands.

If at this point you’re thinking, um, why didn’t you just ask him WTF? Why didn’t you insist he stop brushing off your concerns? I am right there with you, as I sit here and re-read what I wrote. But then, I can so easily go right back to that moment and feel my brain shutting all of that down because that’s “too much.” I would be freaking out, and people don’t like me when I’m hysterical. No, I would play it cool and get myself together, and I would not let my anxiety run him off.

Shortly after we got back to my place after breakfast, his bag was packed and we walked out to his truck. I told him I was looking forward to the next weekend getaway we had planned and he blankly stared at me, so I leaned in for a kiss goodbye. The minute our lips touched, my entire body set off alarms- NONE OF THIS FEELS OK.

I watched him drive off, went back inside, fell onto my couch, and messaged a couple friends that I think maybe Jay was about to break up with me, which was met with “WHAT” and “Hold up. WHAT HAPPENED?” responses.

I told them that I had no idea. Zero. And probably… maybe… hopefully I was imagining things? We all settled on that assumption because, I mean, he recently introduced me to his friends, and he JUST took me to meet his family, and that went REALLY well. Not even 5 days ago he asked me if I could go to a concert with him at the end of the month. And then… nothing happened between us… but everything felt like it changed. So OBVIOUSLY the problem in all of this is ME and my brain.

My friends asked what he said when I asked him what was wrong, and I explained that I asked and he didn’t want to talk about it, so I dropped it. But, because these brilliant women are also working through attachment trauma and boundaries and healthy communication, they reminded me that I had every right to press harder, and that it was not “too much” to let him know his behavior was affecting me. If he was sad about his dad, he could just tell me that.

His need to process on his own did not negate my need for clear communication. We could both have our needs met.

So I texted him, asking him to please communicate.

“Can you please tell me more about what’s going on and why you’re so distant? Was it something I did or said? Please let me know so we can communicate. If it’s not, and you don’t want to talk any more about it, just say that. I want to respect your boundaries. At the same time, I need to respect my own boundaries around my needs for communication.”

“I promise that there’s nothing that you did. There’s just some things that concern the family that came up, and I’m trying to figure what to do. Weighing heavily on me because there’s ramifications no matter what”

“Okay, I’m sorry you’re dealing with this.” I texted and didn’t hear back from him the rest of the night, and most of the next day- Monday.

All I could think was something really, really awful must have happened, and it broke my heart. I was genuinely worried sick about him. Had something happened to one of his kids? Was someone in the family suddenly gravely ill? I mean, thank goodness it wasn’t about me, but I could not figure out what would cause such an abrupt change in him.

And I wouldn’t find out for three more days.

___________

Will work on part 3 as soon as I can! Per usual, this story deserves more space than I initially time budgeted for.