How to Heal Anxious Attachment: Reclaiming the Self

Anxious attachment doesn’t just show up—it’s something we learn, usually in childhood. When love feels inconsistent or conditional, we adapt.

We become hyperaware, people-pleasing, always scanning for signs that we’re about to be left.

We grow up believing we have to earn love.

That was me. And unlearning that has been one of the most powerful things I’ve ever done.

How it begins

When our emotional needs aren’t consistently met as kids, we shape-shift to stay connected. We learn to silence ourselves.

We forget how to feel safe just being. That becomes our blueprint for adult relationships—and we end up chasing love that feels just as unpredictable.

Why do anxious and avoidant people find each other?

Because it feels familiar.

The anxious longs for closeness, the avoidant retreats. It’s painful, but it’s also revealing. These dynamics exist to show us what still needs healing. They wake us up.

That happened to me. I met someone avoidant. The connection was intense—but I lost myself trying to hold it together.

And when it ended, I realised: the real work wasn’t about letting go of him. It was about coming home to me.

This is how I’m healing:

• I hold a concrete block—heavy, grounding—and visualise all the pain I’ve been carrying. I picture him in front of me, and I place it at his feet. This doesn’t belong to me anymore.

  
  

• I go to church. Not to fix anything, but to feel connected, to learn, to reflect. To sit in peace.

  
  

• I’m building new, honest relationships. No masks. No chasing. Just real connection.

  
  

• I’m planning a trip to Italy. Choosing joy, adventure, and freedom.

  
  

• I’m playing piano at Grade 4 now—connecting with creativity, discipline, and the part of me that loves learning.

  
  

• I’m riding horses again. Reclaiming something that used to make me feel free.

  
  

• I’m fluent in French now—a goal I set for myself and saw through.

  
  

• I’ve written and submitted two novels, and I’ve let them go. No gripping. No fear. Just trust.

  
  

And most importantly—I’ve let him go.

Truly. I still hope he sees his own wounds. I hope he heals.

But I also trust that if he doesn’t, or if he resists, that’s not my responsibility anymore. His journey is his. Mine is mine. And mine is finally moving forward.

Healing isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about remembering who you were before the fear. And that’s who I’m finally coming back to.

P.s

Strangely, I’d just finished reading Home Coming - healing the inner child - by John Bradshaw when I found a photo of a little boy attached to a balloon string in the field. (I’ve attached it as the cover photo to this post).

I imagine the little boy is no longer with us and have taken my finding him as a sign that this “inner work” is the sole and most important mission in life. I’m on the right path x

TR