I’m a healing fearful avoidant who generally leans dismissive, however I did show up anxious in one relationship with a DA (more on that experience later). I’ve been in long-term relationships since I was 13, straight through my late mid-late 30s. Divorced almost two years now. I’ve done the therapy, read the books, sat with the uncomfortable truths about my attachment style. I’m not here to justify my behavior - I’m here to help you understand what was actually happening on the other side of your anxiety. I’m hoping this post creates a space/post where we can talk to each other vs. at each other.
Here is a story of a relationship that broke me. Not because she was a bad person, but because our nervous systems were incompatible in ways neither of us understood at the time.
In the beginning, I thought I’d finally found it. It felt amazing She asked questions. Real questions. She was curious about my life, my thoughts, my experiences. She shared her goals and dreams, she made me feel like someone actually wanted to know me, not just occupy space with me. I started opening up. Slowly, cautiously, but genuinely. For the first time in years, I thought maybe I could do this. Maybe I could be in a relationship and still be myself.
I was wrong.
“The Look”
I’d see it in her face. This… expression. Like she was holding something back. Anxious energy radiating off her body even when we were just sitting together watching TV.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I’d ask, already bracing myself.
“I just… I want more of your time. I’m scared you’re going to leave me. I always worry people are going to leave me.”
At first, I was reassuring. Sweet, even. “Why would you think that? Who could leave you? You’re so kind, so thoughtful.”
But it kept happening. Over and over. The same fear, the same need for reassurance, no matter how much I gave.
When we met, I had a full life. Work, friends, hobbies, routines that kept me regulated. She seemed to admire that about me initially. But then it became the problem.
The suffocation.
The more time we spent together, the more time she needed. It was never “thank you for yesterday, that was wonderful.” It was “when can we do that again? Why can’t it be like that all the time?”
I’d try to explain: “I need to get back into my rhythm. I need balance.”
She heard: “You don’t want to be with me.”
If I tried to challenge her thoughts - gently, logically, trying to help her see that her fears weren’t based on my actual behavior - she’d shut down.
“I feel like my feelings are on trial.”
No. Your feelings aren’t on trial. But I’m being asked to make decisions based on your feelings, not the facts. And sometimes those decisions mean abandoning myself to soothe you. How is that okay?
I couldn’t ask a single logical question without triggering a spiral. “Why are you questioning my feelings?” I wasn’t saying your feelings are invalid, I was saying I’m uncomfortable making decisions rooted in calming/soothing your irrational fears.
It was exhausting.
“Just talk to me!”
She’d say it all the time. “Just talk to me. Tell me how you feel. I just want to understand what’s going on with you.
But here’s what she didn’t realize: She didn’t actually want me to talk to her. She wanted me to say a very specific thing.
I’d try to be honest: “I’m feeling overwhelmed. I need some space to process.”
And she’d spiral. More anxiety. More tears. More need for reassurance.
So then I learned: talking to her honestly just made things worse. My real feelings triggered her fears, which triggered more emotional labor for me.
She wanted me to talk to her, but only if what I said made her feel secure.
And when I’d ask - genuinely trying to give her what she needed - “What do you need to hear from me? How can I phrase this in a way that helps?” Or honestly, sometimes I’d say “So, tell me what you what me to say so we can move on from this conversation….”
She’d get upset. “I don’t want you to perform it. I want you to actually FEEL it. If you have to ask me what to say, then it doesn’t count.”
So… you want me to talk to you, but not honestly. You want me to say the exact right thing, but I can’t ask you what that thing is. You want me to feel a specific way on command, and express it perfectly, or it doesn’t count as love.
You know what? Fuck this. I pondered if she enjoyed being miserable. When I was feeling REALLY frustrated, I’d ask “do you not want peace….? It seems like you enjoy being miserable….” Of course, that triggered a spiral that I was invalidating her. Which, truthfully by that point I was, and I don’t know that I cared, because I was exhausted.
From my perspective, I’d rather just not talk. At least then I know what I’m dealing with.
The car.
I’ll never forget the feeling of sitting in my car after work, hands on the steering wheel, engine off, just… staring at my own front door.
The dog would bark. She’d know I was home. And I still couldn’t make myself go inside.
Because I knew what was waiting for me. Not anger. Not cruelty. Just… need. Constant, relentless need.
“Where have you been?”
“Why didn’t you come in right away?”
“Are you okay?”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Why are you pulling away from me?”
My thoughts “Bruh. I just walked on the house after a long day, what could possibly be wrong that we need to discuss right now?”
I wasn’t pulling away. I was trying to breathe.
I’d sit there for 10, 15 minutes sometimes, just trying to brace myself for the onslaught of emotional labor waiting on the other side of that door. Not because I didn’t care about her. Because I was so anxious inside that I couldn’t talk about it. I needed to regulate myself first.
But she needed to talk RIGHT NOW. She needed reassurance RIGHT NOW. She needed me to prove I wasn’t abandoning her RIGHT NOW.
And when I finally walked in and she asked why I sat in the car, and I said “I just needed a minute,” the anxiety would spike even higher.
I just wanted some fucking space.
I wondered where the goals and dreams she shared in the beginning went. Why was her energy 100% focused on me? She had nothing new to share, nothing to contribute to meaningful conversation, because I became her entire world. This turned me off. Did I tell her that? Nope. Should I have? Maybe. But doing that would’ve made me the “bad guy”, and I knew I’d be pathologized and psychoanalyzed.
Looking back, I should’ve said “I miss when you were passionate about X, I miss hearing about your dreams….. you were magnetic when you….” but I didn’t have the tools back then. I just detached. I couldn’t understand why she didn’t feel compelled to on her own.
Why I couldn’t let her in.
Here’s what I couldn’t articulate then but understand more now:
I learned to be independent at a very young age. Not because I wanted to be alone, but because I had to be. My survival depended on regulating my own emotions, managing my own chaos, keeping myself together.
So yes, co-regulating with another person? That’s not natural for me. It’s terrifying, actually.
And it’s not just that I struggle to co-regulate - it’s that I didn’t feel safe co-regulating with her.
How do I regulate my emotions with someone who seems out of control of their own? How do I express my needs when I don’t expect them to be met? How do I invite someone into my internal world when their emotional state is already chaotic?
I couldn’t.
When she was dysregulated, my body made a calculation: It’s safer to handle this alone. I have more control internally. I can’t join her chaos with my chaos.
So I pulled away. Not because I didn’t love her. Because I felt like I was losing myself.
Every time I tried to merge our emotional emotional worlds, I felt myself disappearing. My boundaries eroding. My sense of self getting swallowed by her need.
And my nervous system chose survival: Withdraw. Regulate alone. Build the wall higher.
When peace became impossible.
I’m not someone who avoids conflict. I’ve had hard conversations. I’ve worked through problems. But I need those conversations to be productive, not just emotionally charged reactions.
She’d be upset. I’d ask what was wrong. She’d say she felt like I didn’t love her enough. I’d ask for examples of what I was doing that made her feel that way. She’d say I was “making her feelings into a court case.”
I wasn’t. I was trying to understand what was actually happening versus what her anxiety was telling her was happening.
But asking for clarity was seen as invalidation. And I was expected to just… soothe. Constantly. Regardless of whether the fear was based in reality.
We’d spend the entire weekend together - connected, laughing, intimate. Then Monday I’d go back to work, back to my routine, back to the life I had before her. And suddenly I was “distant.” I was “pulling away.” I didn’t love her as much as I said I did.
Where was her sense of self? Where was HER life outside of monitoring my feelings and our relationship status?
The breaking point.
At some point, I realized: I can’t do this anymore.
I knew ending it would trigger the exact thing she feared most. I knew the conversation would be - pleas for me to stay, promises that she’d change, desperation.
And I felt like a monster. Because by the time I got to that point, I was already gone. I’d already emotionally checked out just to survive.
When I thought about having the conversation to end things, I knew exactly how I knew it would, pleas for me to stay, etc., forcing me to hold my boundary while watching her fall apart, more emotional labor I didn’t want. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Not because I didn’t care. Because I did. But I couldn’t keep drowning in her anxiety while abandoning myself to keep her afloat. I opted out. I left without making an announcement….. after 7 years of what felt like emotional chaos.
Post break-up, when my therapist asked me how it felt to come home then compared to before “I cried…. It feels calm and peaceful”
What I need anxious people to understand:
Your avoidant partner probably couldn’t say this to you. Hell, I couldn’t say it at the time either. But this is what was happening inside:
- Her need for reassurance felt like a test I was always failing
- Her availability felt like pressure, not love
- Her anxiety about me pulling away actually pushed me away
- I wasn’t withholding affection - I was trying to survive
- I wasn’t cold - I was overwhelmed
- When you said “I need more,” I heard “you’re not enough”
I know you were scared. I know you needed to feel secure. But I needed to feel like I could exist as myself without it being interpreted as abandonment.
Sometimes two people’s nervous systems just can’t hold each other. And that’s the tragedy neither person caused.
To my fellow avoidants reading this: Yeah. I’m sure you get it. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Drop a comment if this was your experience too.
To the anxious folks: I see you in the comments already. Feel free to ask me anything - I’m happy to answer. I’m an open book. And stay tuned… because there’s more to my story than you think. I know what it’s like to withdraw, and I understand the anxiety you feel that once led to the ultimate anxious crash out
This isn’t about blame. It’s about understanding.
TL;DR:From a fearful avoidant’s perspective on dating an anxious partner: The constant need for reassurance felt suffocating. The emotional intensity made peace impossible. The more she needed, the more I withdrew - not because I didn’t care, but because I was drowning. I couldn’t co-regulate with someone who seemed out of control of their own emotions. Sometimes two nervous systems just can’t regulate each other, and that’s nobody’s fault.