Whiplash - The Return Of The Jedi

They say avoidants always come back—and just like they said he would, he did. A little smart-ass comment to break the ice, then a proper chat the next day. My heart raced and I panicked when the message came through. I hadn’t expected to hear from him again. It hadn’t even been that long, really, but it was out of character for him. We talked almost every day.

Even he had noticed the silence though. He said I’d been quiet. He felt the absence—because we’d never had one before. We’ve always hovered around each other. Present. Unspoken but there.

I truly believe he started falling and it scared him. He ran when the feelings got real. He always does. And it leaves me spiralling—sad and missing something that never really began. Sitting at work with dried tears on my cheeks, knowing my eyes are puffy and my voice is hoarse from crying. I don’t understand how we can spend so much time together, share pieces of our lives, then walk away like it meant nothing.

But surely it’s not nothing for him. The signs that it’s something are there. I just don’t know how to make him feel safe enough to express it without losing myself in the process. I’m not someone who’s quiet or reserved. I don’t bite my tongue. I say what I think and feel. But this man has me tiptoeing around him, scared I’ll say the wrong thing and make him disappear again.

I’ve seen the walls come up. I’ve seen him shut down when emotions slip in. It turns beautiful, vulnerable moments into something I feel humiliated for. Because vulnerability might be hard for him, but every time he pushes me away when I’m open, I feel less safe showing up that way. It’s starting to create the same avoidance in me.

I guess I’ll see what happens. I’ll try not to get too hopeful. If nothing changes, I’ll have to walk away. I know I’ve said that a million times. But he worked his way into my heart, and it’s hard to say goodbye—especially when he hasn’t done anything wrong. I can’t make him choose me. He’s always been clear this was casual... then turns around and says he likes me for my brain, my personality, that I’d be the full package if it weren’t for the distance.

The distance isn’t a problem for me. It hurts when he says he won’t come to Dalby, like I’m not worth a half-day drive. And I don’t even know if I should keep talking to him. Apparently, avoidants need consistency—they need to know you’ll be there even when they’re at their worst. And I will be. I know that. Maybe I need to tell him that. But I don’t know how—how to say it without scaring him off.

I don’t know how to approach a conversation that makes him shut down.

Maybe this is the beginning of the end… or maybe we both just realised that the space felt horrible. I miss him every day. I wanted to talk but felt like he didn’t care, so I pretended I didn’t either.

Maybe we’re more alike than I realise. I struggle with emotions too. I cry when I have to talk about my feelings and I hate it. I wish I didn’t cry. I get overwhelmed and then I shut down because I don’t know how to express it. My parents told me crying and being emotional made me immature—so now I try not to show anything unless it’s “good.” I’m scared of being criticised, of being told I shouldn’t feel this way. Like my feelings aren’t valid.

Wait a cotton-picking minute—he and I are exactly the same.

I think I’ll give him time. I care about him. I know the feelings are there—I feel them in the way he is with me before the fear kicks in. I think I need to learn how avoidant attachment works and how to make him feel safe. And I want to work on myself to help him feel safe enough to do the same. He’s important enough for me to put in the effort.

I think I need to stop asking for outside opinions as well. They don’t know him the way I do. I’ve spent almost a year learning how he communicates, learning to read between the lines. There is so much more in the subtext than in his words. I know because I’m the same.

I need to stop rushing him. I get impatient. I want commitment now, but when I look back at how things have progressed, it’s clear that something is growing. He’s changed. He’s softer now. In the beginning, it was mostly about sex. Now, we talk about our work, our families, our dreams.

He told me about a once-in-a-lifetime trail ride he doesn’t think he’ll ever do. I told him about the ultra marathon I probably won’t run. He brags to his friends about my shows I've written. He recommends the things I use. We ask each other for advice. That’s not nothing. That’s something.

Maybe he needs more in-person time to feel safe. Maybe talking isn’t enough for him. But I want this. I want him. And when my head is clear, I can see how good this is—how good it could be. But when I spiral, when the doubt creeps in, I don’t know how to tell him. And I think he might feel exactly the same.

I sure as shit hope I’m not wrong.