Our first lessons in love often come in the form of examples, passed down by those who raised us. We asked three writers to explore this concept for the essay series, The Love Lessons I Inherited (That I’m Still Unlearning). Here, author and writer Olivia Petter explores the root of her attachment style.
“He didn’t text me back, so I had a panic attack,” I texted a friend last year, who replied, bluntly, “not again”, accompanied by a (well-deserved) eye-roll emoji. For a long time, this was my dating modus operandi: freak out at the slightest sign of detachment; spiral into a solipsistic crisis; question everything about myself; strategise a carefully curated emotional and physical makeover; and read every horoscope on the internet until I find one that tells me exactly what I want to hear. Then I’d get a text back, and peace would resume – until the next inevitable communication, when the cycle repeated all over again.
Exhausted by my own ricocheting moods, I’d always end things with someone before they could end them with me. Then I’d find another poor, unsuspecting bloke, float along happily until I find something to cling to as an indication of disinterest and quickly descend into chaos yet again. Normal stuff. Except it isn’t at all; it’s a symptom of an anxious attachment style, something I only learned I had in the past few years.
This particular brand of attachment is characterised by fears of abandonment, consistent need for reassurance and hyper-vigilance around a partner’s behaviours. It’s common among those with inconsistent caregiving in childhood. I am the only child of divorce, with a father who moved to the other side of the world when I was four. The inherited idea, I think, is that everyone I’m close to will leave, so it’s my job to make sure they don’t. Strangely, people like me are often drawn to avoidants (people who pull away from close relationships) to correct the behavioural patterns we couldn’t control in our childhood: “I couldn’t convince my dad to stay, but I can convince this guy I went out with last week!” And so on.
This brand of attachment is characterised by fears of abandonment, consistent need for reassurance and hyper-vigilance around a partner’s behaviours. It’s common among those with inconsistent caregiving in childhood
I was relieved when I first learned about this – finally, a name for my lunacy! – but the vindication quickly passed when I realised it wasn’t enough to ameliorate any of my patterns. Sure, I could recognise my behaviour as unhealthy and rationalise where it was coming from, but I still couldn’t stop it.
It’s only recently I’ve managed to break this self-sabotaging pattern. Talking about it with friends, a therapist and my parents has helped, as has the emotional maturity that comes with age. Mainly, I’ve gotten to know myself better. The key has been to recognise my own worth and the kind of behaviour I’m willing to tolerate, versus that which I need to walk away from.
I’m learning to look out for the latter – the behaviours that make my anxious attachments flare up. I was recently dating someone who moved to the west coast of America and found myself waking up in the middle of the night to check if he’d replied to my texts. If he hadn’t by morning, the micro-rejection would feel enormous and subsequently set my entire day off kilter. A sign that the anxious attachment is still there – and you’re texting the wrong person, perhaps.
In the past, I’ve stayed with people for far longer than I should have because the pain of being treated poorly was subsidiary to the pain of being alone (or, as far as my childhood self would say, being abandoned). I could tolerate inconsistency, love-bombing and in some cases cheating. Maybe a small part of me thought it was what I deserved. I know now that it isn’t.
All this is an ongoing process, and I’m far from being able to identify as someone with a secure attachment style – yet. But I’m getting there and, actually, I’m pretty proud of myself for that.
This article is part of On Connection, Service95’s special issue in partnership with Bumble. Discover all the stories here.
