Attachment: Why We Pull Away (or Cling) in Relationships 

Why We Feel “Too Much” or “Not Enough” in Our Adult Relationships

From the very beginning of life, we come into this world wired for connection. This isn’t something we can opt out of either. It is simply woven into our biology. From our very first breath, our survival depends on the nervous system of another. A newborn cannot calm themselves, hold their own joy, or make sense of fear. Safety is first learned in the body of another, most often through the presence of a loving and attuned caregiver.

When a caregiver is attuned, they notice the child. They respond to the baby’s tiny gestures, cries, and shifts. They lean in to help regulate what the child cannot regulate alone yet. Rocking, humming, holding, soft eyes, shared delight – all of these say to the child: your feelings matter, your needs matter, you are safe with me, I will protect you.

This dance of co-regulation literally shapes the developing brain. Neuroscience shows us that the right side of the brain, the part most involved with feelings, relationships, and calming stress, is the very first to develop in infancy. And here’s the important part: it doesn’t just develop by itself in isolation. It grows through interaction. Through eye contact, gentle touch, tone of voice, and shared presence with a caregiver. In other words, the earliest way we learn how to handle emotions and feel safe in the world is not if we have the ability to do it from birth or not, rather it’s through relationship. And it develops through these early exchanges. If a caregiver consistently soothes the baby’s distress and expresses joy, the baby’s circuits that are responsible for knowing how to regulate stress – form. The child carries inside an imprint of safety and trust, towards the self, others, and towards the world.

And unfortunately, I know that not all of us received this. When care was harsh, unpredictable, neglectful, or emotionally absent, the child’s system has to adapt to survive. When a caregiver consistently provides soothing and emotional regulation, the child’s nervous system begins to internalize those experiences, gradually developing the capacity to manage stress independently. In contrast, when this co-regulation is absent, inconsistent, or unpredictable, the child’s stress response system may become dysregulated – often resulting in heightened sensitivity to stress and difficulty achieving emotional stability. Instead of building resilience, the system grows fragile: easily overwhelmed and easily thrown off balance. Later in life, when stress arises, those old imprints echo back, and stress feels unmanageable. They whisper the conclusions the child once drew: I am unsafe. The world is unsafe. People are unreliable. I am in danger.

These beliefs are not flaws. They are not proof of brokenness. They are the body’s memories – strategies the nervous system once relied on to hold onto love in difficult circumstances.

Think back:

• Maybe when you cried, you were told to “stop overreacting.”
• Maybe when you were excited, you were told to “calm down.”
• Maybe your needs were welcomed one day but dismissed the next.
• Maybe affection came only when you were quiet, successful, or helpful.

Even without words, your body filled in the gaps. Slowly, a story began to form:

• I’m too much. My feelings overwhelm people.
• I’m not enough. No matter what I do, it doesn’t bring the love I want.
• My needs are a burden. My presence is unwanted.
• I am unlovable.

These stories were never conscious decisions by the way. They were survival strategies. For a child, it feels safer to believe something is wrong with me than to face the terror that the one I depend on cannot care for me. So the child tucks feelings away. Shrinks their needs. Clings tightly or pulls back completely. Performs. Strives. Anything to preserve even a fragile thread of connection.

The challenge is that these strategies don’t vanish with age. They live in the body. They become reflexes that rise again in our adult relationships – especially in moments of intimacy:

• A partner takes space, and your chest tightens: I must be too much.
• A friend doesn’t respond right away, and your stomach sinks: I’m not enough.
• You share a need, and if it isn’t met with warmth, shame floods in: I’m bad for wanting this.

This is not weakness. This is your nervous system remembering those echoes of early attachment – which live in the body, even when your adult mind tries to talk you out of them.

Feeling “too much” or “not enough” often looks like:

• Withholding feelings so you don’t “burden” anyone
• Over-giving or people-pleasing to keep love close
• Clinging tightly and fearing that distance means rejection
• Pulling away quickly, convinced your needs won’t be met anyway

At the center of each of these patterns is the same longing: to feel safe, to feel worthy, to be loved.

This is why intimacy in adulthood can feel so charged. It is never just about what’s happening in the moment. It awakens the templates that were written long ago in our childhood – templates that taught us whether our needs would be welcomed, whether our feelings would be soothed, and whether our presence was met with delight or with distance.

And here is the hopeful truth: these templates may feel permanent, but they are not!!! The nervous system is not fixed. The brain can change. With new experiences, new pathways can form. In the presence of safe people: a caring partner, a steady friend, a trusted therapist – we can begin to experience something different. Slowly, the body learns a new truth: My needs do not make me too much. My humanity does not make me not enough. I matter. I always did.

Attachment Styles

Attachment theory was first introduced by John Bowlby, who studied the bond between children and their caregivers. Bowlby described caregivers as a secure base. When a child feels safe in this bond, they can relax, play, and explore the world with curiosity. When safety is missing, the child must adapt. They cannot run away and find a new parent, so instead they adjust their behavior and nervous system to keep some thread of connection, even if it means hiding their needs, turning down their emotions, or clinging tighter.

What Bowlby discovered was simple and profound: children are biologically wired to seek closeness with caregivers, not just for comfort, but for survival. When that bond feels safe and responsive, frightening, or emotionally unavailable, the child adapts in whatever way protects the connection, even if it requires shrinking needs, clinging tightly, or turning down emotions altogether. 

These patterns do not develop because something is wrong with the child. They develop because the child’s nervous system is doing its best to create safety. Below are three attachment styles most commonly talked about in everyday language. These are not fixed identities by the way! They are adaptive strategies that can shift over time, especially with new safe experiences and opportunities with repair.

The 3 Main Attachment Styles

While there are various ways to categorize attachment, we’ll focus here on three primary attachment styles that are more commonly referred to and known by the general public. These are not boxes to live in, but maps that show how our early years in the world can carry forward into our adulthood.

1. Secure Attachment

When caregivers are mostly consistent, warm, and responsive, the child internalizes a sense of safety and trust. The underlying message becomes: I am safe. My feelings matter. I can depend on others. Over time, this forms the foundation for what we call secure attachment.

Children with secure attachment typically grow into adults who:

• Feel comfortable with both closeness and independence
• Can express emotions openly without fear that they will push others away
• Seek support without feeling like a burden
• Trust that relationships can hold both joy and conflict

Importantly, secure attachment does not mean a perfect childhood – or a perfect adult (even though it may seem to be presented to us in that way)! It also does not mean that they never feel anxious, insecure, or struggles in relationships. It simply means that, more often than not, they feel secure in themselves and in the world around them, because early relationships taught them that others can be safe, responsive, and emotionally available.

Also key to secure attachment is the concept of repair. All relationships have ruptures – moments of disconnection, frustration, or misunderstanding. What matters is that the caregiver returned to repair those breaks. That experience of repair taught the child’s nervous system something essential: even when something breaks, it can be mended. That’s where resilience in these folks grew stronger.

2. Anxious Attachment

When caregiving is inconsistent or unpredictable, the child cannot settle. At times, comfort is available. Other times, it is met with irritation, dismissal, or emotional distance. The nervous system learns: connection is not guaranteed, and I must work hard to get it and keep it.

The child becomes hyper-attuned to the caregiver’s needs and moods, constantly scanning for signs of withdrawal or closeness. This strategy helps maintain attachment in an unpredictable environment, but it comes at the cost of internal stability. 

As adults, this can look like:

• A strong longing for closeness combined with fear of abandonment
• Worrying about being too much or not enough
• Reading small cues in communication as signs of rejection
• Needing reassurance to feel safe in relationships

At its core, anxious attachment is a response to inconsistent care. It is the nervous system trying to create safety in a place where safety was unreliable. 

3. Avoidant Attachment

When caregivers are emotionally unavailable, distant, or dismissive (often due to their own overwhelm or emotional shutdown) the child learns to adapt in a very specific way. The internal message becomes: My needs don’t matter. It’s safer not to need anyone.

To protect themselves from the pain of unmet emotional needs, the child begins to suppress their natural longing for closeness and connection. This is not a conscious choice by the way; it’s more of a survival strategy. Over time, they learn to self-soothe through independence, distancing, or detachment.

As adults, this can look like:

• A strong emphasis on independence that makes closeness feel threatening or overwhelming
• Pulling away or shutting down when relationships become emotionally intense
• Difficulty recognizing, expressing, or even identifying their own emotional needs
• Discomfort with vulnerability or relying on others

The avoidant strategy whispers: If I don’t need anyone, I can’t be hurt by them. And while this adaptation may offer a sense of control and safety, it doesn’t eliminate their need for connection. Under the surface, the longing for closeness still exists for these folks, it’s just buried beneath layers of self-protection.

It’s important to remember that attachment styles are not fixed categories – they’re adaptive patterns, not life sentences. While someone may primarily lean toward avoidant strategies, they can also experience moments of security, especially in certain relationships and different contexts. Attachment exists on a spectrum, and these patterns can shift over time. With self-awareness, emotionally safe relationships, and therapeutic support, people can develop more secure ways of relating with others, regardless of where they “originally started.”

---

Attachment injuries occur in the very moments we most needed care, protection, and repair. They arise in the spaces where we longed to be held, soothed, and shown that relationships can rupture and mend. When we miss those essential experiences inconsistent early in life, they leave lasting emotional and psychological imprints that shape how we see ourselves, others, and the world in our adulthood.

These wounds aren’t always obvious or dramatic. Sometimes they stem from what was absent: care that didn’t come, comfort that was withheld, emotional presence that was lacking. This can look like quiet neglect, emotional dismissal, a caregiver who couldn’t attune, or ruptures that were never repaired. Other times, the injuries are more visible and acute: abuse, harsh criticism, or frightening unpredictability.

What makes these injuries so powerful is not only what happened but also what didn’t happen:

• When we cried and no one came, our nervous system learned: My needs don’t matter.
• When we reached for comfort and were met with irritation, we absorbed: My feelings are a problem.
• When our joy was met with dismissal instead of delight, the story became: My presence is unwanted.

These experiences don’t linger as clear, conscious memories. Instead, they become embodied truths – felt realities about who we are and what to expect from others. Over time, they can solidify into deep often wordless convictions in adulthood: I am too much. I am not enough. I am unlovable.But here’s the crucial part: because these patterns were learned, they can be unlearned. With safe, supportive relationships, self-awareness, and sometimes therapy, our nervous systems can experience new templates – ones of care, repair, and attunement – and gradually build a different story: I am safe. I am worthy. I am lovable (this can take a lot of time and hard work, but soooo possible)!!!

The Role of the Right Brain

The earliest part of the brain to develop is the right hemisphere. This side of the brain is not about logic, words, or problem-solving. It is the emotional and relational side – the part that helps us read faces, sense tone of voice, feel connected, and regulate stress.

From the very beginning, the right brain is shaped by experience. A baby’s developing nervous system depends on the caregiver’s nervous system to learn how to regulate. Soft eyes, a soothing voice, being held after a cry – these are not small or insignificant gestures. They are neurobiological building blocks, literally shaping the architecture of the child’s brain – especially the right hemisphere, which plays a central role in emotional processing, relational connection, and storing early experiences, including trauma.

When those nurturing experiences are present, the child’s brain wires for safety, trust, and connection. The nervous system learns that distress can be soothed, that closeness is safe, and that the world is a place where needs will be met.

But when those moments of attunement and repair are absent or inconsistent (the child is left to cry alone, met with irritation instead of comfort, or grows up in an environment of fear or unpredictability) the right brain adapts accordingly.

Trauma gets stored in the right hemisphere not as a story with words, but as nonverbal imprints: sensations, images, body memories, emotional states. Instead of wiring for connection, the brain wires for protection. The nervous system may become hypervigilant, shut down, or stuck in chronic patterns of fight, flight, or freeze. Over time, this can shape a person’s entire felt sense of self: I am not safe. I am not worthy. I am alone.

Each moment of co-regulation on the other hand will strengthen circuits that say: I can calm down. I am safe with others. Closeness feels good.

This wiring of the right brain happens without our conscious awareness. The memories are not stored as words or stories. They are stored in the body itself – in the nervous system. That’s why, later in life, someone can know logically that they are loved and wanted yet feel in their body that love is precarious. Intimacy or stress reactivates those early imprints, and the nervous system falls back on the old templates it learned long ago.

In other words: attachment injuries live deeper than thought. They live in the very cells of our body that govern how safe we feel with other human beings.

How These Injuries Show Up in Adult Life

Attachment injuries don’t vanish with time. They resurface in the places where love and closeness matter most.

• In relationships, we may cling, fearing abandonment, or retreat, fearing rejection.
• In conflict, we may silence our needs or explode with protest, both rooted in fear of losing connection.
• In intimacy, we may long for closeness yet feel panicked when it arrives.

The paradox is that the very places we long for love can feel the most unsafe, because they awaken the injuries written into us long ago.

Reflections to Consider

• When did I first learn that struggling meant I was “lazy?”
• What does my body feel right before a task becomes overwhelming? 
• Where does my shame around inconsistency come from? 
• What supports would actually help me – if I stopped forcing myself to “push through?” 

Let your answers come slowly. ADHD does not respond to pressure – it responds to understanding. 

The Hope of Repair

The hopeful truth is that attachment injuries, while painful, are not permanent verdicts on who we are. They are injuries, not identities. With safe, steady relationships in adulthood (whether with a partner, caring friends, or a therapist) the nervous system can begin to experience something different. When we are consistently met with presence, attunement, and repair, new imprints begin to form.

Healing does not erase the past. But it softens the conviction of unworthiness. Over time, the old story of: I am unlovable – can be replaced with something truer: I was never unworthy – I simply didn’t receive what I needed. And I can begin to give it to myself and receive it now.

If early experiences can shape the nervous system toward fragility, the good news is that later experiences can help reshape it toward security. The brain is plastic and so adaptable. The brain circuits that help us feel connection can be rewired through repeated experiences of safety, attunement, and repair.

Practices That Can support the Growth of Secure Attachment

I offer these not as rigid steps or quick fixes that will instantly transform your sense of safety or erase old wounds. Healing is a delicate and ongoing process, like tending a garden with patience and care. These practices are invitations to cultivate greater connection, presence, and kindness toward yourself and others. Over time (with gentle awareness) they can help your nervous system soften and open, making space for deeper ease and trust to grow.

1. Safe Relationships
Healing happens in relationship. This may be with a partner, a steady friend, a pet, or a therapist. What matters most is consistency. When we risk showing up with our real needs and those needs are met with care instead of rejection, the nervous system begins to learn a new truth: I can be seen and still be loved. But remember, we need consistency here.

2. Naming and Expressing Needs
Many of us learned early on to hide our needs as a way to stay safe. Cultivating the courage to express those needs (even in small, gentle ways) can be profoundly healing. Instead of defaulting to “I’m fine,” try saying something like, “I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed right now; could you stay with me for a moment?” Or, when deciding where to eat out with friends or family, practice sharing your preference instead of always deferring with, “I’m easy, whatever everyone else wants is fine.” These small acts of honest expression slowly help rewire the old habit of hiding, opening the door to new patterns of openness and connection.

3. Repair After Rupture
No relationship is perfect. What matters is whether disconnection can be acknowledged and repaired. Saying, “I was sharp with you earlier, I’m sorry,” or “I felt hurt when that happened, can we talk about it?” teaches the nervous system that relationships can survive conflict – that closeness can bend without breaking. It’s also important we see that modeled to us. Choosing partners or friendships that model this back to us is important. We want this to be reciprocal and not just one sided. When we say “we heal in relationships” we cannot forget that relationships involve more than one person, so we deserve to fill our circle with others who are also doing the work!

4. Attunement Through the Body
Because attachment injuries live in the body, healing often waits for us there too. Co-regulation can be as simple as steady eye contact, a calm tone, or a gentle touch from someone safe, this can literally be a pet, a friend, or a therapist. These micro-moments of attunement signal to the nervous system: safety is near, and we can invite it in (small doses of letting safety land in us is great)!

5. Self-Compassion Practices
Even when others are not available, we can begin to internalize a kinder voice toward ourselves. Simple practices: placing a hand on the heart, speaking softly to oneself, or visualizing a supportive figure can help soften the critic and strengthen the sense of worthiness.

6. Choice and Agency
For many who experienced trauma or inconsistent care, choice was foreign. Inviting choice back into daily life (“Do I want to share this now or later?” “Would I rather call or text?”) helps restore a sense of agency. Each choice strengthens the inner belief: I matter. My preferences count.

7. Therapeutic Support
A therapist trained in attachment and trauma can offer a uniquely safe environment to experiment with new ways of relating. The therapeutic relationship itself becomes a place where old patterns can surface, be named, and gently shifted.

---

At its heart, cultivating secure attachment isn’t about suppressing our needs, striving for complete independence, or denying our natural human longing for connection. Instead, it’s a gradual and compassionate process of learning (through repeated, gentle experiences) that we’re worthy of closeness, our needs are valid and deserving of care, and that we are inherently lovable.

This journey often feels like a lifelong practice. We may find ourselves moving between different attachment styles depending on our mood, the people we’re with, and the many shifting contexts of our lives. And that’s okay. It is all part of the unfolding process of healing and growing. What a beautiful (and human) journey to be on. 

Citations: 

NICABM. (2025). The Neurobiology of Attachment [Workshop]. The National Institute for the Clinical Application of Behavioral Medicine. https://www.nicabm.com/confirm/attachment/

Resources:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9idayJyWCWs

Recommended Books:

• We Do by Stan Tatkin
• Hold Me Tight by Sue Johnson
• Attached by Amir Levine

Note: everything I have shared here is not original to me alone. These reflections are the echoes of wise teachers who have walked this path before me, who have studied attachment, its history, its psychology, and its impact on humans with incredible depth. I stand with them in carrying this wisdom forward. In particular, much of what I’ve written here draws from The Neurobiology of Attachment, a workshop created by the National Institute for the Clinical Application of Behavioural Medicine (NICABM). I am deeply grateful for the teachers who offered their insights, which I’ve integrated here in a way that I hope feels both accessible and supportive for those who may not otherwise come across this work