Having made it well into adulthood (let’s not get too focused on numbers), there are certain things I have accepted about myself. For instance, I am a much better dancer in my head than I am in reality. I adore my kids, but also require frequent short breaks from them. And I will simply never want to see a photo of your food on social media, no matter how beautifully it’s plated.
For a long time, I would add another item to this list of irrefutable facts: I have an anxious attachment style. My romantic relationships have often been plagued by my tendency toward oversensitivity, a frantic desire to be in control of all variables, desperate behavior following any sort of conflict, and obsessive thinking that leaves me exhausted and my nerves shot. I’m quite a catch!
But I’m writing this from a place of secure romantic attachment — the kind I didn’t think was truly possible for someone who still struggles with generalized “life” anxiety as much as I do. It turns out, our predominant relationship attachment style is just a first draft; the right person can come along and change the narrative.
It wasn’t easy to get where I am now. Thanks to some messed up magnetism — or unconscious masochism — I have fallen hard for multiple partners who were textbook examples of the avoidant attachment category. These guys ranged from a narcissist who required constant praise, attention, and affection and only occasionally gave me any meaningful consideration in return, to a fearful-avoidant type who locked me in a cycle of indecipherable mixed messages: come closer, leave me alone, no wait come back, nevermind I don’t know.
And each time, my anxiety over losing the possibility of love from my avoidant partners caused me to put an ungodly amount of time and energy into filling the holes in the relationship. It’s truly a wonder I got anything else done during these dysfunctional periods.
When I began dating my now-husband, I mistakenly tagged him as avoidant and pulled many of my classic moves. If he wasn’t as emotionally forthcoming as I wanted him to be, I did things to push his buttons and provoke a response that “proved” he cared. If he did let me in, I would try to force intimacy out of fear that this was my only chance to get it. I had learned not to trust that a relationship could progress calmly and gradually. I was so used to operating from a place of anxiety that I didn’t know how to stop.
Fortunately for me, the man I was with wasn’t avoidant; he simply wasn’t used to dating someone with my emotionally expressive nature, and he took a little while to get comfortable talking about and showing complex feelings. Due to the behavior I mentioned above, we had our share of bumps the first year, but he stuck around and I began to notice a surprising change: my anxiety started to quiet down. I no longer required a steady stream of loving words and acts because I didn’t need to question whether he loved me. When he needed space, or I did, we could take that space without me worrying it was a sign something was wrong. And I could recognize disagreements and miscommunications as opportunities for us to make our relationship stronger, rather than full-blown crises.
This is secure attachment, and it feels amazing. It’s not perfection, but it is a partnership that makes both of us stronger, better people.
Those of us who have a tendency toward anxious attachment will likely always carry some of that predisposition with us. There will be relationships (romantic and platonic) and interactions throughout our lives that threaten to bring out our anxious behaviors, and we may even find ourselves spiraling from time to time. Being securely attached to my husband doesn’t erase the anxious side of me. But it offers reassurance and proof that my go-to attachment style of the past doesn’t have to dictate my present or my future.
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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.
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