HOW I ALMOST SELF-SABOTAGED MY SUMMER ROMANCE
I did not expect to meet someone so quickly after arriving in London this summer. I was trying to set myself up for success, though, and I switched my Hinge location weeks before landing to collect potential suitors. I never spend much time swiping on the apps anymore, it's too time-consuming—so I just respond to whoever engages with my profile first. So, by the time I touched down at Heathrow on May 30th, I already had two dates lined up for the week, and I was excited. But within days, both dates fell through (I blamed it on Mercury retrograde, which was just coming to an end at the time). Normally, I let failed attempts at first dates roll off my shoulders, but I was really bummed—especially since one date left me without plans on my first Friday night in London. This was not how things were supposed to go.
Just a week later, though, with Mercury finally direct, I had my first date with a guy I wasn't sure I would like, but he was witty, and we had that effortless pre-date banter that made it feel like we already knew each other. Once we were face to face, things just flowed. We could not have been more different, he was 10 years my junior, but we bonded over our mutual missions in the mental health space. A straight man who had already been in therapy and had a master's degree in Psychology? Not to mention he was 6'5, but I digress. I felt like I had stumbled upon a bit of a unicorn. When I left that date (with plans already set for our second), I had that rare feeling that this person and I were crossing paths for a reason.
As the weeks passed and we spent more time together, I didn't feel any anxiety. I didn't know that it could be this easy. It felt so freeing. I could date someone and not fall into a spiral of overthinking, re-reading every text conversation, replaying things he said, and looking for context clues of whether he was interested in me or not. I never had to guess because he consistently communicated his interest in me. Yes, even at 36, this is pretty foreign to me, thanks to my penchant for the emotionally unavailable. And even as I pushed myself to go on other dates, it only reinforced how rare it feels to have such an easy and instant connection with someone.
But eventually, the anxiety did start to creep in around week 5 or 6 of our summer romance when our schedules stopped lining up. As the distance increased, so did my anxiety. Luckily, I was with someone who had the same love language as me, and it was easy to ask for words of affirmation— but the thing with having an anxious attachment style is, how much is enough? How much attention? How much time spent together? Sometimes it can be a bottomless pit. We become reliant on someone else to save us and pump us up when in reality, we need to save ourselves. Of course, the hope is that we have partners who are good communicators and want to give us the reassurance we crave—but we have to take care of ourselves first.
In August, things came to a head while I was on a work trip. I got triggered during a text conversation where I attempted to plan a Facetime date for the following day and he told me he would be busy. I just missed him, and my mind was convincing me that he was pushing me away, he didn't like me anymore, and didn't have the heart to tell me.
As I lay on my hotel room bed, I could feel myself sink into a spiral of emotional dysregulation, my heart started racing, and all I could think about was I needed answers from him immediately. This wasn't me trying to have a “what are we” conversation. I wasn't ready to commit. My concern was really about the level of investment—
are you investing in this, like I am investing in this?
I had that all too familiar feeling like my body was on fire and only he had the extinguisher. I was reliant on him to make me feel better again—instead of taking the time to get my shit together. Rationally, I knew that no matter how things panned out with this man, I would be okay, but my biological need for attachment felt otherwise.
So I confronted him via text about whether he was actually busy or maybe it was ambivalence. A part of me felt relieved that I said what was on my mind (in the most pragmatic way I could). I also knew that I had enacted self-sabotaging behavior and was potentially jeopardizing the connection that we were building. It's still a struggle for me, as a person who feels a lot, to feel like my needs aren't “too much” for someone. I rarely show this outwardly, and typically the person I'm dating has zero idea that I even feel this way. I should have a master's degree in suppressing feelings.
I braced for impact—but he didn't flee right then and there. As suspected, he said he had no idea that I was feeling the way I was—and assured me that he didn't want me to feel insecure and that things just felt hard because we were away from each other. He also made it clear that he was okay with us having periods where we didn't talk as much, but that didn't feel as comfortable for me.
The truth about relationships is they hold a mirror up to ourselves and often reflect back the relationship we have with ourselves. Suddenly I had to confront how I let my insecurities get into the driver's seat again. This is a part of myself that I find very difficult to have compassion for. It's the part I so desperately wish I could just make it go away. Why am I always convinced that someone is trying to abandon me? Is it because I'm really just trying to abandon myself?
On top of that, it made me think about a core belief I struggle with, that…
I need to be perfect to be loved
—and that idea of “perfect” usually has to do with my ability to suppress feelings that could make others uncomfortable. It often feels like one false move, one wrong text, and the whole thing can come crashing down. It puts a lot of pressure on every interaction when I feel like my romantic future hinges on my ability to get things “right” with a person I'm still getting to know. So, in this moment, it was reassuring to know that even though I saw myself as having an inappropriate emotional outburst, this person was still patient with me and willing to talk it out.
While this guy led me to believe that he could really hold space for me and my feelings—there were still cracks in the facade, of course. That's why I was even anxious in the first place. The gift of anxious attachment is hypervigilance, and while it can be exhausting, we are highly attuned to others, and we know when someone's tone changes over text, we know when the vibes are off. And that inconsistency is what sparks the anxiety. So, several weeks later, when I found myself still feeling unsure about what was going on, I did something I've never done before.
I chose myself, and I ended it.
It is famously difficult for those with anxious attachments to end relationships. We're biologically attached to a romantic partner in the same way a child is attached to their mother or primary caregiver—we think we need this person to survive. So, we'd rather wait and hope that the other person will change, that the situation will magically improve, or we'll learn to adjust to the other's needs. I've been guilty of that over and over again. I can recognize with every situation where the guy ended it first that it needed to happen, and it was a gift when it did because I wasn't strong enough to choose myself. I always say I need to see that the house is on fire before I'm sure I need to get out. In this scenario, we both really liked and respected each other—which didn't make it easy to walk away—but it was increasingly clear that he didn't have the capacity to consistently show up in the way I needed. At three months, if I felt like I had to ask for more attention, things just weren't in alignment anymore.
I know I was meant to cross paths with this person because he reminded me of what's possible and where I still have work to do—and I'm grateful for that lesson. I can date without having crushing anxiety. Having anxious attachment is just a bodily response, it is not WHO I am as a human being. This experience also helped me break a cycle. Not being able to walk away from someone who can't meet my core needs is a pattern I have been stuck in for basically my entire dating journey. With each new person I date, I can see things are evolving, the quality is getting better, and it always feels like I've almost found my person, but there's just a little something off about them. I'm still learning discernment, and how to show up for myself more and communicate my needs better.
People love to say you have to love yourself before you can love anyone else—I don't really believe that. However, I do believe we have to love ourselves more than we want to be liked by others. We can't sacrifice what we want or who we are just for validation.
The newsletter community is booming, and I want to shout out some great ones I've read lately.
-If you think my newsletter is vulnerable, try reading Atoosa Unedited, by former Seventeen editor-in-chief who writes about overcoming childhood sexual abuse, and rediscovering herself after divorce.
-I keep my pop-culture intake to a minimum these days but I can't resist Hunter Harris' newsletter Hung Up. I never miss her hilarious takes on everything from the Don't Worry Darling drama to reality TV shows I've never even watched before.
-For my shopping/style fix I look to former WSJ editor Becky Malinksy's 5 Things You Should Buy, Hi Everyone From Hillary Kerr, and Bazaar's fashion news director Rachel Tashjian's Opulent Tips, an invite-only newsletter (you can try to make your case for being added to the list on Twitter).
-For fashion industry news I'm loyal to Amy Odell's Back Row because she's never afraid to say how it really is. I appreciate her snarky but honest tone.
-A newer read is How to Be A Woman on the Internet by fellow creator Jordan Santos and Ford Blitzer. They tackle topics like aging in the internet era, buying followers, and what it's like to be the best friend of an influencer (when you're not an influencer yourself).