A Fearful Avoidant’s Tribute to First Love

On Facebook today I looked at the profiles of two ex boyfriends. My first, and my most recent. Yep, it’s something I do once and a while.

For the most recent, I hadn’t checked his FB (which luckily he never uses, or that would be way harder) in a few years — or since we broke up. But today, I felt like I could; and I felt happy to see him — instead of the mild anxiety I usually felt when I’d notice him on my friends list.

And then there’s my first love. That was ages ago; I was a teenager then. He, like me, of course moved on with his life.

Why am I writing about this now? I guess I’m feeling sentimental, and I’m someone who enjoys finding stories I can relate to — and so I want to share my stories with others.

A handful of years ago I discovered that I’m what’s referred to as a Fearful Avoidant attachment style. “Fearful avoidant attachment is one of four adult attachment styles. Those with this insecure style of attachment have a strong desire for close relationships, but distrust others and fear intimacy. This leads people with a fearful-avoidant attachment to avoid the very relationships they crave.” — thanks for that description Verywellmind.com

Knowing this makes me feel a little hopeless sometimes — as it relates to future relationships, but it has also helped me understand myself so much better, and my role in past relationships.

As a younger teenager, I would flirt liberally for attention, validation, and a kind of intimacy. I wasn’t bothered by kissing a boy and having him not call me, in fact, I preferred that, because then I wouldn’t have to deal with whatever step came next. I did have crushes — a lot, but even then my feelings would change if they liked me back. And, for the ones that either didn’t or couldn’t work out, I’ll never know how I would have felt (this fact sometimes leaves me with doubts that I’m actually FA, but rather that I just haven’t met “the one” yet — a fun rabbit hole to go down ; ).

I didn’t realize it at the time, but there was a thought inside my head that went, “either I’m going to hurt them, or they’re going to hurt me.” The guilt of hurting someone else, and the fear of being hurt — those are some big feelings.

Anyhow, I felt stuck repeating a pattern and needed to move forward. I was at a crossroad; continue getting used to detached physical intimacy, or attempt having a real relationship. For a number of reasons I chose the later.

My first experience of a real relationship was the summer after my 17th birthday. We’d actually dated briefly a few months before, but that kinda fizzled out mutually.

One evening (before the summer but after we’d dated briefly — I know confusing sorry), we happened to be at the same party and he walked out on me because of a conversation we had (I won’t get into that), but it was a little embarrassing. I bring this up to point out that this experience showed me that he was ambivalent about me — at best. I didn’t realize at the time, but this was a motivating factor — I’ll explain.

A few months later (still before the summer ) he walked past the store I was working at, and I felt this anxious excitement and desire to make him like and accept me — shout out to childhood trauma — , and I thought “this could work.” Just kidding, I didn’t think that. I didn’t think anything about it, I just felt the feelings.

It wouldn’t be till many years later that I could look back and recognize that, to my Fearful Avoidant brain, his ambivalence toward me represented a kind of trap door escape hatch. Instead of needing to run away, I could be all in — without the ruminating thoughts and anxiety of needing to break up. The anxiety of chasing was stressful, but at least it meant I could stay.

That was a loooooong detour. But anyhow, I rang him up at the beginning of the summer and we started seeing each other again.

We stayed together in this dynamic for a few years — him often pulling away or straight up breaking up with me and then coming back, and me being unreasonably clingy and making the relationship my whole world. It was fun at times: partying together, enjoying warm summer nights till the sun came up, and having someone to turn to. And, It was so upsetting: the fights we would have, the mean things we would say, and the ways we brought each other down.

Look, in a lot of ways I was the better person — there I said it. I was nicer, more responsible, and wiser — I like to think. But, I wonder if he was the one in the more developed role — for example, he could often tell something was off with me, or that I was hiding myself from him, even when I was unaware of it. Plus, now that I’m older, I’ve played both the chaser and also the “pursuer/back-er away-er” ambivalent type, and I can say, while both are devastating, the chaser was a much more out of control position. Well anyhow, maybe it was just the role his personality was better suited to.

But back to the relationship.

Eventually there was a fight to end all fights; he broke up with me. And finally, I was so humiliated and scared of my own behaviour that I accepted it was finally over.

For two weeks I wanted to be dead. The emotional pain was nearly unbearable as the addiction slowly lifted. It had been this pain and fear that kept me thinking that the only way to make it stop was to repair the relationship… over and over again. When it subsided though, I felt happier, more alive, and more hopeful than I had — maybe ever.

Having gone through that fire, I was now a different version of myself; one that would no longer completely abandon myself to make another person accept me, or broadly seek attention from guys I didn’t actually like, just to feel some kind of connection or validation.

I liked and valued myself more now.

I wasn’t suddenly perfect though, and am still working on myself all these years later (who isn’t). But, I did learn a ton from this experience, and I’m so grateful for that. Honestly, I’m glad I didn’t like get arrested for how crazy I was at times ;).

Luckily that wasn’t totally the end. He did call me again, and we did see each other a few more times and tie things up on good terms. Which I’m also grateful for.

After that, I never saw him again.

Chunks of time go by — depending on the season of my life — where I hardly think about this time or him at all, but I’ll never forget him. Maybe that’s a blessing of first love — there will always be someone who remembers us.

Love is bittersweet, but it still makes me smile.