Is He the One Who Can’t Do Intimacy？ Or Are YOU？

Being avoidant in relationships isn’t only the obvious signs — refusing to commit, swinging between warmth and coldness, disappearing when conversations about commitment start. You might not notice this, but if you keep falling for people like that, you’re avoiding closeness too — just in your own way. So what happens when two people who fear intimacy end up head over heels? Today’s letter comes from a woman named Nelly, who writes: Dear Anna, I’m in a baffling situation with someone I used to be friends with. We met fifteen years ago as college freshmen. I’ll pick out a few things to revisit, but here’s my story. Back then, because of my cPTSD, any attention made me uneasy. I tended to rush into sexual encounters without thinking, then shut down at the first sign of emotional depth; if someone rejected me, I’d suddenly chase them. With him it felt different — at least I thought it was just friendship. He liked me but didn’t say so, and I felt safe because he never pressed. After the semester he returned to his home country; over the next year and a half we emailed or video-called now and then, once even including his family. I still believed we were only friends, even though he occasionally told me he missed me and called me beautiful — it simply didn’t register. Two years later, after a stretch without contact, he messaged to say he was visiting my country for the holidays, but I was wrapped up in life and missed it until meeting was impossible. Fast forward ten years: I’m married to a decent man I care about, but I never felt a deep bond with him. In part, I chose him because a closer connection scared me; I thought a more ordinary relationship would avoid triggering my trauma. My husband and I were in therapy over our incompatibility and lack of intimacy and discussing separation when this former friend reappeared. I reached out to apologize for not being a better friend years ago; that’s when he admitted he’d always liked me and still thought of me. He said his plan when he came here had been to bring me back with him — which I assumed meant a proposal — and the idea that this could be true love lit me up. He mentioned having a girlfriend who was having relationship problems and said a future together wasn’t on the table. I tried to set boundaries, but he began complimenting and flirting, and I gave in. We crossed a line and had a sexual encounter over video chat. Once I remembered that he had a girlfriend, I suggested we stop the sexual stuff for now and just be friends; he replied with one or two words agreeing. Later I mentioned I’d be visiting his country in a few months and would love to meet if he was available. He seemed receptive. I told him about my traumatic childhood and why I hadn’t seen his feelings before, and I told him I’d shared what happened with my husband and that we were finalizing our separation, so I’d be free to see him then. After that, he vanished — no replies. I begged him, sent many messages asking what was happening and what he was thinking, but silence crushed me. Months later I saw online that he’d moved to the same city as his girlfriend, so I wrote one last time to say I respected his decision but wanted to understand what had happened. He briefly confirmed he’d moved and was engaged to her. I told him if he was happy I was glad for him. He explained his disappearance by saying he still liked me and thought of me but felt our video call was dangerous and didn’t want to repeat it. I was bewildered: I still had feelings for him, yet knew things could get messy. I asked if he thought his fiancée was the one; he said he thought so but hinted at problems, then suggested we meet up. The flirting resumed and I got swept in, then the next day he pulled away — cold and brief. I never had the chance to tell him I wouldn’t build anything with him if it had to be secret or if it would hurt someone else; he cut me off again. I decided to contact his fiancée and tell her the truth. It felt like a risk, but she replied kindly and thanked me, saying he’d betrayed her before. He tried to defend himself by accusing me of lying: he’d made a fake profile pretending to be me and messaged himself as me to create a sense of fate, and when his fiancée saw through the fake message she left him. One of his explanations, given to both her and me, was that his messages this year were trickery and payback for my not paying attention to him when he’d previously visited my country. I felt both hurt and bewildered, as if I were being punished. Despite his lies, betrayal, and awful behavior, I can’t seem to let him go. A part of me holds onto the idea that he was the love I missed out on, even though I recognize that’s problematic. I’m doubting my choices and my judgment. I hope you can offer clarity, wisdom, or guidance. Thank you, Nelly. Alright, Nelly — let’s unpack this. Your history shows you were repelled by people who openly liked you and would rush into sex without considering emotional consequences, then retreat when connection appeared — a strong avoidant pattern. But when you then chase someone after rejection, that’s the anxious side. Together that makes an anxious–avoidant mix, one of the most challenging attachment profiles. In attachment theory terms, alongside secure attachment there are insecure types like avoidant, anxious, or a blend — and that’s what’s in play here. The man you liked seems to mirror this: he rushes in with romance and love-bombing, then retreats. That push–pull cycle — come close, pull back — means the relationship could never stabilize for long. You were close friends and he secretly liked you; that dynamic suited him because you weren’t pursuing him, and when he visited your country you didn’t notice his message because you weren’t waiting for him; you’d moved on with your life. Ten years later, you married a good man but without deep feeling, which is common when avoidance governs your choices: comfort and safety can feel preferable to the risk of intense connection. The good news is this can be healed. People can learn a middle ground with partners who stay while helping them manage trauma wounds. Often these avoidant patterns stem from early trauma, and you admitted you chose your husband partly to avoid triggers. You said you were in counseling and then reached out to this older friend to apologize — that move, while understandable emotionally, likely sabotaged the work you were doing in therapy. Reaching out to someone from your past while discussing separation felt like creating an escape route; that’s a common impulse for anxious–avoidant people who fear being alone but also fear closeness. When he told you he’d always liked you, he became an option — a possible way out — which is tempting in that moment. But do not assume intentions: you took his remark about bringing you back to his country to mean a proposal. That’s a leap; a proposal is explicit. You lit up at the fantasy of true love, and he told you he had a girlfriend who was having problems. You tried to impose boundaries, but when he began flattering and flirting, you gave in and eventually had a sexual encounter. If you haven’t heard this before: once there’s been sexual contact between two people where one is involved with someone else, “just friends” is rarely realistic and often harmful, especially for someone with trauma. Being complicit in someone else’s betrayal damages you too; you become part of the harm. It’s not your job to manage or fix someone else’s relationship problems. That behavior revealed his character. You later mentioned visiting his country; it reads like you were hoping to engineer a meeting. It’s okay to admit that motive to yourself — honesty matters for healing. After you told him you’d be free because of your separation, he disappeared. In your mind you might have believed a mutual romance was about to start — enough to justify leaving your marriage and trying to “rescue” him — but if someone is already in a relationship, especially a vulnerable one, stepping in is the worst timing. If the other couple is dealing with difficulties, they need space to work through them, not an outsider fueling temptation. When he ghosted you, it was cruel, but also the right boundary: continuing emotional contact with someone who’s committed would have been a slippery slope. You were devastated to be cut off, and later learned he’d moved and become engaged. He told you he still thought about you and found the video call dangerous yet tempting — a classic ambivalent message designed to keep you close. You felt confused — a normal reaction to cognitive dissonance when someone’s words and actions conflict. You asked if his fiancée was “the one”; he hedged, implied problems, and suggested meeting up, flirting again, then withdrew. That push–pull pattern hooked you. You say you never got the chance to tell him you wouldn’t build something secretive or hurtful, but the truth is that you were participating: arranging meetings, planning a trip while married, and maintaining contact with someone who was unavailable. Healing requires brutal honesty with yourself: you were trying to re-create a chance at him. Reaching out to his fiancée to tell her the truth is something I wouldn’t recommend; it’s a fraught choice. In your case she responded graciously and thanked you, saying he’d betrayed her before. He tried to deflect by accusing you of lying, even creating a fake profile to fabricate a “fated” message, which she saw through and that contributed to the breakup. He also told both of you that his contact was a form of trickery or revenge for your past inattention — which reads like a manipulative excuse. You felt punished, but actually you were collateral damage: his selfish, impulsive sexual behavior and deception hurt both women. Now to the core struggle: despite his lies and mistreatment, you can’t let him go and keep convincing yourself he was the missed love. That’s painfully common with attachment wounds: when someone who’s inconsistent withdraws, your longing spikes and you romanticize what could have been. Your logic sees the problem, and your heart clings anyway. The clear guidance is: your judgment was right about the danger — end contact and cut ties. This man caused real disruption in your life, harmed another woman, and lies; staying connected will only prolong the harm. Don’t contact him again. You and he are both trauma-affected, and this pattern won’t turn into a healthy relationship simply because you want it to. If you want to repair what’s left of your marriage, or at least to stop this recurring hurt, seek help for your attachment wound. Therapy can teach you practical skills to regulate the urge to flee or to chase, and to build safer closeness with others. There are various resources — therapy, support groups, structured programs — that can help you understand these drives and calm the panic that makes you run toward impossible love. This man won’t be the cure. Whether you try to salvage your marriage is a separate decision, but I strongly urge you to get professional support: healing these patterns is possible and worth the effort. If anyone watching recognizes these signs — difficulty tolerating closeness because of past trauma — you aren’t alone; there are tools and support available to help you change how you relate and stop repeating this painful cycle. Goodbye for now, and take care.