186. Feeling lopsided and lovesick

08 Dec, 2024

Things are getting better. I've been getting a lot of bear blog penpal emails about how I'm doing and it's really nice to see. I appreciate the uplifting messages about my break up.

There's a part of me of thinking that perhaps I'm being melodramatic. I'm kinda going through it, but I don't want to be overacting. I was told that that my blog posts are "quite even-keeled imo" I dunno man. I'm simply fine and busying myself. Emotionally and mentally, things are much nicer, but yes - grief does come in waves.

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"Learn in Public" is the practice of openly sharing your learning journey, whether you're mastering a skill, exploring a subject, or grappling with personal challenges. Instead of keeping your process private, you turn your notes, experiments, and reflections into blog posts, tweets, videos, or other public content. The idea is to grow not just through your efforts but by inviting feedback, collaboration, and accountability from a wider community.

I'm currently trying to turn my pain into purpose. There's a pretty isolating and heavy feeling in my heart currently. I guess writing about it through the lens of learning transforms it into a shared human experience. I don't want to ruminate in private anymore. Plus, a lot of people have wrote to me about how they've seen pieces of themselves in my story and feel less alone. It's nice to hear about them.

I really think that these connections bring a lot of perspectives that I haven't really considered before. Writing about it also demands that I process the feelings more thoughtfully, since turning this raw anger and feelings about this whole ordeal forces me to create a space for clarity and closure.

"Learn in public" isn't just about the destination. It's about celebrating the small wins and the setbacks. Currently, the blog is a mix of relationship reflections, new hobbies, self-improvement experiments - but most of all, just my personal milestones. I just want to rediscover joy and excitement in all areas of life.

I’ve noticed a pattern of me often seeking out emotionally unavailable people. To be honest, I usually am able to detect the early signs of avoidance. I even doubled down and read more into attachment styles, recommended to me by misu, who has been reading books about it and got me into them this year ¹.

Sometimes the signs are amiss and you don't really see it until you get more privy to their life and how they are as a person. Sometimes, when you're really in the relationship with them after a couple of months, a couple of years, sometimes people change. Sometimes I think I convince myself I can change them, which is probably the worst trap of all. There’s this quiet sense of superiority in believing your love or patience will unlock someone else’s walls. It’s noble in theory, but exhausting in practice.

I try not to get back into that "I can fix him!" mindset, but when you disillusion yourself with gushy rom coms and real romantic stories from friends and family of overcoming the impossible (whether it be religious ties, international borders, or complicated personal development), you just have a glimmer of hope in your eyes and really truly think that love can prevail.

In my last relationship, the signs were there. They weren’t blaring traffic lights or ambulance-sound level red flags, more like faint whispers, mostly hushing down a tendency to deflect vulnerability, or a habit of shutting down instead of leaning in. It wasn't that he was a bad person, he even said it himself when we were mid-breaking up, "I really feel bad for you Kayla, trying to get me to open up is like pulling blood from a rock..." At first, I brushed it off. I was thinking that everyone needs time to feel safe. Over time, the avoidance became a weight, one that I kept trying to carry for both of us and was happy to bear it, because we were long distance after all.

I’d ask questions, share my feelings, try to open the door to real conversations, and all I’d get back was silence or surface-level answers. Usually, after me being a bit more emotional than usual (I hate having to yell and get annoyed), then it gets the ball moving. My calm words aren't as effective as my hot tears I guess.

I told myself I could handle it. I’ve always been the steady one, usually. Most of my ex boyfriends disagree though, but they've always been the stoic type that get sudden emotional outbursts when things get a bit too intense. Why is it bad to be “emotionally-intense”? I’ve been told that I’m a highly sensitive person, but I feel like I’m pretty level-headed most of the time… I just got a lot of feelings to feel, but it takes a while for me to process the emotion and express it on my face.

I have always thought that I could create the space, hold the silence, wait for him to meet me there. But the thing is, a relationship isn’t about holding space alone. It’s about stepping into it together, and he just wouldn’t. Nobody would. I'm confused.

The imbalance tipped me over for a bit. There's only so much you can give when you're not getting anything back.

It’s not the first time this has happened. I’ve been in enough relationships to recognize this pattern now- the emotional unavailability, the lopsided effort, the eventual exhaustion. Every conversation about the future, feelings, about me and the other person, about anything of substance felt like I was Sisyphus towing an emotional boulder uphill. La lutte elle-même vers les sommets suffit à remplir un cœur d'homme; il faut imaginer Sisyphe heureux ² . I'm not saying that I'm perfect - very far from it. I learned something the hard way, I can’t share a life with someone who can’t match my emotional intelligence. It’s exhausting trying to bridge that gap all the time.

Catching Up with Sisyphus By Jason Adam Katzenstein | The New Yorker

This time, I’ve finally started asking the hard questions: Why do I keep choosing this? Why do I think I can fix it? And why does it take so much heartbreak to finally admit that I can’t?

I learned that people’s emotional patterns often have roots much deeper than the present relationship. I started recognizing my own tendencies, my own need for connection and reassurance, and how those needs sometimes lead me to people who can’t or won’t give them back. It’s a humbling realization.

There are a lot of reasons why me or others get involved with a lot of emotionally unavailable people. In my experience, somehow I fall back to old habits of consistently choosing people who resonates my trauma. Everyone drops a hint on first date about their mental health and the emotional availability, I just need to pay attention. It doesn't even have to be a verbal hint either - it's in the way they react to small things, the way they avoid certain topics, how they guard their feelings like a fortress. I truly think a part of me likes the challenge, or maybe it's more like I convince myself that I can be the one that makes things better.

It's just me repeating a pattern I haven't quite shaken off yet. I know the signs because to me, it feels safer to go after someone who doesn’t need me emotionally, someone I don’t have to risk my own vulnerability with. The hardest part isn’t the absence of emotional availability; it's the realization that I’ve been hoping for change, where maybe no change is possible. And that’s where I end up disappointed every time.

This is a cycle I’ve gotten used to, but there’s also a part of me that feels a little bit tired of it. Why do I keep trying to convince myself that this time will be different? I have a tendency to romanticize the possibility of someone changing, of them coming around when they’ve been given enough space, enough understanding. But truth is, emotional availability doesn’t just happen through patience and empathy because it’s something that comes from within. You can’t fix it. You can’t heal it for someone else.

The grass really isn't always greener. I fell into the classic trap of wondering, "what if there really is someone better out there?" it's such a seductive thought and the idea that somewhere, just around the corner is someone who will magically get it right. I absolutely hate it when a man breaks up with me and says the canned bit of "you'll find someone who deserves you!". It's such bs. That kind of thinking is truly a cop-out. It's a way of avoiding the real work of understanding what went wrong.

The grass isn't greener on the other side. It's greener where you water it. What a cliche, but like most cliches, it's rooted in truth. Barry Schwartz’s Paradox of Choice makes a good case for this. The more options we have, the harder it is to make a decision, and the more we second-guess the ones we do make. It’s exhausting and unproductive, and it pulls us away from the present moment.

Sure, statistically speaking, there might be "better" people out there - like, funnier, smarter, more good-looking, more emotionally-available. What's the actual point of thinking like that. If you're always looking over the fence, you'll never actually tend to your own patch of grass.

I've spent a lot of time reflecting these days. I take walks at sunset and run a lot at sunrise. I've sat with uncomfortable answers. It's not really about finding someone "better", it's just finding someone right. It's so hard finding someone to stand in the messy middle without flinching, without running away like a coward.

If that person doesn't come along, I'm okay with that too. I'm just watering my own grass and growing something wonderful just for myself. The irony of all this is that the more I focus on understanding myself, the more peace I've found in my own company.

~ putting my emotional baggage on display rn,

<3 K

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