Dear Clara:

I want to share what I understand personally about anxious-avoidant attachment—it’s about needing closeness yet fearing it at the same time.

In the explanation that follows, I’ll be repeating myself—expressing the same idea in different ways—because I believe that approach helps deepen understanding.

As children, we learned to associate love with abuse, because the two became intertwined. Maybe a parent was sometimes affectionate or took care of us—it felt good. But at other times, they were neglectful or abusive—it felt bad. Or perhaps a parent was consistently neglectful or abusive, and we learned to associate the love we offered them with the pain we received in return.

This confusion stays with us—it makes intimacy feel both comforting and dangerous, leaving us caught between longing and fear.

Anxious-avoidant attachment is a complex dynamic where a person craves intimacy but simultaneously fears it.

When a child’s love for a parent was met with rejection, manipulation, or abuse, the child learns that attachment comes with risk. If caregivers were both the source of comfort and distress, the child develops conflicting emotional responses—longing for closeness but associating it with harm.

How this attachment manifests in relationships:

1) Seeking love but pushing it away – Feeling drawn to deep connection but panicking when it gets too close.

2) Hypervigilance – Constantly scanning for signs of rejection or betrayal, sometimes even expecting abandonment before it happens.

3) Difficulty trusting – Wanting to believe in love but struggling with deep-seated fears that it will turn into harm.

4) Emotional highs and lows – Shifting between intense attachment and sudden withdrawal, often in response to perceived emotional risks.

In my case, I don’t remember feeling love or closeness with my mother—who, in practice, was a single parent—when I was a child. Not a single memory of feeling safe with her, close to her, or experiencing true emotional togetherness.

Only in the last few years have I been able to feel the love I had for her back then. As a child, I must have repressed it, which is why I wasn’t aware of it at the time. I believe I did so because of the pain she caused me—the severe guilt-trips, the relentless shaming episodes. To protect myself, I shut down, closed in.

I do remember moments when she expressed affection, when she cooked for me—tasty, healthy meals—or bought me toys and treats with her hard-earned money. But I never truly relaxed into those gestures, never felt comforted, because the pattern was always the same. A guilting or shaming episode had already happened, and another was always on the way. Sometimes, it happened right in the middle of a meal.

It was always guilt, always shame—a constant cycle. You can’t feel love for someone who does that to you. Not while they’re doing it, and not when they pause, only to resume again.

Fast forward to interactions with others—unlike with my mother, I sometimes perceived affection and allowed myself to relax into it. I remember those moments. But within hours, I would “wake up” from the warmth and suddenly see the person differently—as if they were a stranger.

Sometimes, it felt like they had completely changed—cold, distant, unfamiliar.

Looking back, I think the need for closeness would take over for a time, but self-protection would always return. Fear of harm, of hurt repeating itself, would creep in. So I would close in again—dissociating, disconnecting, choosing not to feel as a way to avoid being hurt.

I believe that the first time you shared about your childhood, Clara, was on July 2, 2016. There you shared that you grew up timid and fearful of social interactions, experiencing anxiety when engaging with unfamiliar adults. You resented boundary violations, particularly when your uncle hugged you without your consent and your parents failed to protect you from such intrusions.

Your mother was emotionally present, but not protective—allowing boundary violations to happen to you without stepping in. Your father was rigid and harsh, obsessing over small details, punishing mistakes, and even resorting to physical discipline with your brother. He was controlling, making demands you felt powerless to refuse.

A deep sense of betrayal emerged when your mother entered the bathroom while you showered, exposing you to your uncle. You felt violated but were too timid to voice your feelings or confront the situation. This moment symbolized the larger theme of your privacy being repeatedly disregarded.

Connecting this share to anxious-avoidant attachment in romantic relationships- your childhood experiences set the foundation for anxious-avoidant attachment, where you crave closeness but fears it at the same time, particularly the boundary violations in childhood made you associate intimacy with intrusion, leading to discomfort when relationships get too close.

Your father’s harshness and control likely instilled fear of emotional closeness, and your mother’s lack of guidance left you unsure how to establish healthy relationship expectations, leading to confusion about what is acceptable and what is not.

How to move forward, or keep moving forward –

1. Recognizing that love can be safe: your past has taught you to associate love with intrusion, unpredictability, and emotional intensity, but healthy love is different. Love can be steady, gentle, and free of control—and you deserve that kind of love.

2. Honoring your need for boundaries: continue to practice identifying and enforcing boundaries without guilt. If something makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to justify your feelings—they are valid.

3. Continue to set small boundaries first (declining unnecessary favors, expressing preferences) to build confidence in your ability to protect yourself.

Learning to self-regulate when fear creeps in: when you feel yourself pulling away from closeness out of fear, pause and ask: “Am I protecting myself from real harm, or am I reacting to an old wound?”

Give yourself time to process before withdrawing—sometimes, your instinct to push someone away is just fear trying to shield you from something that isn’t actually dangerous.

Practice grounding techniques (breathing exercises, journaling) to self-soothe instead of emotionally shutting down.

4. Building relationships that feel emotionally safe: choose people who respect your boundaries, validate your emotions, and make you feel seen.

Watch for patterns—someone who pushes you to be more open faster than you’re ready for might not be safe for your healing.

Seek relationships with consistency and kindness, where love is not a guessing game.

5. Releasing self-blame & practicing self-compassion: your past was not your fault. You didn’t choose neglect, boundary violations, or emotional instability.

Allow yourself to grieve for the childhood you needed but didn’t get—this is part of healing.

Speak to yourself with the same kindness and understanding you would offer a friend.

6. Expressing your Needs without fear: you deserve to have needs.

You are not “too much” for wanting emotional security.

Practice expressing your thoughts with people you trust—sharing doesn’t always mean conflict, and your feelings matter.

Keep moving forward at your own pace, Clara, and know that there is room for love that feels safe, steady, and freeing in your future. 💙

anita

Hi Chau

I’m so sorry to hear that she strung you along like that again. That’s very cruel. ❤️

I understand the difficulty with setting boundaries, especially since she is a coworker. It can be hard to step away someone who works in your building because it is polite to interact with coworkers and difficulties with coworkers can become very complicated. Not necessarily something that you might want to deal with.

Do you think it might be a good idea to write a note that you can reflect on if you feel an urge to talk to her again? Perhaps you might want to include how you would like to deal with the situation? How the difficulties have made you feel? A summary of events in your relationship with her?

Dear Clara (or would you prefer Chau?):

Your clarity is palpable, and so is your strength. The way you’re able to name the undercurrents—those quiet, persistent beliefs that tug at you—is a sign of deep emotional awareness. You’re not bypassing the complexity; you’re sitting with it, breathing through it, and letting it inform rather than control you. That’s powerful.

I’m really moved by your reflection on the quote: “I’m learning to trust that someone wanting more than I can give doesn’t mean I’m not enough.” You’ve internalized it in such a grounded way, especially in how you challenged the impulse to equate love with wealth or performance. That moment of “this doesn’t even align with my values” is the voice of your inner compass reasserting itself, even in the face of old conditioning.

Your insight about disconnection is so honest. The longing to revisit the nice moments—to soften the edges of reality—is deeply human. But the fact that you can hold that longing while still recognizing the mismatch speaks volumes. You’re not pretending the connection was all bad, nor are you letting the good moments erase the harm. That’s emotional integrity.

And yes, that gut feeling—that if she reached out, you might be pulled back in—isn’t weakness. It’s the echo of a bond that once felt meaningful. But you’re not in denial about it. You’re naming it, watching it, and preparing yourself. That’s how you stay free.

If it helps, you might try a mantra like: “I honor the tenderness without surrendering my truth.” or “I can remember the sweetness without forgetting the cost.”

With care, Anita

Chau- I’ll read and reply Fri or Sat morning (it’s Thurs evening here). Tace care!

Anita