Floating Through the Universe Alone: Living with Disorganized Attachment
There are four main types of attachment styles that develop in infancy and form the scaffolding for how we relate to the world: secure, anxious, avoidant, and fearful-avoidant (also called disorganized). I’ve known about these intellectually since college, however it wasn’t until last night that I finally had a “click” moment–that ground-shifting feeling I get when something resonants, when it lands not just in my mind but in my body. When I can finally see with my heart what my brain has been trying to tell me for decades.
My entire life has been a paradox:
I crave connection,
but I also avoid it at all costs.
→ If I let you in, will you hurt me, too?I seek clarity,
but I don’t trust the answers.
→ If I know, will I be wrong again?I resent needing help,
but I desperately want to be seen.
→ If I let you help, am I weak? But if I don’t let you in, will I always be alone?I long to feel safe,
but safety feels unfamiliar.
→ I want this, but is it real? Can I keep it? Do I deserve it?
I was feeling some kind of way after the Why Me? post went up–because that question has haunted me my entire life.
It planted a seed of doubt:
Did I imagine my trauma? Was I just too weak? If everyone else turned out okay, what’s wrong with me?
Then, later that night, I stumbled across some beautiful vacation pictures from a family member.
And they broke me.
Not because I was jealous–but because I was grieving.
Why did everyone leave me behind? Why didn’t anyone care how hard I was struggling?
That moment launched me into a classic Shame Loop:
I’m too much. I’ve always been too much. That’s why they treated me that way.
But then another realization surfaced.
If my brothers were “fine” and I was the “problem” - too headstrong, too stubborn, too needy, too sensitive - then how do I explain the fact that I spent years working with people far more challenging than I ever was, and I didn’t hurt them. I showed up. I adapted. I created safety.
So how could a grown adult claim I was too much–when I, as a grown adult, have cared for people with compassion and consistency even when it was hard?
That realization cracked the shame loop wide open:
I wasn’t too much. They were too little.
And just like that, the whole narrative shifted. The emotional tug-of-war that I live with-- believing and not believing, trusting and doubting, loving and fearing–clicked into place as the hallmark of disorganized attachment.
Which led me to the ground-shaking moment:
Oh.
This pain isn’t random.
It’s patterned.
It’s how I learned to survive in a world where love didn't feel safe or consistent.
Which explains the loops.
The disbelief.
The grief.
The longing.
The shutdowns.
It explains me.
