My epiphany relies on a logic so foreign, I still feel a little bit disoriented. Taking a deep dive into my shadow was no stroll in the park but seems to always unearth gold. It’s scary to think how little I understood about what drove my attachments and motivated my relationships prior to this. And even scarier to discover how much I’d underestimated the effect we can have on another human being.
The question of how and more importantly why there are such great discrepancies in the way we see, experience and respond to the world and each other continues to plague me. I’d always had a vague awareness that I was doing it a little funny – seeing things from a very skewed perspective, rushing through experiences without being fully present or engaged, and reacting in very bizarre and extreme ways.
In my quest for answers, I’ve turned to Math equations, theories on personality types, our own self-perception, and even ideas about reincarnation. My tired mind insists that it’s outlandish for a person to have his or her paradigm shaken and reframed twice daily, but it’s been said in the bible that there is no rest for the wicked so we trudged on. And slowly but surely, the pieces seem to be coming together.
In an effort to not be dramatic, I will be frank: Ainsworth and Bowlby’s Attachment Theory is a long but worthwhile read, particularly if you find yourself unable to connect with other human beings in a healthy and balanced way.
The longing for emotional connectedness is the most powerful drive in each and every one of us. It’s a survival drive, a primary instinct, and a basic human need. No man is an island and a stable, loving relationship is rumoured to be the absolute cornerstone of human happiness, personal fulfillment, and general well-being.
Our interaction with others is an intricate dance of connection and disconnection, wired in our brains to be recognized as safety and danger. Our brain interprets disconnection from those we depend on as a threat, and the ways in which we deal with these moments of distress are governed by our attachment style, which according to the theory is shaped by the bond we shared with our first caregiver.
Even though I’d been blessed with what could only be described as a blissful and easy childhood, I’ve still somehow managed to blossom into a full-fledged weirdo, prone – desperate, even – to forming fantasy bonds instead of developing truly intimate and trusting relationships.
Perhaps the endless teasing about being picked up from the dustbin or being called an ‘accident baby’ gave me the absurd idea of overcompensating as a means to prove my worth. Perhaps having been made the butt of one too many jokes laid the groundwork for a lifetime of idealizing others while belittling myself. What I’m learning is that my tendency to give too much of myself, which I’d always thought of as pretty darn noble, comes from a dark, dark place of unworthiness and a desire to please others for validation.
But wait, there’s more. Such as my need for constant touch and reassurance, my preoccupation with monitoring my partner’s emotions and jumping to catastrophic conclusions the moment I sense a change, my immense fear of losing the attention or affection of my partner, blah blah blah. I’m just a weirdo, basically.
N-E-way, I’m struggling to ignore my bleak reality now that it’s become apparent.
Some days I’m convinced that it’s too difficult, that I’m doomed to grow old with nine cats and then be buried with only forgetfulness when I die. But other days I feel inspired and determined to process and unlearn my fears – of being unworthy, of rejection, of abandonment – despite how deep they may seem to run. The more I grow, the smaller everything and everyone else seems.
