Rolling My Eyes at What I Cannot fix!

There’s a particular moment in healing when the drama you used to mistake for intimacy suddenly becomes… boring.

I’ve watched the dismissive–avoidant pattern play out enough times now to see it for what it is: not a mystery, not a riddle, not some grand romantic tragedy—just an emotional dead end.

A dismissive-avoidant partner cannot offer real love until they choose to face themselves.

And the partner who stays, demanding nothing, hoping for breadcrumbs? They’re unhealed too, clinging to a dynamic that confirms their own lack of self-respect.

Two people stuck in opposite corners of the same room, neither willing to face the truth:

The dismissive avoidant is secretly in love with the partner they discarded and the partner they chose is wondering why the relationship feels dead.

It’s not profound. It’s not destiny. It’s not even interesting anymore.

I’ve done the work. I’ve lived the patterns, examined them, dismantled them, healed from them. And now when I see the dynamic repeating—in friends, acquaintances, exes—I mostly just roll my eyes.

It’s like being the only sober one at a party. At some point, the chaos stops being captivating and starts being predictable.

People talk about “healed singles” like they’re everywhere, but let’s be honest: they’re rare. Almost mythical. And yet, I don’t need another unhealed relationship to learn something about myself. That curriculum is complete. I got a first and a PHD and now I'm wearing my mortar board with my little tassel.

Recently I reread Kierkegaard’s Purity of Heart, and one line lingers: “The task is to remain in the Good. In truth.”

That’s it. That’s the work. Not fixing others. Not dragging anyone to therapy. Not tolerating being ghosted, dismissed, gaslit, or avoided in the name of “love.” Simply remaining in the Good.

IN TRUTH.

No reward, no recognition, no avoiding punishment. Simply the purity of heart that comes from willing one thing.

So I forgive the unhealed. Truly. “Forgive them, Lord, for they know not what they do” feels about right. Their behavior isn’t personal; it’s habitual. And I refuse to wear someone else’s wound like a coat.

These days, my life looks simple: putting up Christmas trees for the elderly, doing small good things no one posts about, refusing to measure my worth against anyone else’s glitter.

Greed, accumulation, competition—they’re just ego sugar highs, never satisfying for long.

Contentment, as it turns out, is quiet. Unremarkable. And deeply sufficient.

So what now? Do I sit here on my little island of nirvana, gazing serenely into the horizon?

Maybe. Maybe not.

What I know is this: I’m no longer trying to earn love from the emotionally unavailable, nor trying to heal anyone who won’t even bother to look at themselves.

I’m simply living in truth, in goodness, in the soft steadiness of a life that isn’t defined by anyone else’s chaos.

And honestly?

It’s peaceful.

TR