“The sophisticated adult vanishes, leaving only the desperate child who knew that abandonment meant death.”
This is the mindset of an adult addicted to another person and seems similar to other chemical addictions. Fear of abandonment overrides rational thinking even while actual positive emotional bonding may not exist.
Thank you, Kathy. I love how you put that. You're so right—the fear of abandonment can mimic the grip of addiction, hijacking the nervous system in ways that feel almost chemical. It’s wild how the body can respond with such urgency and intensity even when the relationship itself isn’t nourishing or safe. I’ve been thinking a lot about how attachment wounding creates this paradox where the absence of true emotional bonding doesn't necessarily weaken the need, it can actually amplify it. That unmet longing becomes its own kind of fixation.
Yes. It amplifies the need. Like sucking from a straw in the desert.
I’ve been caught in this. Feels like a death trap where you keep trying to turn agony into something more but get more agony. It snowballs until something gives or collapses.
A friend once said, “ You can never get enough of what you don’t need.” I interpreted it as addictions will never satisfy. Always leave you wanting more. They’re devoid of actual human connection.
Exactly. The way you described it feels incredibly honest—trying to turn agony into something more and just ending up with more agony. And that quote from your friend is such a powerful one. It really captures the way certain patterns can keep us hooked, even when they’re the opposite of what we actually need.
Hi! This has been one of my favorite reads so far. This and your other article on the attachment theory have both been so interesting to me. Right before I had Sawyer and took a leave of absence from school, I had submitted a veryyy rough draft of my thesis. Basically, I was beginning to do clinical research on how pain in NICU infants can cause both short and long term neurological changes, and I was going to come up with an intervention to help improve those outcomes. I’m interested if physical pain (similarly to emotional trauma, as you researched) might have some overlap in either long or short terms effects.
Not sure if I will actually finish that degree and do that study lol! But the emotional changes you discussed that can come from infancy was very interesting! Thanks for sharing!
Thanks so much, Anna! Your thesis topic sounds fascinating. My hunch is that physical pain likely does cause long-term neurological changes, but that the real impact—similar to emotional trauma—may have more to do with whether the infant feels safe and protected from harm during such a vulnerable time. When that sense of safety is missing, it seems to shape the nervous system in lasting ways, altering how we perceive the world and relate to others. Would be really interesting to find out!
Thanks again for reading and for your thoughtful comment.
Beautiful writing, Rachel, as always. Cool timing for this one. Immediately made me think about a note I read yesterday about Anne of Green Gables, from Natasha Burge…
“There’s a moment in the first book when Marilla realizes that Anne - an orphan passed from house to house - has never known love. Anne herself says no one ever really wanted her. And Marilla sees that this absence of love is why Anne struggles to understand God.”
These early traumas we know in our bones can impact how we respond to people and also our views on something less specific to humans, like Faith. The idea of an all-loving deity might be a foreign concept, or perhaps worse, like what occurred with Finny and Gene, what we think is unconditional love ends up feeling like manipulation, at the hands of say, a church or clergy.
Thank you, Matt! I love this connection to Anne of Green Gables. That observation about Anne struggling to understand God because she’s never known love—it’s fascinating how our early experiences shape what feels possible or real in all aspects of love, including spiritual ones.
You’re right about how this plays out with faith. When you’ve learned early that love is conditional or dangerous, divine love can feel equally suspect. And that betrayal Gene experiences mirrors exactly what can happen in spiritual communities, where the very thing meant to heal sadly sometimes becomes another source of potential harm.
That Natasha Burge quote is going to stay with me. Thank you for bringing such thoughtful connections to these pieces.
‘We never stop believing that our survival depends on being loved.’ I spent some time at a Catholic charity hugging babies born to crack addicted mothers. In their bassinets they wriggled and jerked , impossible to console. When we lifted them and held them close the gradual calming of their bodies was a little miracle. Thanks for this piece. And I’m definitely going to reread A Separate Peace.
Judy, thank you for sharing such a beautiful and powerful story. I can feel in my bones what it must have been like to witness that gradual calming how the babies responded so completely to being held. Those little bodies knew exactly what they needed, didn't they? What incredible work you were doing there. Really appreciate you taking the time to read and share this with me, and I'd love to hear what you think of A Separate Peace on a reread!
You’ve done it again. How did you come into such a profound understanding of these principles that you can write with such precision and skill about them, expertly extracting lessons from the best human stories and mapping the essence of them with perfect clarity? It’s beyond good writing. You have either an innate gift or you’ve gone all the way to the bottom of your own shadow and pain and set the bone right.
Rick, your words are far too generous, but deeply appreciated. And I definitely haven’t set all my own bones right just yet ◡̈
What drives me is a relentless curiosity about what makes us who we are—especially the hidden patterns, the emotional undercurrents, and the ways we repeat or revise our earliest experiences. Tracing those threads through great stories is one of the few ways I’ve found to make sense of it all, and I get a lot of energy from spotting connections across different fields that don’t always seem related at first glance. Your steady encouragement truly means a lot. Thank you.
How do you keep on doing it, reaching through my intellectual detached curiosity and plucking a heart string. Maybe when you pluck your own it resonates like a tuning fork? Thanks
Thank you, Karl. These pieces always start from something that’s gotten under my own skin. Really appreciate you reading and letting me know this one connected ◡̈
Loved reading this piece, Rachel — and sorry that it’s been taking me a while to catch up on Substack and your great work (I am still behind due to the (beautiful) distractions of summer)!
Thank you for teaching me about the "defensive exclusion” mechanism. I hadn’t read about this yet, but it makes so much sense and have definitely felt—in hindsight—when it was at work in my own life.
Brigitte! Please don’t apologize for enjoying the beautiful distractions of summer. That’s exactly what you should be doing! I always appreciate seeing your name pop up in the comments, no matter when.
Defensive exclusion is such a fascinating mechanism, isn’t it? I’d love to dive deeper into it—there’s so much to explore about how we unconsciously shut out what feels too threatening to process.
Hope you’re soaking up every second of these summer days ◡̈
"We arrive in this world carrying one truth in the marrow of our bones: our survival depends on being loved." For many, that's a *painful* truth.
Question: When coming up with essay ideas, does a "fragment of humanity" enter your awareness and you then look for examples in literature? Or does an idea first come to you when you're reading a given work? It's likely more complicated than that -- just curious.
In any event, the end result, this essay and others I've read by you, is really impressive.
That's such a kind question, Larry! You've got it exactly right—something about being human piques my curiosity and then I find myself searching for the story that illuminates the science of it.
Thanks for asking such a thoughtful question and for reading!
Regardless of how you make the connections between a given aspect of humanity, the neuroscience behind it, and a story that illustrates the "fragment": Your ability to do this so effectively is a true gift. I always look forward to reading your insights.
My goodness, that first sentence! And: "we master the performance of self-sufficiency, wearing independence like armor." You've captured so well the emotional turbulence triggered when people we love - who love us (or are supposed to love us) - pull away or pass away. I had to pass this one on to a friend of mine who is dealing with the loss of several relationships, and it hit home to me as well. Once again, fine writing and exceptional use of a novel to bring life to the science.
Thank you so much for this, Catherine. It means a lot to know you shared this with your friend during such a difficult time—navigating multiple losses is so hard. I’m grateful and humbled if these words offered any bit of comfort or recognition.
Thank you for taking the time to let me know this connected with you both. Sending warmth to you and your friend.
“The sophisticated adult vanishes, leaving only the desperate child who knew that abandonment meant death.”
This is the mindset of an adult addicted to another person and seems similar to other chemical addictions. Fear of abandonment overrides rational thinking even while actual positive emotional bonding may not exist.
Super interesting piece.
Thank you, Kathy. I love how you put that. You're so right—the fear of abandonment can mimic the grip of addiction, hijacking the nervous system in ways that feel almost chemical. It’s wild how the body can respond with such urgency and intensity even when the relationship itself isn’t nourishing or safe. I’ve been thinking a lot about how attachment wounding creates this paradox where the absence of true emotional bonding doesn't necessarily weaken the need, it can actually amplify it. That unmet longing becomes its own kind of fixation.
I’m really glad this resonated with you.
Yes. It amplifies the need. Like sucking from a straw in the desert.
I’ve been caught in this. Feels like a death trap where you keep trying to turn agony into something more but get more agony. It snowballs until something gives or collapses.
A friend once said, “ You can never get enough of what you don’t need.” I interpreted it as addictions will never satisfy. Always leave you wanting more. They’re devoid of actual human connection.
Exactly. The way you described it feels incredibly honest—trying to turn agony into something more and just ending up with more agony. And that quote from your friend is such a powerful one. It really captures the way certain patterns can keep us hooked, even when they’re the opposite of what we actually need.
Hi! This has been one of my favorite reads so far. This and your other article on the attachment theory have both been so interesting to me. Right before I had Sawyer and took a leave of absence from school, I had submitted a veryyy rough draft of my thesis. Basically, I was beginning to do clinical research on how pain in NICU infants can cause both short and long term neurological changes, and I was going to come up with an intervention to help improve those outcomes. I’m interested if physical pain (similarly to emotional trauma, as you researched) might have some overlap in either long or short terms effects.
Not sure if I will actually finish that degree and do that study lol! But the emotional changes you discussed that can come from infancy was very interesting! Thanks for sharing!
Thanks so much, Anna! Your thesis topic sounds fascinating. My hunch is that physical pain likely does cause long-term neurological changes, but that the real impact—similar to emotional trauma—may have more to do with whether the infant feels safe and protected from harm during such a vulnerable time. When that sense of safety is missing, it seems to shape the nervous system in lasting ways, altering how we perceive the world and relate to others. Would be really interesting to find out!
Thanks again for reading and for your thoughtful comment.
Beautiful writing, Rachel, as always. Cool timing for this one. Immediately made me think about a note I read yesterday about Anne of Green Gables, from Natasha Burge…
“There’s a moment in the first book when Marilla realizes that Anne - an orphan passed from house to house - has never known love. Anne herself says no one ever really wanted her. And Marilla sees that this absence of love is why Anne struggles to understand God.”
These early traumas we know in our bones can impact how we respond to people and also our views on something less specific to humans, like Faith. The idea of an all-loving deity might be a foreign concept, or perhaps worse, like what occurred with Finny and Gene, what we think is unconditional love ends up feeling like manipulation, at the hands of say, a church or clergy.
Thank you, Matt! I love this connection to Anne of Green Gables. That observation about Anne struggling to understand God because she’s never known love—it’s fascinating how our early experiences shape what feels possible or real in all aspects of love, including spiritual ones.
You’re right about how this plays out with faith. When you’ve learned early that love is conditional or dangerous, divine love can feel equally suspect. And that betrayal Gene experiences mirrors exactly what can happen in spiritual communities, where the very thing meant to heal sadly sometimes becomes another source of potential harm.
That Natasha Burge quote is going to stay with me. Thank you for bringing such thoughtful connections to these pieces.
‘We never stop believing that our survival depends on being loved.’ I spent some time at a Catholic charity hugging babies born to crack addicted mothers. In their bassinets they wriggled and jerked , impossible to console. When we lifted them and held them close the gradual calming of their bodies was a little miracle. Thanks for this piece. And I’m definitely going to reread A Separate Peace.
Judy, thank you for sharing such a beautiful and powerful story. I can feel in my bones what it must have been like to witness that gradual calming how the babies responded so completely to being held. Those little bodies knew exactly what they needed, didn't they? What incredible work you were doing there. Really appreciate you taking the time to read and share this with me, and I'd love to hear what you think of A Separate Peace on a reread!
You’ve done it again. How did you come into such a profound understanding of these principles that you can write with such precision and skill about them, expertly extracting lessons from the best human stories and mapping the essence of them with perfect clarity? It’s beyond good writing. You have either an innate gift or you’ve gone all the way to the bottom of your own shadow and pain and set the bone right.
Rick, your words are far too generous, but deeply appreciated. And I definitely haven’t set all my own bones right just yet ◡̈
What drives me is a relentless curiosity about what makes us who we are—especially the hidden patterns, the emotional undercurrents, and the ways we repeat or revise our earliest experiences. Tracing those threads through great stories is one of the few ways I’ve found to make sense of it all, and I get a lot of energy from spotting connections across different fields that don’t always seem related at first glance. Your steady encouragement truly means a lot. Thank you.
How do you keep on doing it, reaching through my intellectual detached curiosity and plucking a heart string. Maybe when you pluck your own it resonates like a tuning fork? Thanks
Thank you, Karl. These pieces always start from something that’s gotten under my own skin. Really appreciate you reading and letting me know this one connected ◡̈
Loved reading this piece, Rachel — and sorry that it’s been taking me a while to catch up on Substack and your great work (I am still behind due to the (beautiful) distractions of summer)!
Thank you for teaching me about the "defensive exclusion” mechanism. I hadn’t read about this yet, but it makes so much sense and have definitely felt—in hindsight—when it was at work in my own life.
Brigitte! Please don’t apologize for enjoying the beautiful distractions of summer. That’s exactly what you should be doing! I always appreciate seeing your name pop up in the comments, no matter when.
Defensive exclusion is such a fascinating mechanism, isn’t it? I’d love to dive deeper into it—there’s so much to explore about how we unconsciously shut out what feels too threatening to process.
Hope you’re soaking up every second of these summer days ◡̈
"We arrive in this world carrying one truth in the marrow of our bones: our survival depends on being loved." For many, that's a *painful* truth.
Question: When coming up with essay ideas, does a "fragment of humanity" enter your awareness and you then look for examples in literature? Or does an idea first come to you when you're reading a given work? It's likely more complicated than that -- just curious.
In any event, the end result, this essay and others I've read by you, is really impressive.
That's such a kind question, Larry! You've got it exactly right—something about being human piques my curiosity and then I find myself searching for the story that illuminates the science of it.
Thanks for asking such a thoughtful question and for reading!
Regardless of how you make the connections between a given aspect of humanity, the neuroscience behind it, and a story that illustrates the "fragment": Your ability to do this so effectively is a true gift. I always look forward to reading your insights.
Thanks Larry, really appreciate the kind words. You are such a great “literary citizen” and an encouragement to so many writers on here.
My goodness, that first sentence! And: "we master the performance of self-sufficiency, wearing independence like armor." You've captured so well the emotional turbulence triggered when people we love - who love us (or are supposed to love us) - pull away or pass away. I had to pass this one on to a friend of mine who is dealing with the loss of several relationships, and it hit home to me as well. Once again, fine writing and exceptional use of a novel to bring life to the science.
Thank you so much for this, Catherine. It means a lot to know you shared this with your friend during such a difficult time—navigating multiple losses is so hard. I’m grateful and humbled if these words offered any bit of comfort or recognition.
Thank you for taking the time to let me know this connected with you both. Sending warmth to you and your friend.