The Invisible Patterns That Keep You From the Love You Want

Most people say they want deeper connections.

They want to feel seen, understood, and chosen.

They want to be held in conversations that feel like a gentle exhale.

They want real friendship. Honest love. Safe touch.

The kind of intimacy that doesn’t require performance.

And yet— When it comes close, something pulls back.

A comment deflects. A silence hardens.

The text goes unanswered.

Not because you don’t care.

But because part of you still doesn’t feel safe being seen.

—

Years ago, Brene Brown gave a talk on shame.

She poured her research, her story, her heart into that moment.

And what did the world give her back?

Cruel comments.

Criticism about her weight. Her appearance. Her audacity to speak at all.

She had studied shame for years. But living it—publicly—shook her to the core.

She didn’t want to show her face again. Didn’t want to keep going.

Because when shame enters the body, no amount of intellect can talk it away.

Even the experts go silent under its weight.

That story? It matters.

Because it shows us that knowing isn’t the same as healing.

That longing for connection isn’t the same as feeling safe enough to have it.

—

This isn’t a flaw in your personality.

It’s not that you’re too much.

It’s not that you’re broken.

It’s that your subconscious remembers things you’ve long forgotten.

It remembers the first time you told the truth and got laughed at.

It remembers who ignored you when you cried.

It remembers the times closeness came with a cost.

So it created a contract.

One that said:

“You don’t get hurt if you don’t get close.”

“You don’t feel abandoned if you stay distant.”

“You don’t get rejected if you hide what you really need.” (This one hits hard for me)

—

You get good at small talk.

At being liked.

At offering presence without thinking about asking for it in return.

At becoming the safe one in the room—so no one has a reason to leave.

But over time—

You reflexively learn to dim, defer, and shrink.

To withhold affection when expectations don’t match reality.

And then, somewhere deep inside, you begin to ache.

Not for attention. Not for drama.

But because you don’t know any other way to show up.

It starts to become your identity.

Nevertheless, you long for something else entirely. You long for connection. For love.

And maybe you’ve had glimpses of this tenderness.

The way someone laughs and actually sees you.

The warmth of their hands. The beat of their heart against yours.

The way their face rests gently against your cheek, and your whole body softens.

Can you even let yourself imagine that scenario?

It’s not a fantasy.

It’s not something out of a rom-com.

It’s real anytime you feel safe enough to drop the masks that have long kept you safe.

You allow yourself to feel their breath on your neck.

You allow yourself to feel time slow down.

And for the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to feel safe just by being you.

—

Here’s what most social media self-help posts rarely tell you:

You won’t heal relational wounds by thinking harder.

Watching more content— (though folks like Susan David, Jefferson Fisher, and Ryan Dunalp offer incredible advice on how to build your emotional agility and communication skills).

Even journaling more, or reciting 111 affirmations about your worth, won’t move the needle if your subconscious programs are still in charge of your motivations.

Because these wounds don’t live in your logic.

They live in your nervous system.

They live in your breath.

They live in the body’s ancient memory of who it had to be to stay loved as a child.

But there’s good news.

The body also remembers safety.

It remembers truth. (You are magnificent!)

It remembers who you were before you learned to perform love or make it a transaction instead of a state of being.

Healing isn’t a lightning bolt.

It’s a slow return.

To the part of you that doesn’t need to shrink to belong.

To the voice that doesn’t tremble while telling others what you believe or need.

To the kind of connection that doesn’t cost you your selfhood.

You don’t need to be better to be loved.

You just need to be safe enough to be real.

And when that happens—

Love doesn’t scare you anymore.

—

But even safety takes time.

I’ve found this analogy helpful.

If you’ve been in solitary confinement—

You’ve lived in the dark.

And when you get out, the light is blinding.

Your eyes resist. It hurts to look.

So you close your eyes again.

And maybe you feel shame for the tears that reflexively fall.

You’re not broken in that moment.

Your eyes resist because it’s too much, too fast.

And that’s okay.

You can learn to titrate the light.

Let a little in.

And then a little more.

Until one day,

Your eyes stay open and yearn for the brightness.

And it doesn’t feel like too much.

It feels like home.

This is your reality if you want it.

But first, you have to start naming what you want.

Call it in, and then claim it for yourself.