A few years ago, I found myself sitting across from yet another emotionally unavailable partner, wondering how I’d ended up here again.
The conversation felt eerily familiar. The distance. The defensiveness. The way they pulled away whenever I tried to get close.
I’d been through this pattern enough times to recognize it, but this time something clicked. I wasn’t attracting these people by accident. I was choosing them, over and over, because something in me recognized something in them.
That realization changed everything.
The patterns we don’t see are running the show
Most of us walk around with invisible templates for relationships, created long before we had any say in the matter.
Mine came from watching my mother’s emotional volatility clash with my father’s emotional absence. Without realizing it, I’d learned that love meant either too much or not enough. Never just right.
So when I met someone who kept me at arm’s length, something deep in my nervous system relaxed. This felt familiar. This felt like home.
The problem wasn’t that I had bad luck with people.
The problem was that I was unconsciously seeking out what felt normal, even when normal was unhealthy.
After my divorce at 34, I started therapy and began to see these patterns clearly for the first time. What I discovered shocked me. I wasn’t just attracting emotionally unavailable people. I was actively screening out the available ones.
When someone showed genuine interest and emotional presence, I’d find reasons to dismiss them. Too eager. Too intense. Too something.
My body knew how to navigate distance. It didn’t know what to do with closeness.
Your body already knows who you’ll choose
Here’s what nobody tells you about attraction: your body decides before your mind even gets involved.
Within seconds of meeting someone, your nervous system has already done a complex calculation. It’s scanning for familiar patterns, assessing threat levels, looking for what it knows how to handle.
If you grew up managing someone else’s emotions, you’ll feel strangely comfortable around people who need managing.
If chaos was your normal, stability might feel boring or even threatening.
If you had to earn love through achievement, you’ll be drawn to people whose approval feels just out of reach.
This isn’t conscious. You don’t wake up thinking, “I’d really like to recreate my childhood trauma today.” But your body has its own intelligence, and it’s always seeking what it knows.
Recently, I read Rudá Iandê’s book “Laughing in the Face of Chaos: A Politically Incorrect Shamanic Guide for Modern Life,” and one quote stopped me cold: “Your body is not just a vessel, but a sacred universe unto itself, a microcosm of the vast intelligence and creativity that permeates all of existence.”
This insight reminded me that my body wasn’t betraying me by choosing familiar patterns. It was trying to keep me safe the only way it knew how.
The question became: how do I teach it something new?
Why the “wrong” people feel so right
There’s a chemical component to all of this that’s worth understanding.
When we encounter someone who triggers our familiar patterns, our brain releases a cocktail of chemicals. Dopamine. Adrenaline. Cortisol.
It feels exciting. Electric. Like destiny.
Meanwhile, someone who’s actually good for us might trigger… nothing. No fireworks. No butterflies. No drama.
We mistake intensity for connection. We confuse anxiety for passion.
I spent years chasing that chemical high, thinking it meant something profound. In reality, I was just replaying old stories, hoping for different endings.
The healthy relationships I’d dismissed as boring weren’t boring at all. They were unfamiliar. My nervous system didn’t have a script for them, so it labeled them as wrong.
Think about your own patterns for a moment:
• Do you always end up with people who need fixing?
• Are you drawn to those who keep you guessing?
• Do stable, available people seem somehow less attractive?
• Does drama feel more real than peace?
These aren’t character flaws. They’re learned responses that once served a purpose.
Breaking the cycle requires getting uncomfortable
Changing these patterns isn’t comfortable.
When I started dating my now-husband, everything in me wanted to run. He was present. Consistent. Available.
My nervous system interpreted this as danger.
Where was the challenge? Where was the mystery? Where was the familiar dance of pursuit and withdrawal?
I had to sit with the discomfort of being seen. Of being chosen. Of not having to earn or perform for love.
Some days, I’d create drama just to feel normal again. I’d pick fights over nothing, test boundaries, push him away to see if he’d chase.
He didn’t chase. He stayed steady.
That steadiness eventually became my new normal, but it took conscious effort to not sabotage it along the way.
The work isn’t just about choosing different people. It’s about becoming someone who can receive what you say you want.
The real work happens in the mirror
Here’s the truth that changed everything for me: the common denominator in all my relationship patterns was me.
Not in a self-blaming way. In an empowering way.
If I was the one making these choices, I was also the one who could make different ones.
This meant looking at what I was bringing to these dynamics. My people-pleasing. My conflict avoidance. My tendency to abandon myself to keep others comfortable.
I had to learn what boundaries felt like in my body. Not just the concept of boundaries, but the actual physical sensation of holding my ground when someone pushed against my limits.
I had to practice disappointing people. Saying no. Taking up space.
As Rudá writes in his book, “Their happiness is their responsibility, not yours.”
That line gave me permission to stop managing everyone else’s emotions and start attending to my own.
The more I did this work, the less appealing unavailable people became. Not because I was trying to want different things, but because I was becoming different.
Final thoughts
The people you attract aren’t random. They’re mirrors, reflecting back something you need to see or heal or understand about yourself.
This doesn’t mean you’re broken or that everything is your fault.
It means you have more power than you think.
Every relationship, even the difficult ones, carries information. The question is whether you’re willing to receive it.
Start paying attention to your body’s responses. Notice who makes you feel calm versus activated. Question why certain traits feel so magnetic while others feel flat.
Get curious about your patterns without judging them.
The goal isn’t to never make another relationship mistake. It’s to make more conscious choices, even when those choices feel uncomfortable or unfamiliar.
You’re not attracting the wrong people because the universe is against you.
You’re attracting them because some part of you recognizes them, needs them, or believes you deserve them.
Change that inner landscape, and watch how the outer one shifts in response.
What pattern are you ready to finally see?
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