When Absence Feels Like Abandonment (But Doesn’t Have To)

Let’s talk about a common but often unspoken rift in relationships: one partner goes away—maybe it’s for a work trip, a weekend with friends, or just an unusually long workday—and everything feels fine to them. They still feel close. They’re still "with you," even when they’re not physically there. Meanwhile, the other partner is spinning out. They’re refreshing text messages, mentally drafting 14 versions of “Hey, just checking in,” and wondering if something’s wrong.

This mismatch isn't about who loves more or who's "too sensitive." It’s about different internal wiring around connection. One person feels securely tethered, even with space. The other feels unmoored when there’s a gap in contact. And then the real fun begins.

Instead of asking for reassurance outright—because heaven forbid, we appear “needy”—the anxious partner might try to stay cool. But that cool turns into passive comments, picking fights, or shutting down altogether. They’re hoping the other person will magically get it and bridge the gap. Spoiler: they usually don’t.

Here’s the kicker: both people are usually acting from a place of care. The independent one thinks, “We’re solid, I don’t need to check in constantly.” The anxious one thinks, “If I ask for what I need, they’ll think I’m clingy, and that might push them away.” So, both partners are trying not to rock the boat… and meanwhile, the boat is quietly sinking.

Why does this happen?

It often ties back to attachment styles—those deep, early-formed templates that tell us how safe it is to rely on others. If you learned early on that love can disappear without warning, then a lack of contact feels like danger. If you learned that love is reliable and doesn’t need constant checking, you’re probably baffled why your partner’s mood changes just because you took too long to text back.

Can this be resolved? Yes. But not by wishful thinking or biting your tongue until resentment forms a second personality. It requires two things: awareness and communication. And, usually, a third thing: therapy.

Here’s how we’d work on it in therapy:

We’d explore what each partner needs, without judgment. This isn’t about who’s right or wrong—it’s about understanding different nervous systems and building a shared language. We’d unpack the old scripts driving current behaviour. Who taught you to equate asking for connection with weakness? Who taught you to treat silence as peace? We’d create practical rituals for staying connected during separations—without turning the relationship into a job or a minefield.

You don’t have to keep walking on eggshells to protect each other from discomfort. That’s not intimacy—that’s performance. The real connection comes when both people feel seen, not just tolerated.

If you’re tired of the guessing games and the weird, silent tension that creeps in every time one of you walks out the door, maybe it’s time to stop DIY-ing your relationship. Let’s do the real work together. It's not always fun, but it’s honest—and it actually gets you somewhere.