Why You Keep Pushing People Away (or Clinging Too Hard): A Real Talk About Attachment Styles

If you’ve ever thought, “Why do I always pick the wrong people?” or “Why do I pull away when things start to feel real?”; welcome. You’re not broken, you’re human. And somewhere along the way, your early experiences taught you what to expect (or fear) from closeness. That pattern? That’s your attachment style. It’s not your fault. But it is your responsibility.

There are three main styles I want to talk about today—secure, anxious, and avoidant. And before you start diagnosing your ex or your situationship from 2014, pause. This is about you. We can’t control what others do, but we can learn how we show up in relationships, and more importantly, why.

Let’s start with secure attachment. This is the goalpost. These folks can get close without panicking and give space without feeling abandoned. They don’t ghost or chase. They communicate, hold boundaries, and trust others without constant anxiety. If that sounds like a fairytale to you, you’re not alone.

Anxious attachment often develops when love felt inconsistent. Maybe a caregiver was there sometimes—affectionate on Tuesday, cold on Wednesday. So now, you might constantly wonder if your partner is mad, replay texts in your head, or spiral when someone takes a little too long to reply. You're not needy—you’re scared. And that fear shows up as over-functioning in relationships: clinging, people-pleasing, self-sacrificing. You’re trying to earn the love you never got reliably.

Avoidant attachment, on the other hand, comes from early environments where emotional needs weren’t met or were outright dismissed. Love felt dangerous or smothering, so now closeness feels threatening. You might pride yourself on independence, but if you bolt whenever someone gets too close or write people off for “just not being chill enough,” you’re not free—you’re in survival mode.

Here’s the kicker: anxious and avoidant folks often find each other. One wants more connection, the other wants less. Cue the chase, the withdrawal, the endless loop of frustration. You don’t want this. But without examining the roots, you’ll just keep rehearsing the same script with different actors.

So what helps?

1.     Awareness. Start by naming your pattern. This isn’t woo-woo journaling about your feelings (though, fine, it can help). It’s noticing your responses, your fears, your reflexes when someone gets close—or pulls away.

2.     Self-regulation. Learn how to sit with discomfort without reacting impulsively. If you’re anxious, don’t send the third “just checking in” text. If you’re avoidant, don’t ghost because someone asked how your day was.

3.     Stop blaming your childhood... and also, start there. We can’t change it, but we can understand how it shaped us. That’s where the real work begins.

Let’s be honest. Reading this won’t rewire your nervous system. Insight helps, but it’s not a magic bullet. To really change, you’re going to need support—someone who can hold up a mirror without flinching, who won’t let you squirm out of discomfort, but also won’t judge you for having it.

That’s therapy. Not a rescue mission. Not a hand to hold forever. A place where you learn how to hold yourself—securely.

Ready to stop repeating the same story? Good. Let’s write a new one.