Gotta Push Before They Pull
I do not mean to be hard to love, but I am the queen of pushing people away. Especially the people who make me feel something real.
I realized something recently: sometimes my body recognizes safety before my mind does.
For example, I hate being the passenger in a car. I prefer to drive myself because when someone else is driving, my entire body is usually tense. My throat tightens, I stomp imaginary brakes, and I struggle to relax.
So when I notice myself calm in someone else’s passenger seat… when my body relaxes instead of panicking… that means something. It means some part of me feels safe.
And that is usually the exact moment my mind starts trying to ruin it.
I start searching for reasons to run.
Reasons they are wrong for me.
Reasons I should not trust it.
Reasons I should push them away before they can hurt me.
The truth is, I do not push people away because I feel nothing.
I push people away because I feel too much.
Sometimes people who have survived hurt, betrayal, manipulation, abandonment, or instability struggle when something feels real because our nervous systems learned that closeness can become pain. So when safety finally shows up, it can actually feel terrifying.
And maybe someone else out there needs to hear this too:
You are not “crazy” for struggling with vulnerability.
You are not broken because your first instinct is to cut and run.
Sometimes your body is still trying to protect versions of you that did not feel safe before.
But I am learning that not every soft moment is a trap.
Not every calm feeling is something I need to destroy before it destroys me.
Maybe healing is learning to stop running from the people who make your nervous system finally breathe.
From my own experiences, I've noticed that pushing people away often stems not from indifference but from an overwhelming fear of getting hurt. It's like your body remembers all the times it was unsafe, even when your mind tries to accept a new reality. One thing I found helpful was practicing mindfulness to notice physical signs of tension, like a tight throat or clenched fists, especially in moments of closeness. By acknowledging these sensations without judgment, I began to understand that my body was trying to protect me from past pain. Safety doesn’t have to be rushed. For me, small moments of calm, such as sitting as a passenger with a trusted friend, became signs that healing was possible. Every time I allowed myself to stay in that feeling instead of immediately searching for reasons to escape, I built resilience against old fears. Additionally, talking openly with someone I trust about my fears helped externalize those worries and dismantle their power. Understanding that vulnerability is not a weakness but a courageous step toward genuine connection transformed my outlook. If you recognize this pattern in yourself, remember that the hesitation is part of the healing process. Your nervous system is adjusting, learning that not every closeness leads to pain. Healing is about patience—patiently sitting with discomfort and choosing connection over flight. Over time, those moments where your body finally feels safe will outweigh the impulse to push away. You are not alone in this; many of us are learning how to stop running and start breathing in the softness of real relationships.
