Dating with a Disorganized Attachment Style: What It's Really Like

You’ve probably heard of attachment theory.

Secure, anxious, avoidant... and then there’s us.

The ones no one wants to date.

The “fearful avoidants.”

The disorganized ones.

I’m one of them.

Not because I want to be.

But because my nervous system learned, very early on, that love is dangerous and unsafe.

And honestly?

I’m tired of all the coaches and psychologists telling you how to deal with people like me.

It’s written from the outside.

What I rarely hear is someone actually speaking from inside this experience.

So here I am. I want love. Desperately.

I want closeness, intimacy, and someone I can soften around.

But the moment it’s offered to me, my system panics.

I pull back. I shut down. I freeze or push you away.

It’s so scary.

I’m hot and cold, not because I’m playing games, but because I’m getting really scared and overwhelmed.

I promise you, in these moments, I don’t know what I want, because my body and nervous system are focused on survival.

It feels like I’m drowning when somebody comes too close.

As a kid, the people who said they loved me… they also hurt me.

They betrayed, abused, and then disappeared.

My mother died when I was very young. My father was unpredictable.

There was no one in my world I could fully trust.

So I learned: connection is unsafe.

Now, even when I meet someone kind, I question it.

I need constant reassurance. I need you to mean what you say. To follow through. To not disappear for days and then come back like nothing happened.

I often meet people who tell me they’re “securely attached.” But then they ghost. They play it cool. They act like feelings are optional.

And what’s so important for me to say:

It’s not your job to fix us — period.

It’s not your responsibility to carry our pain.

But if someone like me chooses you as a safe person, if we open up, share our panic, our shame, our longing — please don’t take that lightly.

Be clear. Be kind. Don’t play games.

I need clarity. I need your honesty more than your niceness. I need to know where I stand, even when it’s uncomfortable.

And if you can’t offer that, it’s okay. But say it.

Say it with love and leave cleanly.

Because ghosting feels like the past all over again. And believe me, I’m already working hard enough to unlearn that story.

I’m not here to be fixed. I’m here to be real.

Still trying. Still hoping.

Still healing.

And that, I think, deserves some grace.