One of the most revealing moments in my journey through love, loss, and self-discovery came in a therapy session with my ex-husband, Mark. The therapist asked us a simple but profound question:

“What makes you feel safe?”

Without hesitation, I answered: “A relationship.”

Mark, equally certain, responded: “Being alone.”

That moment hit me like a freight train. It was such a stark contrast, so deeply telling of why we could never make it work. It was also a moment of realization—not just about Mark, but about myself, about love, and about the way people define safety in relationships.

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For me, safety meant connection, partnership, and emotional intimacy. It meant knowing that someone was there, that I could rely on them, that I didn’t have to navigate life alone. Love, to me, was a sanctuary—a place to rest, recharge, and feel truly understood.

For Mark, safety was distance. It was being self-sufficient, not relying on anyone, avoiding the vulnerability of deep emotional entanglement. Safety for him wasn’t about being held—it was about being free.

Neither of us was wrong. We just weren’t right for each other.

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Looking back, I now understand that this moment in therapy was a perfect reflection of our fundamental attachment styles.

• I craved connection—not in a desperate or needy way, but because love, to me, is about building a life together. I thrive in deep emotional partnerships, where openness and vulnerability create an unshakable foundation.
• Mark craved space—not because he didn’t care, but because deep intimacy felt like suffocation. He needed room to breathe, to be alone, to not feel tied down by emotional responsibility.

This difference isn’t unique to just Mark and me. It’s a classic dynamic between people with different attachment styles—where one finds safety in closeness, and the other finds safety in solitude.

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When one person equates closeness with safety, and the other equates distance with safety, the relationship inevitably becomes a silent tug-of-war.

• The person who needs connection may constantly seek reassurance, wanting to deepen the bond.
• The person who needs space may start to feel overwhelmed, pulling away to protect their independence.
• The more one reaches, the more the other retreats.

I experienced this firsthand. No matter how much I reassured Mark that I didn’t want to control him, that I wanted a partnership, not ownership—he still felt trapped. And the more he pulled away, the more I felt abandoned.

This cycle doesn’t mean either person is wrong, but it does mean that the relationship becomes a battleground of conflicting needs.

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I used to believe that love could bridge any gap. That if two people cared for each other enough, they could find a way to meet in the middle.

But now I realize that love isn’t enough when core needs are fundamentally incompatible.

Mark could never “love me more” into feeling safe in solitude.
I could never “love him more” into feeling safe in deep emotional connection.

No amount of therapy, communication, or effort could change the fact that we felt safe in opposite realities.

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There’s a certain peace in realizing that not all love stories are meant to last.

Mark and I weren’t doomed because we didn’t love each other. We were doomed because what made me feel safe made him feel trapped. And what made him feel safe made me feel abandoned.

For a long time, I tried to fight that truth, convincing myself that with enough patience, enough conversations, enough time, I could make it work.

But the healthiest relationships aren’t about forcing compatibility—they’re about recognizing when two people just don’t align and having the courage to walk away.

And so, I did.

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If someone asked me today what makes me feel safe, I would still say a relationship.

But now, I know that it’s not just any relationship—it has to be with someone who feels safe in the same way I do. Someone who values emotional intimacy, shared experiences, and deep connection.

Someone who won’t feel smothered by closeness, but who will thrive in it.

Mark will likely always seek safety in solitude. And I hope he finds it.

But I will no longer fight for love that feels like an uphill battle.

Because now I know: the right relationship won’t feel like a fight at all.