One of the hardest feelings in the world: loving someone who, for whatever reason, is unable to love you the way you want to be loved. And you wouldn’t be holding on if there was nothing to hold onto. But they’re giving you something. Maybe it’s the familiarity and comfort of their company or the reassurance of their words. You know that the wisest thing to do is to let go but you’re not sure you could endure the pain. So you’re stuck in this limbo between not getting what you want and the fear of losing them forever.
There’s a lot of judgment toward people in situationships. On the surface, it looks like a really bad deal for one person, and it is. There are countless Tiktok videos making fun of this growing phenomenon. The shame of being in one can be socially isolating because people might think you’re not strong enough, that you lack self respect. But it’s not hard to understand why someone might enter into such an agreement against their better judgment. Attachment is a necessary part of survival: from the time we were young children, we learned to become attached to our primary caregiver. Later, our attachment shifted to a romantic partner. What’s particularly hard: a long, committed relationship devolving into a situationship after a breakup. In this scenario, it can feel impossible to let go because the attachment runs so deep.
It’s particularly painful when you think you share something special with someone, and they’re still dating other people. They like you a lot, they find you attractive, they feel emotionally connected to you—and yet, they simply cannot commit. I live in New York, so these types of men are notorious and plentiful. The way I’ve dealt with it in the past was through a healthy amount of self-delusion. For example, I’d think: He doesn’t know what he wants, so let him date other people, and eventually he’ll realize you were the best thing for him. My awareness that I was indulging in a bit of wishful thinking was what kept me grounded. If I truly believed that these men would 100% boomerang back to me, I would be waiting around indefinitely. Deluding yourself while being aware that you’re doing it is not a bad coping mechanism. But that’s all it is: a way to cope with a difficult situation, a mental hack.
I had a breakthrough recently while working with my ontological coach. He shone a light on something I couldn’t see because I was so fixated on trying to understand the psychology of another person. The realization was this: whatever I’m not getting from this person—whatever is causing that intense pain—is what I value and embody and provide in abundance. If a deep, committed love wasn’t important to me, then not receiving it wouldn’t hurt so much. What if the pain is so strong because you’re overwhelmed by your own capacity to love? What if the reason it hurts to see them date other people while sharing a special connection with you is because this behavior runs counter to everything you believe about love and how a person should be cared for in love? This idea was transformative. It was like someone held a mirror up to me and showed me that beneath all the pain and suffering was overwhelming beauty.
It’s easy to resent someone for not treating your love with care. If you’re able to love them fully and commit to them, you’re giving more than you’re getting. The last thing I want is for my unreturned feelings to calcify into resentment. I kept thinking, I just want to park my love somewhere safe. That’s all. I’m tired of driving around with this thing that’s so heavy. For the first time, I truly understood the sentiment in the Queen song “Somebody to Love.”
Once you realize that the fear of letting go of a person is so great because you’re not just afraid of losing that single individual, but of not experiencing your own capacity to love, which has become attached to that person, slowly, you can begin to pull back and appreciate the beauty of that love within your own soul
"...not experiencing your own capacity to love..."
This is one of the great tragedies of life, having a lot of love to give, but either having no one to give it to, or giving it to the wrong person (although 'wrong' might not be the best word here, I know) and then end up afraid to show it anyone else.
I've always been of the belief that our relationship with ourselves is reflected in our relationships with others. We draw upon the same reservoir of love, kindness, and care in both instances.
This statement really resonated: "I just want to park my love somewhere safe." To me, it underlies an even more primal need: to be seen, heard, acknowledged, accepted, understood, embraced.