There was a stretch of time where I became excellent at almost-dating.
You know the kind. Long text threads. Movie nights with tension. Lingering eye contact and flirty emojis. They’d ask, “Where is this going?” and I’d shrug like a human question mark. Not because I was playing it cool. Because I genuinely didn’t know — or worse, didn’t want to know.
I told myself I was just busy. Or picky. Or "focusing on myself." But in the quiet moments, when no one was watching, I was left with an itch I couldn’t quite name. I wanted closeness — but only the kind I could control.
Eventually, a friend said it out loud: “You say you want love, but do you even have room for it?”
That landed hard. Because here's the thing nobody tells you: emotional unavailability isn’t just something that happens to you. Sometimes, you’re the one doing it.
When we talk about emotional unavailability, we tend to picture the classic avoidant archetype: aloof, non-committal, allergic to intimacy. But it’s rarely that obvious. Sometimes it hides in busyness, perfectionism, or casual vibes that stretch into nowhere.
Sometimes, it looks like someone who sincerely wants love — but flinches when it actually shows up.
That’s the paradox: many emotionally unavailable people crave connection deeply. They’re not heartless. They’re just… guarded. Over-cautious. Wired for emotional self-preservation.
And often, they don’t even know they’re doing it.
It’s not about oversharing on the first date or writing long captions about your childhood wounds.
It’s about being willing — and able — to show up emotionally present. To stay in hard conversations without shutting down. To risk being seen without knowing exactly how you’ll be received.
Psychologist Dr. Lindsey Gibson describes emotional availability as the ability to “connect authentically, tolerate emotional discomfort, and maintain closeness over time.”
It's not sexy. It’s not meme-worthy. But it’s the stuff intimacy is built on.
Let’s drop the facade. If any of these feel familiar, you're not broken — you're human. But also? You might be a little more closed off than you think.
Your crushes are always “bad texters,” “emotionally complex,” or “not in the right place right now.” Sound familiar?
You may subconsciously seek out people who are emotionally unavailable, because deep down, their distance matches your fear. It’s a convenient heartbreak — one you saw coming.
We often mirror what we’re comfortable with. Chasing the emotionally unavailable can feel safer than facing someone who actually wants you.
Feelings? Let’s analyze them to death. You’ve got the language. You’ve read the books. You can explain your trauma with PowerPoint-level clarity.
But when someone asks how you feel, you deflect with logic. You’re fluent in self-awareness — but intimacy? That’s a different dialect.
The talking stage. The slow burn. The flirting, the maybe, the almost. You’re amazing at the spark — but somewhere between “good morning texts” and “what are we?” you pull away.
Deep down, you know you love the chase more than the arrival. Because the arrival means being seen. And that’s scary as hell.
There’s nothing wrong with independence. But if you use it to justify never needing anyone — or refusing to let anyone in — it might be a mask.
Sometimes, we wear “independence” like armor. Because needing feels risky. Because softness feels unsafe.
Conflict makes you freeze. Vulnerability makes your chest tighten. When emotions get big, you get small — retreating into distraction, withdrawal, or sarcasm.
This isn’t just bad communication. It’s a nervous system stuck in survival mode.
You have full-blown daydreams about being loved, seen, chosen. But when someone actually likes you? You doubt it. Pick them apart. Self-sabotage. Or just feel... nothing.
Because the fantasy is safe. It can’t leave you. Real people can.
If this all sounds a little too close to home, don’t panic. Emotional unavailability is often a protective response, not a character flaw.
Maybe you grew up around inconsistency. Maybe love was something you earned, not something freely given. Maybe you were the fixer, the parentified kid, the one who learned early that emotions had to be managed or hidden.
You survived that. But now, in relationships, your survival skills are getting in the way of intimacy.
You’re not bad at love. You’re just better at protecting yourself.
Let’s be real — we live in an emotionally avoidant culture.
Dating apps gamify connection. Therapy-speak gets used as avoidance. Vulnerability is curated, not lived. We post about healing while ghosting people who cared too much.
It’s no wonder so many of us walk around longing for intimacy while staying an arm’s length away. We’ve been trained to fear the very thing we crave.
Add in capitalism, trauma, family dynamics, and mental health gaps, and suddenly emotional availability starts to feel like a luxury — one you have to fight for.
Yes. But not overnight. And not by forcing it.
You start by noticing. By staying present a second longer in conversations where you’d normally retreat. By naming your patterns without shaming them. By choosing someone who’s safe even when that safety feels unfamiliar.
You also stop lying to yourself about what you want. If you’re not ready for intimacy — really ready — that’s okay. But own it. Don’t drag someone else through your indecision.
I’ve ghosted people I liked. I’ve picked people who couldn’t love me back. I’ve chosen distance over closeness more times than I care to admit.
But I’ve also stayed. I’ve sat through hard conversations with my heart pounding. I’ve told the truth when it made my voice shake. I’ve let people see me, even when I wanted to bolt.
And maybe that’s what emotional availability really is: the willingness to stay open, even when every part of you wants to run.
You don’t have to be perfect. Just present. That’s where the intimacy lives.
