THE SILENT STRUGGLE OF AVOIDANT HEARTS
Love, they say, is a beautiful thing. And according to Joel Osteen, having someone you love in your life makes you rich. I often wondered how love could make anyone rich.
My mind never stopped questioning. In quiet moments, even during my noon naps, those words echoed endlessly.
Then I looked at the world. Everything seemed painted in shades of hatred. And truly, the world feels poor.
The people we love and stand for rarely live up to our expectations. Yet, we pretend. We smile through it, living under the quiet weight of mediocrity, poverty, and emotional relegation.
Now, let’s talk about avoidant people.
They crave love deeply. Saying “yes” comes easily to them, like a soft rhythm flowing from their lips. Yet, they detach just as easily.
It’s not that they cannot love. It’s that their love fades, like yesterday dissolving into dusky hours.
They make people fall for them. They appear patient, understanding, almost perfect. Their words are sweet, their presence comforting: everyone’s dream person. But the moment intimacy begins to take root, something shifts.
The feelings disappear.
I know this because I am one of them.
I crave true love so intensely that my fantasies begin to feel like illusions. Yes, I have met people willing to stay, to be true. But the fear of being hurt pulls me back. I detach.
What once felt like effortless connection begins to feel like pressure. And suddenly, I want to retreat into my work, into my solitude. Yet, a question lingers:
Am I missing something?
Am I walking away from my own Romeo?
Love is confusing.
They say, “Let your heart lead.” But my mind has grown stronger than my heart. It governs my choices, restrains my emotions, and questions every step.
Love, in its truest form, is ironically beautiful. Because to love, you must be willing to endure: to forgive, to let go, to stay soft even when it hurts. You must release people who do not value your affection, even when you love them deeply.
How bitter that is.
Avoidant people are not made overnight. Their past often shapes them, especially those who grew up in the cracks of broken homes. Their experiences cling to them like remora fish, feeding off their peace, refusing to let go.
Healing takes time. Sometimes, a lifetime.
Perhaps parents should think beyond themselves when choosing marriage, if not for love, then for the emotional safety of their children.
So many things have made me avoidant.
I know perfection is an illusion we all chase. Yet, my mind resists accepting that truth.
Still, one thing remains clear:
If you grew up without trauma, be grateful. Truly grateful.
Because trauma does not just bring pain or depression.
It clings. It takes. It lingers.
Like a remora fish, it feeds on you; quietly, persistently, while you try to live.
Chidimma Writes

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