You’re Not Too Much—You’re Just Tired of Begging for love

You’re Not Too Much—You’re Just Tired of Begging for Love

We all long for love, but for some of us, that longing feels like desperation wrapped in hope. Like craving air while underwater. Like home always existing in someone else’s arms.

This isn’t just theory—it’s something deeply personal. This is near and dear to my heart because I’ve struggled with it too. Sometimes I still do. If this feels oddly familiar as you’re reading—know that it feels oddly familiar as I’m writing. I feel you. I see you, anxious friend. There is hope.

Because this is the internal world of someone with an anxious attachment style—a way of relating where love feels conditional, safety depends on someone else’s mood, and presence feels like a high you can’t stop chasing.

Let’s break it down, learn how to spot it, and explore a different way forward—one where you bring your own flame to the fire instead of losing yourself in someone else’s.

What is Anxious Attachment?

Anxious attachment is one of the four primary attachment styles described in attachment theory, a psychological framework developed by John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth. It's typically rooted in inconsistent caregiving during childhood—love that felt unpredictable, attention that was sometimes present and sometimes withdrawn.

As a result, people with anxious attachment often grow up with a nervous system wired to fear abandonment, a mind that overanalyzes small shifts in tone, and a heart that aches for reassurance but struggles to trust it when it arrives.

Some common traits include:

• A fear that you're "too much" or "not enough."

• Obsessing over texts, calls, or social cues.

• Giving too much in relationships to keep the other person close.

• Feeling intense emotional highs and lows depending on relationship security.

• Struggling to be alone or feel whole without someone else's attention.
  
  

In short, anxious attachment feels like living on edge inside your own skin, waiting for the next confirmation of love—or the next perceived rejection.

Why It's Not Your Fault (But It Is Your Responsibility)

Anxious attachment isn't a character flaw. It's a nervous system strategy, built for survival in an environment where connection wasn't consistent. It helped you scan for cues, anticipate rejection, and earn love by becoming whatever someone else needed.

But here's the thing: what helped you survive then might be sabotaging your relationships now.

Healing anxious attachment doesn’t mean you stop craving closeness—it means you learn how to give it to yourself first, so you’re not always handing over the keys to your self-worth.

From External Chasing to Internal Belonging: A Story

Let me show you what this looks like in practice, through a little metaphor:

The House on the Hill

There was a time he kept chasing fires in other people’s windows.
A flicker of light? He was there.
Heart cracked open, bags in hand — already halfway moved in before the door was even unlocked.

He’d knock soft at first, then louder, needing to know:
Is this one safe?
Sometimes the door opened — a smile, a spark, a seat at the table — and he’d start imagining his future in a house he hadn’t even been invited to live in.

He’d picture the way the curtains would fall, how the mornings might sound.
He’d mistake warmth for permanence.
And when the light dimmed — when they needed space, or turned inward, or weren’t ready — he’d feel it in his gut like “Here we go again.”

Some houses had broken windows. Some were still full of old ghosts.
But he’d try to make it work anyway — lighting candles in rooms that weren’t his, fixing doors he wasn’t asked to fix.
Or he’d ghost out — pretending he didn’t care, already halfway down the road before the ache caught up.

Chase. Attach. Collapse.
Repeat.

Then one day, he just got tired.
Not bitter. Not broken. Just… done doing it the old way.

He found a hill just outside the noise and sat down. No rushing. No knocking. No codependently scanning the horizon.
Just stillness.

And for the first time, he turned around and saw something he’d been avoiding:
His own house.

Rough around the edges. Weathered. Door a little stiff.
But it was his.
Solid. Rooted. Quiet.

He stepped inside and realized — this is where he could return to.
When the world felt too loud,
When someone else’s energy went silent,
When he started making up stories in the absence of clarity.

This is where he could sit with himself.
Where he didn’t need to fix anyone.
Where he could breathe.
Where he belonged.

He still visited other houses. Still caught sparks. Still felt the warmth.
But he didn’t move in after the first firelight.
He brought his own flame now.
And he didn’t confuse electricity with endurance.

Because now he knew:

The safest place isn’t inside someone else’s promise.
It’s the home he built inside his own skin.

And the next time he walked someone to his front door,
he’d know he didn’t need them to complete it — just to meet him at the threshold, fully themselves, with their own damn fire.

_____________________

Take a breath.
Pause before reading on.

How did that land in your body?

Did a part of you recognize yourself in the story? The chasing? The collapsing? The ache? Maybe the longing to finally sit still, to find something solid—in you—instead of constantly reaching outward?

Let that part have a voice. You don’t need to fix it or figure it out right now. Just feel it. Let it be real.

Ask yourself gently:
What parts of me have been trying to find home in someone else?
And... What might it feel like to come home to myself instead?

When you’re ready, let’s explore how to begin that journey—one step at a time.

Healing Anxious Attachment: A Step-by-Step Guide

Healing doesn't happen overnight, but you can start building your own house today. Here’s a step-by-step guide:

1. Awareness: Name the Pattern

You can’t heal what you won’t name. Start by asking:

• Do I feel emotionally dysregulated when someone pulls away?

• Do I overinvest or fantasize about someone before I really know them?

• Do I feel like I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop?
  

Be radically honest without shame. Awareness is the first step toward sovereignty.

2. Regulate Your Nervous System

Anxious attachment lives in the body. Breathwork, somatic practices, and vagus nerve regulation are key. When the panic hits:

• Breathe low and slow (inhale for 4, exhale for 6–8).

• Name sensations aloud: “Tight chest. Racing heart.”

• Ground yourself: “I am safe in my body. I am not in danger.

This helps you shift from survival to presence.

3. Reparent Your Inner Child

That part of you scanning the horizon for safety? It’s your younger self. You don’t need to shut them up—you need to show them you're here now.

• Offer reassurance: “I won’t abandon you.”

• Set boundaries: “We don’t chase people who aren’t choosing us.”

• Be consistent: Journaling, meditation, and nurturing rituals show your nervous system that you’ve got you now.
  

  4. Reality Test the Stories

When someone goes quiet or pulls away, notice what you tell yourself.

• “They don’t love me anymore.”

• “I must have done something wrong.”

• “This always happens to me.”
  

Now reality check: Is that true? Or is that familiar? Challenge the narrative with truth, not fear.

5. Stay in Your Own House

Build a rich, full life that doesn't revolve around someone else's presence.

• Cultivate hobbies, community, solitude.

• Invest in your purpose.

• Reclaim your energy.

Love is sweeter when it’s not the only thing keeping you alive.

If you’re Still with me…

Anxious attachment isn’t about loving too much. It’s about forgetting where your love comes from. You are not broken—you were just taught to seek safety outside of yourself.

But healing is possible. It starts the moment you stop chasing fires and turn toward the quiet, sturdy house within.

You’ll still feel the sparks. You’ll still get lit up by love. But this time, you won’t lose yourself in someone else’s home. You’ll know where you belong—and that belonging starts with you.

If this resonates, ask yourself today: What’s one way I can come home to myself—before trying to find it in someone else?

And remember:

Bring your own damn fire.

Breathe well, live fully,

Matt