For a while, I felt a quiet shame about being drawn to my therapist. I thought it was romantic attraction — maybe even something inappropriate. But when we explored it, I realised it wasn’t really about romance. It was about care. She showed a level of attunement I hadn’t felt in a long time — or maybe ever. And my body didn’t know how to file it. So it filed it under “attraction.”

I remember feeling something similar with a girl at college. She gave me some small gifts, a little sense of safety — and I started building a future with her in my head. She had kids. I imagined stepping into that life. Not because I truly wanted it, but because a part of me was starved. Starved of emotional safety, of being met. And when someone gave me even a fraction of it, I mistook it for something deeper.

Maybe I was attracted to her character. Maybe not so much her physically. But it felt worth exploring. And I’ve started to see that there’s no shame in that. I was trying to meet a need. That’s not shameful — it’s human.

Lately I’ve noticed something else: when I analyse before I feel, I get confused. I intellectualise. I loop. But when I let myself feel first, and then gently reflect on it, things make more sense. That order matters. Feel → then analyse. Not the other way around.

I don’t need to be ashamed of seeking safety. I don’t need to punish myself for moments of longing or projection. They’re just signals. They tell me what I need. And they’re leading me — slowly, awkwardly — toward something more secure, more real, and more mutual.

It’s not about finding the perfect person. It’s about learning what safety actually feels like… and trusting that I’ll recognise the difference between survival bonds and true connection — when it comes.