For love to stop feeling like a battlefield...

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I rarely plan what I write. Sometimes, I just sit down and let my fingers do their thing without being entirely conscious of what’s coming out. When I first started writing more, the writer, censor, and editor in me were constantly battling with each other. Pushing and pulling like the tiring dynamic I described in the last story I wrote. I’d sit here typing away for hours only to find about 30 words glowing on the screen. It felt like mountains of effort for pebble-sized growth—just like many of my past relationships.

I wrote two stories recently that explore intense versions of the anxious-avoidant dynamic. The character who’s in control is extremely self-serving and manipulative, and the character being controlled is devastatingly self-sacrificing. I wanted to avoid certain labels because they are used very liberally nowadays, and I don’t feel qualified enough to be using them at all. In other words, I was too chicken to write about all this directly.

The point and question I wanted to surface is: If we just focus on the behaviors, what do they tell us about the characters and the dynamic? Isn’t it as easy to relate to the “villains” as the “victims”? Can you honestly say that you’ve never behaved in ways that resemble the rabbit hunter or the deceiving hero (the self-serving characters)? I can’t.

I felt exhausted by the time I finished writing the second story. As exhausted as I was after years of ping-ponging between being either the more anxious one, or the more avoidant one, or sometimes being both. Disorganized attachment style, it’s called, and honestly at this point, I’m grateful for it because it’s given me so much perspective.

I understand the anxious need for constant contact and validation to feel safe. To know that their person still loves them when they’re distant or unresponsive and that it’s not their fault. They want to give their partner space and freedom, but sometimes it feels impossible. It’s impossible to stop the clinging when they register a threat to the relationship. They constantly fear abandonment and losing the relationship. So they abandon themselves and become the managers and pushers of the relationship to keep it alive.

I understand the avoidant need for distance and detachment to feel safe. To know that their person still loves them when they’re being emotionally intense and that it doesn’t mean they’re a failure or not enough. They want to be close, to stay even during conflict, but sometimes it feels impossible. It’s impossible to stop the shutdown when they register a threat to their autonomy. They constantly feel the risk of being engulfed by feelings and losing their independence. So they also abandon themselves and slowly become the controlled responders to keep the relationship alive.

The anxious perspective is: “If I pour all my feelings out, then I don’t have to deal with them myself.” The avoidant perspective is: “If I consume all the feelings, then I don’t have to deal with my own.” The anxious believes: “I never have enough, even when I do. I need you more, and I need you to need me too.” The avoidant believes: “I have enough, even when I don’t. I don’t need you as much, and I need you to need me less.” The disorganized one alternates between these perspectives.

Do you see the problem?

At least 50% of all the fear and anxiety has nothing to do with the other person. It’s got everything to do with you. It’s about your relationship with your feelings, your internal conflict, your childhood experience with your caregivers, and their experience with their caregivers, and so on. Wouldn’t it be less stressful for all of us if we learned to deal with 50% of our own storms and filled 50% of our own wells?

My hypothesis is that there’s an anxious and avoidant character in all of us, but we have a tendency to over-identify with one or the other. We settle into relationships where we get to be in the role we’re most comfortable in. Typically, the one we feel more powerful in.

But I don’t believe it has to be like this. I don’t believe it has to be one chases, the other deflects, or one dominates, the other shrinks. I don’t want constant power struggles. I don’t want to be playing the caregiver, managing feelings, creating artificial scarcity, chasing clarity, or having to issue ultimatums.

A few years ago, I got tired of it all and found myself on the classic arc of “knowing thyself”. It starts with reaching a boiling point where you say “enough is enough”. Then, you go on this journey to make sense of your inner workings and why you keep finding yourself in the same patterns. You read about attachment styles, go to therapy, have a mental breakdown, have another mental breakdown. You learn about fight/flight/freeze, then learn all the non-confrontational lingo.

Maybe you hate your caregivers for a bit, for how they didn’t show up when you needed them. (Parents, I love you. I know you did the best with what you had.) Then you hate all the exes and people who helped you recreate scenarios that hurt you. You hate yourself for a while before you start hating yourself less and end up on this path called “self-love”. Somewhere along this journey, you might dip in and out of some new age spiritual practices, or dive into them completely. Perhaps you even become a relationship or self-improvement coach, or start a blog like this one.

You’ve done the work and think “ok, I’m good now. I can go and find me one of those peaceful relationships.” But no, it doesn’t work like this. Some issues you can only work through in relationships—any kind, not just romantic.

Dear hunters, preys, heroes, and saviors, the fact is that you cannot completely rewire the nervous system you’ve inherited and developed. It is partially tragic that we operate with so much that’s not ours and have no control over our experiences as children. But there’s no point in wishing for a different past, no point in fantasizing about what you should have had.

Yet, in order to make peace with the past, you have to dwell in victimhood first.

So dwell in it.

Cry your heart out. Blame and hate everyone you never allowed yourself to. Feel the anger. Give yourself the space to grieve what you never had.

Then, move on.

Don’t get stuck in victimhood. Stop blaming everyone at some point. Stop blaming yourself eventually. Stop envisioning the perfect you, the perfect “them”, the perfect relationship. Stop believing that everything is shit and that everything needs to be hard.

Just stop it.

Your experience in the present is the only thing you have control over. The triggers will keep happening but you can learn to respond differently. You can learn to regulate yourself with the help of others. You get better at recognizing unsafe patterns in people. You’ll find people who want to know the real you, which will help you know yourself as well. They will accept you changing. You’ll be able to have conflict with them without feeling like it’s the end. They won’t need you to be the anchor, the fixer, the engine, the container, or the canvas—you’ll share these roles.

I’m still not sure where I am on the anxious-avoidant or the insecure-secure attachment spectrum. But nowadays, I’m finding myself being less obsessed with pinpointing my spot. Maybe this is a good sign?

What I do know is that our wounds can terribly obfuscate our experience in the present. In extreme cases, we see love where there is none or flee from places that offer us genuine love. We push away the people who want to know us authentically. We run towards people who see us as suppliers of what they need and want. What’s unfamiliar to our nervous system can register as danger or boredom. We might trust the wrong people and villainize those who mean no harm.

I know that many of us grow up in systems that expect us to be coherent, perfect, and unchanging. But I also know that most of us are full of contradictions.

I know that relationships tend to start from fantasies and projections. That the stories we tell ourselves can become more real than the person in front of us. But you can learn to be pleasantly surprised when someone shows up differently than what you thought. Think like a researcher, be curious.

I know that you can have your feelings hurt without being a victim. That someone can hurt you in the process of protecting themselves without being a villain. That someone can be unaware of their behaviors, and maybe you can help them become aware. That someone can be unsafe for you but still a good person. Unsafe behavior doesn’t equate to character flaw.

I know that just because you “didn’t mean to”, doesn’t make whatever you did okay. That you can love someone but still grow apart. That sometimes the better thing to do is to remove yourself and accept the role of the villain in someone’s story.

I believe we’re often too quick to use the word “toxic” and default to blaming the other. I believe most of us do this because we don’t want to face or accept what we judge in ourselves.

I wish more of us could see that so much growth can come from connecting with the opposite within us and finding what we judge within us. I know that you can help others grow in the areas you’ve mastered instead of expecting them to be more like you.

I know that for love to stop feeling like a battlefield, we need to stop battling within first.

We need to stop feeling like we need to be fixed. To focus on willingness and progress, not perfection and outcomes. To try to stop playing our part in the drama triangle. To understand that “I am not the problem, you are” is the exact mindset that will keep us stuck in patterns with the same problems. And to remember that longevity doesn’t equal quality in relationships.

As someone who has mastered the art of self-sabotage, please allow me to save you some time. The only self-help question you need to engage with is “can I accept myself exactly the way I am right now, at this moment?” And if the answer is no, then what’s one small thing you can start with? Because the more you accept yourself, the more forgiving you’ll be with other people.

My 14-year career in tumultuous relationships has shown me that the willingness to take accountability and show up are two of the rarest things you can find. Not willingness forced by fear, not “ok, I’ll do whatever you want”, but conscious willingness. A decision made in self-sovereignty. A choice that says “I know I’m part of the equation. I care about you and what we have. I choose to own my side of the street.” If you have someone like this in your life, please appreciate them. Don’t take them for granted.

If you had someone like this and something feels unresolved, set your ego aside and reach out. It might not lead to anything. But sometimes a simple conversation, a thank you, or a sincere apology can bring unexpected relief to both of you. It can shatter fantasies that are keeping you both stuck.

To the people I’ve hurt, I’m sorry. I want you to know that I welcome your blame and hate. You have my permission, and I will receive it at a distance. I hope you use it to find the origins of what I triggered and heal. To those of you who feel you’ve hurt me, I forgive you and I hope you forgive yourself too.

I started this post wondering what elusive force pushed me to write those stories. I wrote them with tragic endings because I do believe that in extreme cases, there is no point in staying. But most of the time, it’s not as extreme as we think. Most of the time, it’s narratives built from trauma that color our reality. I think I just needed to release those narratives. I don’t want to live with them anymore. And I think I’m ready to trust love again. You will also trust love again.

I’ll end with this beautiful quote from Julián Moroni: “Heal, so you can hear what’s being said without the filter of your wound.”