Elena sat on the couch, phone resting on her thigh, barely breathing as she watched the three gray dots pulse at the bottom of her screen. Daniel was typing. Then not typing. Then typing again.
She had sent him a text two hours ago: “Hey, are we still good for dinner tonight?”
No reply.
Her stomach had been tight ever since. She told herself he was probably just busy. Maybe he was still at work. Maybe he hadn’t seen it. But her thoughts pushed past logic.
Is he mad at me? Did I say something wrong earlier? Is he rethinking us?
Her body tensed. Her shoulders curled forward. Her breath stayed shallow. She tried to distract herself with a podcast, then social media, then pacing the kitchen. But none of it helped.
Daniel finally texted back: “Hey love, sorry….crazy day. Leaving now. Can’t wait to see you.”
Relief hit her all at once. But so did shame.
Why did she always spiral like this? Why couldn’t she just trust that he cared?
Daniel arrived twenty minutes later, greeted her with a kiss, and didn’t notice anything was wrong. She smiled and acted normal. That’s what she always did.
It wasn’t until a few days later, in therapy, that she let herself speak the truth.
“I know it sounds small,” she said, tears in her eyes, “but when he doesn’t respond, even for a little while, I panic. It’s like my body starts bracing for him to disappear.”
And she wasn’t exaggerating.
In Emotionally Focused Therapy (EFT), we explore how these everyday moments are often tied to something deeper. Elena had grown up with a mother who was emotionally inconsistent, warm and affectionate one moment, cold and distant the next. Her father worked long hours and rarely checked in. As a child, she had learned to be hyper aware of others’ moods, always scanning for signs that something was off. Her nervous system became wired to detect disconnection as danger.
Now, as an adult, even in a loving relationship, that same wiring is kicked in. A delayed response felt like abandonment. Her body sounded the alarm, even if nothing was actually wrong.
This is how attachment theory helps us make sense of our patterns. If emotional availability was uncertain in childhood, we often carry a deep fear that love can disappear without warning. We may cling or overthink to avoid the terrifying feeling of being left behind.
Daniel, on the other hand, has a secure attachment style. His parents were consistent and responsive. When someone didn’t reply right away, he didn’t think much of it. He had no idea that silence could feel so loud to Elena.
In therapy, we explored not just Elena’s reactions, but what they were protecting. Her anxiety wasn’t a flaw, it was a messenger. It was her body’s way of saying, “I’m scared of losing love”.
When she shared this with Daniel, not in frustration but from a place of vulnerability, something shifted between them.
“When I don’t hear back from you,” she told him, “my head knows you’re probably just busy, but my body reacts like I’m being abandoned. I feel silly even saying it, but it’s really intense sometimes.”
Daniel didn’t get defensive. He listened. He softened.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “That actually helps me understand so much more. I don’t want you to feel that way alone. If I’m ever tied up and can’t text, I’ll let you know earlier. And if I forget, you can always remind me. I want us to be a team in this.”
That conversation didn’t make the anxiety disappear completely. But it gave Elena something she never had before: a safe place to bring her fear, and a partner who could meet her in it.
In EFT, we often say that healing happens not by fixing each other’s pain, but by being present with it. By slowing down, tuning in, and responding with care, we begin to create new emotional experiences that help the body unlearn its old alarms.
Elena started to notice her body’s cues…. the way her breath would shorten, or how she’d start reaching out compulsively when she felt insecure. Instead of judging those responses, she began to name them. She’d say to herself, This is my younger self feeling scared. I don’t have to run from it.
Sometimes she would even pause before reacting and say to Daniel, “I’m feeling a little anxious. Can you just check in with me?” And more often than not, that was enough.
Because the goal isn’t to never feel anxious. The goal is to recognize what’s happening in our bodies, respond with compassion, and build relationships where we don’t have to hide our tender places.
The past doesn’t disappear. But when it’s met with care in the present, it begins to lose its grip.
And that’s how the body learns something new.
Love,
Liliane
