Attachment, Abandonment, and Learning to Stay With Yourself

For a long time, love felt like something I had to earn.

Not consciously, not intentionally, but quietly underneath it all. Somewhere between my first serious relationship and every relationship that followed, I learned that closeness could disappear without warning. That love could feel warm one moment and distant the next. And that if I wanted to keep it, I had to hold on tighter.

That was the beginning of my anxious attachment.

When Love Becomes Survival

In my first real relationship, I learned to fight for connection even when it hurt. I learned that distress meant trying harder. That pain meant proving devotion. That if someone pulled away, the answer was to reach further.

Over time, this pattern followed me into every relationship after.

I’ve clung to people even when they have clearly shown and sometimes directly said that they no longer wanted to be with me. I stayed past endings that were already spoken. I negotiated for closeness where there was none left to give. Letting go felt more terrifying than staying in a space where I was no longer chosen.

Moments of inconsistency, missed calls, mixed signals, emotional distance, did not register as red flags. They registered as challenges. Breadcrumbs felt like something to cling to rather than question. Small gestures of affection became lifelines. Because accepting that someone did not want me anymore felt like reliving abandonment all over again.

And acceptance, that quiet final truth, has been the hardest part.

Understanding Attachment Styles

Attachment styles shape how we experience closeness, conflict, and connection. Many of us develop them early in life, long before we have language for what is happening.

Those with anxious attachment often crave reassurance, consistency, and closeness. When connection feels threatened, the nervous system goes into overdrive, searching, analyzing, reaching.

Those with avoidant attachment often value independence and emotional distance. Intimacy can feel overwhelming, and pulling away can feel like self protection.

And here is the hard truth I have had to face. I was drawn to people who mirrored what felt familiar, even when it hurt.

Avoidant partners triggered my anxious attachment in ways that felt intense and consuming. Their distance amplified my fear. Their inconsistency kept me stuck in a cycle of hoping, waiting, and overgiving. The more they pulled away, the harder I fought to stay connected.

It was not love.

It was survival.

The Cost of Not Staying With Yourself

For a long time, I believed love meant endurance. That loyalty meant staying even when my needs were not being met. That leaving meant failure.

But what I was really doing was abandoning myself.

I ignored my intuition. I minimized my pain. I tried to accept half love because fully accepting rejection felt unbearable. I told myself that if I could just be more patient, more understanding, more lovable, things would change.

What changed instead was me, shrinking, anxious, constantly scanning for signs of loss.

Learning to Stay With Yourself

Now, I am learning something entirely different.

I am learning how to stay.

To stay with my emotions instead of chasing reassurance.

To stay present when discomfort rises instead of reacting from fear.

To stay grounded when loneliness whispers old stories.

I am learning how to be alone without feeling abandoned.

How to be single without feeling unworthy.

How to sit with the truth instead of trying to soften it so it hurts less.

Acceptance does not mean agreement. It does not mean the pain disappears. It means honoring what is instead of fighting what has already been said or shown. And for someone with anxious attachment, acceptance can feel like the most radical act of self love there is.

Becoming Secure, Gently

Security is not something you force. It is something you practice.

It looks like noticing when old patterns show up and responding with compassion instead of shame.

It looks like choosing relationships that feel steady instead of intoxicating.

It looks like allowing yourself to walk away even when every part of you wants to stay.

Most importantly, it looks like remembering this.

You are allowed to leave situations that make you feel unwanted.

You are allowed to want clarity and consistency.

You are allowed to stop convincing someone to choose you.

I am still learning. Still unlearning. Still choosing myself, sometimes awkwardly, sometimes imperfectly, but always intentionally.

And maybe that is what healing attachment really is.

Not becoming someone who never needs connection, but becoming someone who no longer abandons themselves to keep it.

A Closing Ritual

Learning to Stay With Yourself

Find a quiet moment. Light a candle if that feels supportive. Place one hand on your heart and one on your belly.

Take three slow breaths. Let your body arrive.

Then, gently reflect on the following.

Bring to mind a person, relationship, or situation you have been holding onto longer than your spirit can carry. Notice what comes up without judgment. Notice where your body feels tight or heavy.

Silently say to yourself,

I see the part of me that is afraid to let go.

I honor how hard it tried to protect me.

Now ask yourself,

What am I afraid will happen if I fully accept what has already been shown to me?

You do not need an answer right away. Let the question rest.

With your next breath, imagine gathering your energy back into your body. Back into your heart. Back into yourself. Picture it returning slowly and safely.

Then repeat, softly or aloud,

I am allowed to choose myself.

I am allowed to stay.

I am not abandoning myself anymore.

When you are ready, blow out the candle or sit quietly for a moment longer. Let this ritual be an act of acceptance, not of force, but of compassion.

You can return to it whenever old patterns resurface. Healing is not linear, and neither is learning how to stay.