When Maya (she asked that we use only her first name) describes her relationship, she doesn’t sound dramatic or bitter. She sounds tired, like someone who’s done a lot of late-night thinking and would really prefer to be watching a comfort show instead. “We love each other,” she said. “But we push each other away without meaning to.”
Over the past year, Maya has been learning the language of attachment styles, and one phrase in particular has started to feel uncomfortably accurate: the anxious-avoidant trap. It’s that pattern where one person reaches for closeness when they feel unsettled, while the other backs away when closeness feels intense. And somehow, both people end up feeling rejected.
A familiar pattern: one reaches, the other retreats
Maya describes herself as “the worrier.” If her partner, Jordan, seems quiet after work, her brain starts narrating worst-case scenarios like it’s being paid by the plot twist. “I’ll ask if everything’s okay, and if Jordan says ‘I’m fine’ but doesn’t sound fine, I can’t let it go,” she said.
Jordan, on the other hand, tends to shut down when emotions run high. “They need space to think, to calm down, to not feel like they’re failing a pop quiz called ‘Feelings,’” Maya joked. The trouble is that Maya experiences that space as distance, and distance feels like danger.
How it turns into a loop (even when nobody’s trying to be mean)
According to therapists, this dynamic can be less about who’s “right” and more about how each person’s nervous system tries to protect them. The anxious partner often seeks reassurance and connection to soothe fear. The avoidant partner often seeks space and independence to soothe overwhelm.
Put those together, and you get the relationship equivalent of trying to hug a cat that’s already overstimulated. The more Maya moves toward Jordan to feel close, the more Jordan can feel pressured. The more Jordan pulls away to breathe, the more Maya feels abandoned—and then she moves toward them harder.
The little moments that set it off
It isn’t always about huge fights. Maya said the spiral often starts with ordinary stuff: a delayed text, a shorter-than-usual reply, a canceled plan. “My brain treats it like a headline alert,” she said. “Jordan’s brain treats my reaction like an incoming storm.”
Then come the coping strategies that don’t actually help. Maya might send follow-up messages that are meant to be caring but land as urgent or anxious. Jordan might go quiet to avoid escalating things, which Maya experiences as punishment even if it’s not intended that way.
Why anxious-avoidant couples can still be deeply connected
Despite the stress, Maya is quick to say there’s a reason they’re together. “When it’s good, it’s really good,” she said. Jordan is thoughtful, steady, and funny in a dry way that makes Maya laugh when she least expects it. Maya brings warmth, playfulness, and a kind of emotional attentiveness that makes Jordan feel seen—until it starts to feel like too much attention at once.
That push-pull doesn’t mean the relationship is doomed. It often means the two people are speaking different emotional dialects, and both are trying to feel safe. The tragedy is that their attempts to feel safe can accidentally make the other person feel unsafe.
The “protest behaviors” and the “deactivating strategies” people don’t notice
Maya said learning about attachment helped her spot patterns she didn’t realize had names. When she feels ignored, she sometimes gets sarcastic or asks questions she already knows will start a fight. “I’m not proud of it,” she admitted. “It’s like I’m trying to force closeness, even if it’s negative closeness.”
Jordan’s version looks quieter but can be just as impactful: changing the subject, focusing on chores, staying late at work, or insisting they “don’t want to talk about it right now” with no follow-up. Those are classic ways people create emotional distance when closeness feels overwhelming. Neither one is villain behavior, but both can sting.
What’s helped them interrupt the cycle (even a little)
Maya said the biggest shift came when they started naming the pattern out loud, in real time. Instead of “You never talk to me,” she tries something like, “I’m starting to feel anxious and I want to get close—are you able to reassure me for a minute?” It’s not magic, but it lowers the temperature.
Jordan has been practicing a different kind of clarity: not just needing space, but explaining it. “If Jordan says, ‘I’m overwhelmed and I need 20 minutes, and then I’ll come back,’ I can actually handle it,” Maya said. What she can’t handle is the emotional vanishing act.
Small scripts that keep arguments from turning into a breakup movie
They’ve also started using what Maya calls “boring but effective” scripts. One is: “I’m on your team.” Another is: “I think we’re in the loop—can we pause?” It sounds cheesy until you’re mid-argument and suddenly remember you do, in fact, like this person.
They’re experimenting with time limits, too. If Jordan needs space, they set a specific check-in time so Maya isn’t left guessing. If Maya needs reassurance, she asks for one direct thing—like a hug, a clear “We’re okay,” or a plan for when they’ll talk—rather than trying to get comfort through ten spiraling questions.
The role of therapy, and why it’s not just for “serious problems”
Maya and Jordan recently started couples therapy, not because they’re on the verge of splitting, but because they’re tired of the same argument wearing different outfits. Maya said therapy has helped them translate each other’s reactions. Jordan’s silence isn’t always indifference; sometimes it’s panic. Maya’s intensity isn’t always control; sometimes it’s fear.
Therapists often encourage anxious-avoidant couples to build “secure rituals” that don’t depend on perfect moods. That can look like a daily check-in, a weekly date, or a simple agreement that conflict won’t end with someone disappearing for days. It’s less about grand gestures and more about predictable repair.
What Maya wishes people understood about pushing each other away
“It’s not that we don’t care,” she said. “It’s that we care, and our bodies react like it’s an emergency.” She wants people to know that anxious and avoidant patterns can both come from the same place: wanting love, and being scared of losing it—or scared of needing it too much.
Maya doesn’t frame it as a simple fix, and she’s not trying to turn her relationship into a self-help success story. But she does sound hopeful. “When we can catch it early,” she said, “it’s like we remember we’re not enemies. We’re just two people with different alarm systems.”
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As a mom of three busy boys, I know how chaotic life can get — but I’ve learned that it’s possible to create a beautiful, cozy home even with kids running around. That’s why I started Cultivated Comfort — to share practical tips, simple systems, and a little encouragement for parents like me who want to make their home feel warm, inviting, and effortlessly stylish. Whether it’s managing toy chaos, streamlining everyday routines, or finding little moments of calm, I’m here to help you simplify your space and create a sense of comfort.
But home is just part of the story. I’m also passionate about seeing the world and creating beautiful meals to share with the people I love. Through Cultivated Comfort, I share my journey of balancing motherhood with building a home that feels rich and peaceful — and finding joy in exploring new places and flavors along the way.
