On being "unattached"

When, the other week, the professor in my Couples Therapy class asked us to introduce ourselves to the rest of the class by way of our relationship status, one of the words he used as a possibililty was "unattached." When it came around to me, I said, I'm single. Perhaps too single for my own good. (Although I'm not the only unmarried person in the class, I am the only one who is not involved in some way -- seriously dating, engaged, etc. -- with an "other.")

So I acknowledge that it's been a rough road for me, this single life, especially coming on the heels of a seven-year relationship. But it was in the readings for this week's class that I realized the depth of my lack of attachment. More than simply lacking a significant other as an attachment figure, I have absolutely no meaningful attachment figures -- described by Attachment Theorists primarily as "parents, children, spouses, lovers" -- in my life at all.

For those wondering what I mean by "attachment," psychologists define an attachment figure according to four features. It would be a person 1) with whom you seek and maintain physical proximity, 2) from whom you seek aid or comfort, 3) whose absence or separation from you causes you to feel some distress and 4) whom you use as a secure base for the exploration of the rest of your life.

These are well-established behaviors between children and their primary caregivers, but they are also the distinguishing features of intimate, committed relationships between adults. And, usually, there's sex involved in the latter type of relationship. At its core, such a relationship is one in which both partners allow the other to depend on them in some way.

Dependency is something of a dirty word, having been pathologized to the hilt in our culture. I am reminded in reading all this business of the urges within myself and some of my friends to believe that we can be self-sufficient, independent -- and that when we are lonely, it is personal shortcoming that I have heard described on more than one occasion as "something missing in our own company." (God, what *bullshit!*)

So maybe we prefer to describe our adult relationships as ones of "interdependency," which perhaps makes it look like we are "giving" something of ourself to another, but not necessarily admitting that we're not capable of total self-sufficiency.

Whatever the case, I don't have such a relationship. Nor do I have the other types of attachment relationships -- parents, children or even a lover -- that tend to sustain us, to give us a sense of connection, during those times when we are not attached to a significant other. (Yes, my parents are still alive, but they do not meet in any way, shape or form the four features of an attachment figure.)

According to the research, this leaves me without "protection from feelings of hopelessless and meaninglessness," which are major sources of anxiety and depression. It also has the potential to weaken my immune system and leaves me more susceptible to insanity, suicide and substance abuse/addiction.

I know. What an uplifting perspective!

But it explains a hell of a lot to me about what has been going on in my internal landscape for the past year.

Prior to my breakup with XGF, I felt considerably more confident about myself and my life than I have felt since parting ways. I have, many times on this blog, voiced insecurities and neurotic feelings that had not been a part of my life experience in many years. What has come to the surface has often felt unsettlingly childish to me -- it recalls the heart of the little girl I once was, seeking comfort from my dogs and stuffed animals in the absence of a trustworthy parent.

Beyond being psychologically traumatizing (as research shows the loss of adult attachment inevitably is), it has actually sometimes been a physically painful experience to find myself so unattached and feeling isolated in this swirling tide of humanity. I am fortunate to have a good friend or two who will dish up a hug -- and I am deeply grateful for the likes of S2, who has provided both aid and comfort in several ways, such as with my recent illness. But I have found that in moments of despair (crying over my aunt's terminal illness in the Kona airport, for example), neither the kindest of words nor the most powerful of self-soothing behaviors are a substitute for the simple act of having a loved one hold me. I cannot hold myself, no matter how hard I try.

Because I am a rather bold, amiable, adventurous spirit for the most part, the intensity of these feelings and the depth of my neuroticism over being "alone" has been both surprising and frustrating to me. Even as I have spoken and written rather openly about them, I have regarded them with an adversarial sense born of my own confusion. Essentially, I have been observing my own feelings, thoughts and even some of my behavior and constantly wondering: UCM! What the *fuck* is this about?! What the hell is going on here?

I don't know whether my closest friends (or my casual blog readers) have appreciated that particular nuance to my distress, but it has been an overwhelming, disorienting experience for me. The intensity of my feeling of loss and aloneness has been on par with the deepest grief I have known. And that has come as a shock.

But then, I'm reading all this business on adult attachment and the behaviors people engage just at the *fear* of losing it, and it becomes clear to me, suddenly, why I have felt the way I have. People fear losing their attachment figures for good reason. When you have NONE -- not a single one -- well ... words fail me.