My Love,
I’ve written and rewritten this letter more times than I care to admit. Every attempt comes with fear—fear of being too much, too emotional, too needy. But avoiding what’s real hasn’t helped either. And I know I need to be honest—not just for you, but for me, and for the health of our relationship.
Loving you has brought out both the best and the most fragile parts of me. When things are good between us, I feel grounded, safe, and deeply connected. But when there’s distance—even a small one—I feel the weight of insecurity creep in. That’s the reality of being anxiously attached: a constant tug-of-war between love and fear, closeness and panic.
I know I often seek reassurance, and at times it probably feels like it’s never enough. I notice every pause in conversation, every delayed text, every shift in tone—and my mind fills in the blanks with stories of rejection or disconnection. It’s exhausting for both of us, I know.
This anxiety isn’t because of you. It’s rooted in earlier experiences—moments where love felt uncertain, where safety was inconsistent. But even though the origin is in the past, the impact shows up here, in the present. In us.
I’ve often felt ashamed of how much I crave closeness, how deeply I feel, and how quickly I fear being abandoned. But I’m learning that these reactions come from a nervous system wired for protection—not because I’m broken, but because I learned to survive by scanning for danger in relationships. And now, I want to learn a new way. With you.
I want to move beyond anxious attachment and into a more secure, grounded version of love. I want to regulate my emotions more effectively, to self-soothe, and to stop needing constant external validation to feel secure. I want to show up in this relationship with confidence and clarity, not just fear and need.
That doesn’t mean I don’t need you. I do. I need your presence, your patience, your understanding. I don’t expect perfection—but I do long for consistency, reassurance, and emotional safety. When you lean in instead of pulling away, it helps me calm the storm inside. When you let me know you’re here—even in silence—it builds trust.
We come from different emotional blueprints. I tend to reach in when I feel uncertain. You may need space when things feel intense. This dance is hard, but I believe we can learn new steps—together.
Thank you for loving me through the chaos. Thank you for staying when it might have been easier to leave. Every moment of connection means the world to me.
This letter is more than an expression of love—it’s a commitment to growth, healing, and becoming more secure in how I love and relate. I’m learning. I’m trying. And I’ll keep showing up.
With love and hope,
Joree
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