I used to think I had abandonment issues. Turns out, I’m just allergic to happiness showing up unannounced. I don’t do “spontaneous joy.” If happiness wants to enter my life, I need a safety briefing, a notarized timeline, and a clearly marked emotional evacuation plan.
I don’t want a “meet-cute”; I want a risk assessment.
There I was, getting ready to head to his place, feeling bold. I decided to pull from the OG smut: Song of Songs. I sent him a customized, gender-swapped verse to remind him what he was dealing with:
“My breasts are like fawns, twins of a gazelle, grazing among the first spring flowers. The sweet, fragrant curves of my body, the soft, spiced contours of my flesh… invite me, and I come. I stay until dawn breathes its light and night slips away.”
I hit send. I’m thinking I’m the ultimate seductress. I’m thinking King Solomon would be proud. I’m thinking this is some high-level, holy-tier foreplay.
Then… silence.
For five minutes.
Do you know what happens to a woman with a fearful-avoidant attachment style during five minutes of radio silence after she’s just compared her chest to gazelles? I went through all five stages of grief. I was halfway through drafting my “I’m joining a convent” announcement when he finally replied:
“Come over.”
Why the delay? Was he stunned by my poetic prowess? No. He was waiting for his teenagers to go to sleep. Because apparently, Gen Z has evolved past the need for rest, making “adult time” for the rest of us a logistical nightmare involving tactical patience and silent floorboards.
When you date someone like me, you don’t hope—you prepare. I prep for emotional distance the same way Floridians prep for hurricanes:
Bottled water (for the crying)
Flashlights (to find my way out of the gaslighting)
Lowered expectations (the plywood over my heart)
You never prepare for tenderness. That’s how it gets you. It sneaks in between the Bible verses and the “are the kids asleep yet?” texts.
The Moment the Script Broke
I arrived. I sat on the bed. I took my shirt off because my hair was actively trying to strangle me. And then — without flirting, foreplay, or emotional negotiation — he put his hand on my back and slowly caressed it.
Not grabbing. Not rushing. Not “let’s get to the point.” Just… present.
And my entire nervous system went:
Absolutely not. This is not in the attachment agreement.
Deep Thinkers Are Allergic to Surprise Affection
Deep thinkers crave affection the way plants crave sunlight.
But —
only after we’ve confirmed it won’t scorch us.
We want closeness, yes.
But we also want:
- a warning label
- a trial period
- time to analyze whether this will emotionally bankrupt us later
This man did not submit a request.
He just kissed my neck like someone who wasn’t planning his escape route.
Which is frankly rude.
Why This Was Worse Than Him Disappearing
When a fearful avoidant disappears, I understand him.
I build theories. I map patterns. I say things like “this tracks.” Disappearance is familiar. Disappearance is manageable. Disappearance lets me stay competent. But affection without withdrawal?
That’s chaos.
Because if he leaves, I know who I am:
The woman who survives.
If he stays?
I have to confront a much scarier question:
Who am I when I’m not bracing for impact?
The Kiss That Short-Circuited My Brain
It wasn’t dramatic. Which is exactly why it was devastating. The slow kisses along my neck. The way his hand lingered on my back. The complete absence of urgency. This wasn’t a man performing intimacy.
This was a man relaxing into it. And suddenly I wasn’t monitoring him anymore. I was monitoring myself. Which is always a sign I’m in danger.
When the Fearful Avoidant Softens, the Deep Thinker Panics
Everyone talks about:
- the ghosting
- the mixed signals
- the emotional whiplash
No one warns you about the moment a fearful avoidant lets go of control.
Because when they do, the deep thinker doesn’t feel relief.
She feels exposed.
No mystery to solve.
No distance to justify staying guarded.
No pain to intellectualize into meaning.
Just warmth.
And warmth is terrifying when you’ve lived your whole life in emotional winter.
The Thing I Didn’t Want to Admit
I wasn’t afraid he would leave. I was afraid he wouldn’t. I was afraid that:
- I might want more
- I might soften
- I might stop rehearsing heartbreak like it’s a Broadway production
And worst of all —
I might be happy without earning it through suffering first.
So I Did What Deep Thinkers Do Best
I didn’t run. I didn’t confront. I didn’t spiral. I opened a document.
Because when affection becomes intense, the fearful avoidant disappears. But when affection becomes intense, the deep thinker writes words trying to survive it.
Final Thought
Maybe the scariest thing isn’t being left. Maybe the scariest thing is being touched gently by someone who has every reason to run — and realizing you want them to stay. And maybe happiness doesn’t arrive with fireworks. Maybe it just kisses your neck…
and waits to see if you’ll let it.
