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I’m interrupting my Attachment & Polyvagal Theories Collide series for a reflection of something that comes up in Attachment Theory spaces that I feel needs to be addressed. So bear with me.

I’m frustrated. Deeply frustrated. I find that when I engage in certain circles sharing what I have researched and have studied with references to back it up, people don’t want to listen. I know that these are the people who are hurting and trying to ease their pain. They are using protective anger to shift the blame of their hurt to someone else, and they go to these spaces for validation and call it healing—but how can there be healing without looking at yourself honestly and clearly?

Honestly, I don’t want to pander to the great swell of collective hurt. Those spaces are there and serve some kind of purpose, but I don’t want to be among them. Validation and feeling safe are key features of healing, yes, absolutely, but there is no growing without the uncomfortable aches of accountability. I want my space to mirror reality, a place where we can reflect on ourselves and shift the way we think about the world around us. By changing our default thoughts through understanding other perspectives. We can only do that by challenging ourselves to see ourselves as we are and not as our insecurities have us believe. Most places lack that. And it is part of the frustration.

Here’s the thing: while your feelings are valid, they do not always reflect reality. In my experience as someone who struggles with Major Depressive Disorder, Social Anxiety, ADHD, and apparently anxious attachment insecurity, I have found that my feelings are frequently not aligned with reality.

I always have to stop and ask myself, “Are you in danger?” or “Are you listening to what they’re saying or what your insecurities are telling you they’re saying?” or “What would a secure person do?” Yeah, I know, but it works. The humor helps ground me. Chances are I’m reacting to what my insecurities are telling me people are saying or doing, not the reality.

So, when you’re regulated, let’s ground ourselves in the reality.

Like, for example, avoidants are generally maligned and called narcissists. But did you know that countless studies have found that BOTH anxiously and avoidantly attached individuals display narcissistic traits AND a sense of entitlement in relationships? Avoidants generally self-report high self-esteem but consistently show low self-esteem when evaluated by professionals. It makes sense that avoidants, to maintain their sense of “high self-esteem,” must delude themselves into thinking in grandiose terms.

We definitely see this in avoidants a lot. But anxiously attached individuals also show narcissistic traits. They are quick to victimize themselves, try to gain sympathy and aid through self-deprecation or exaggerating their pain, and feel entitled to someone else regulating their emotions and insecurity.

And do you know what else? Both anxiously and avoidantly attached individuals have negative views of their partners. Avoidants think of themselves as special/unique and in a league of their own, and so they consider their partners as “normal” or beneath them. Anxiously attached individuals focus on what their partners don’t do, are quick to point out how their partners are failing, and often think of their partners as undeserving of them. Which is contradictory, if you think about it, because anxiously attached people use their partners to regulate their emotions, reassure them, AND validate their self-worth. But they also look down on their partners.

When I look around, though, I just see victims and no accountability. No one realizes how their own protest behaviors contributed to the outcome of their relationship. Worse, they don’t want to hear the truth.

I am self-reflective. I hate being criticized, but after getting criticism and regulating myself, I think about my own behavior, review how I handled this and that, and I can see what I did honestly. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I have a genuine desire to do better next time. And it irks me when someone blissfully goes on in their pain without doing anything about it even when presented with the answers. I know, I know, I can’t control others (though I want to so badly).

And that is why I don’t think I could ever be a therapist.

When I want something, I try. It doesn’t work out; I’m going to reassess and try something else. And if that doesn’t work, God help me, the Capricorn in me will have me try something else. I play the long game, and I’m stubborn to boot. But it drives me nuts that people are not exact replicas of me. How dare they? (Not going to lie, if everyone were like me, it would be a scary place.)

I am acutely aware that these spaces I’m referring to are for activated individuals who need soothing, regulation, and validation, not people who are ready to work on themselves. They just need regulating. That’s why they are there.

Those spaces are not for me—the misinformation, hatred, and lack of accountability are triggering. You can’t get better if you don’t see yourself clearly—and if I’m honest, as an anxiously attached person, in the past, I’ve either been a complete saint and did everything right or everyone was wronging me; there was no middle ground. And if you tried to tell me otherwise…RIP.

I also am acutely aware that I have more compassion for avoidants than anxious types. I am biased. I don’t mean to be, but since I’m anxiously attached (though more secure-leaning now) and the whole “I did it, so you can” rhetoric runs deep, I really struggle with it. I am trying to be more compassionate toward everyone’s healing journey because I know how it feels when I’m activated. I know how it feels when I’ve lost all control and I latch onto anything that can help me gain back even a tiny fragment of control. I know what protective anger feels like.

When my slippery fox flaked out on me the second time, I said, “Well fuck him. Who does he think he is? He can barely even keep a job.” Oh, I was highly attuned to him early on, and I knew exactly where his insecurities were and I would use them. In my head. Not aloud, thankfully. That would have been beyond cruel.

And when he went through a shame cycle and I didn’t hear from him for 6 long, tortuous weeks? Every time something went wrong—I lost my keys, I tripped, etc.—I would say “Fuck Joe!” (that’s not his name, but you get me). It was funny, but it was also mean. And it helped direct the pain of being “ignored” away from me into anger at him. It felt good.

I get it.

Looking back, though, I had been deeply unfair and kind of cruel. Not the kind of person I want to be.

In fact, my fox’s entire identity had been shattered. He had children depending on him. He had proven to himself that he wasn’t good enough, that he couldn’t be depended upon. His finances were up in flame, it was around the holidays, might not have even been able to give his kids Christmas presents.

Here I was thinking, “Why hasn’t he texted me today?” And then, “Well, fuck him if he doesn’t like me enough to at least say hi!” Every behavior was about me. His silence was rejecting me or punishing me. He must not have liked me enough. Maybe I didn’t do X, Y, Z.

But how about if he was struggling to keep head above water? That he was deeply ashamed of himself and embarrassed because I’d witnessed his deepest shame? How about he prioritized stability for his children (as he 100% absolutely should) instead of risking any uncertainty or any more change in their lives? How about him not wanting the girl he wants to impress to see him when he was the most vulnerable?

At the very least, I don’t know why he didn’t reach out to me throughout those weeks, but if that’s true, then I also don’t know if it’s a reflection of me at all. And that was really hard to integrate into my thought patterns. Those 6 weeks were literally like anxious attachment healing bootcamp, and I don’t wish them on anyone. But I did come out stronger for it and more secure. And I have to remember that—that I wouldn’t want anyone to go through that, so allowing anxiously attached people to heal on their own timeline is necessary and kind.

It’s hard to remember, but I’m working on it, too. Because I work on everything that bothers me. That’s who Romancing the Fox is really for. People like me. People who want to do better, bring more compassion and understanding into the world, and reflect on themselves and the people around them in an honest but maybe uncomfortable way.

I didn’t stay in the anxious-avoidant cycle for long. Once he couldn’t show up to either of the two dates we set, I said, nope. I took a step back and recalibrated my moves. I had felt so anxious the entire time during that brief 3 week cycle—and I do not like feeling like that. Do you? I don’t think so. I can’t sit with that anymore; I’m far too old. I need to move forward.

Romancing the Fox is for those who are ready to move forward and learn with me. I hope you stay with me and see where we can go.