Losing People... The Contradiction Of Attachment.

One of the things I think about most is attachment—the fundamental need we have to connect with others for our overall well-being and health. I often reflect on how detrimental it can be when we are unable to form secure attachments or when we develop any attachment style other than secure attachment (which, if I’m being honest, I’m starting to believe is a myth). Yet, losing people and losing love is an inevitable part of life. People come and go in cycles.

For those of us who have experienced abandonment and trauma at a young age, losing someone can feel like the end of the world. The reason for this is twofold. First, in our ancestral days of living in tribes, losing our people likely meant losing our lives. We quite literally needed others to survive. Second, being abandoned or abused as a child also threatens our survival. As children, we rely entirely on the adults in our lives to love and care for us, as we are incapable of doing so ourselves. When a child lacks a safe home or dependable caregivers, they develop insecure attachment patterns. Their nervous system struggles to feel safe with others, making connection a source of both longing and fear.

In response, we shut the world out. We attempt to protect our hearts from potential threats. We avoid taking risks for fear of failure or, worse, judgment—which, in our minds, equates to separation from others. We fall into lives we would never have chosen for ourselves, shaped by the belief that we are not worthy of what we truly desire. Worse yet, we give up on our dreams entirely because the idea of losing them feels more terrifying than never having them at all. We know, better than anyone, how easily something precious can be taken away.

So, we settle into “safe” lives with “safe” people—those we believe wouldn’t completely break us if we were to lose them. Alternatively, we may cling desperately to someone, pouring our entire being into them, trying to ensure they will never leave. We crave a big life—one full of potential and meaning, as most of us who have been to hell and back do. But then, the fear creeps in—the fear of failure, of losing what we long for most. So... we retreat. We rebuild the walls around our hearts, the same walls that have protected us for so many years, and we never take the step forward.

At its core, this fear is the belief that if we lose someone or something precious, it will completely destroy us, and we will never be the same.

But here’s the truth—there has always been one person who has never abandoned you. Someone who has been through everything with you, who has seen your strongest and weakest moments, who has walked with you through every fire and every triumph. No, this isn’t some evangelical push to accept Jesus Christ as your savior.

That person is you.

You are the adult who will care for the child inside you—the child who should have been held, protected, and made to feel safe. You are the one who will stand by yourself through failure and heartbreak, through success and joy. But to do so, you must first allow yourself to feel everything in its entirety and trust that you can handle whatever comes your way. You already have. Why would it be different now?

Do not deny yourself true joy out of fear of losing it. I promise you—the experience of having it, even for a moment, is worth the heartache a million times over. Just like joy, heartache does not last forever. Experiencing both will allow you to feel most alive—because isn’t that why we are all here? To feel everything?

Society demonizes the “negative” emotions like grief and pain, but they are just as valuable as happiness. Do not turn your back on the opportunity to experience them. These emotions are what drive us to change, to take risks, to grow. The depths of your despair directly correlate to your capacity for joy. You cannot have one without the other. And when heartbreak has been deep and relentless, it makes joy that much sweeter.

I won’t pretend this is easy. It has taken me years to come alive again, and I still don’t get it right all the time. What helps me is imagining myself in the future—lying on my deathbed—and asking, Will I regret not taking this risk? If the answer is yes, I make it happen, no matter the fear or uncertainty of the outcome. Because the answer is always no if you never ask.

I have been rejected. I have failed. I have hurt myself. I have experienced the very things I once believed would break me.

But I am still here.

It turns out, I am much stronger than I ever imagined.

And if you’ve already been to hell and back, there is very little left in this world that you cannot handle.