Lately, attachment has been on my mind. I finished Attached and now I’m deep into Anxiously Attached, and let me tell you—this book is hitting me in ways I didn’t expect. It’s making me think, but this time, it’s different. I’m actually making connections, seeing patterns, realizing why I am the way I am.
A huge part of the book focuses on core wounds—the deep-rooted beliefs we develop in childhood that shape how we see ourselves, others, and relationships. For anxiously attached people like me, these wounds run deep. They tell us things like I am not enough, I have to earn love, I am too much, People will leave if I don’t do everything right. And the worst part? We don’t even realize we’re carrying these beliefs. They just exist—in the way we date, in the way we communicate, in the way we doubt ourselves even when there’s no reason to.
Then there’s The Little Me Theory, which hit me harder than I expected. The idea is simple but powerful: inside every adult version of us, there’s still a younger version who never quite healed. Little Me is still carrying the hurt, still feeling the rejection, still believing all the things they were taught about themselves. And Little Me? She’s loud.
For me, Little Me is still stuck in the past, still living in a home where my brother was the golden child and I was the scapegoat. She’s still being told she’s wrong, that she’s stupid for struggling with math, that if something went wrong, it must have been her fault. She’s still apologizing, still trying to prove her worth, still waiting for someone to tell her she’s good enough. And because of that, she still affects the way I move through the world.
In dating, she’s the one who panics when someone pulls away, who assumes she must have done something wrong. She’s the one who overanalyzes texts, overthinks, who second-guesses everything, who desperately seeks reassurance because deep down, she still believes love is something she has to earn. And when someone actually treats me well? That feels foreign. Almost suspicious. Because if love was always conditional growing up, then what am I supposed to do when it’s freely given?
In my career, she’s the voice in my head telling me I’m not good enough, that I don’t deserve the praise I get, that one mistake could ruin everything. She’s the reason I hesitate before speaking up, before asking questions, before trusting that I belong.
In my everyday life, she makes me second-guess myself. I replay conversations, wondering if I said the wrong thing. I apologize too much. I assume if someone is upset, I must have done something to cause it. Even when logic tells me otherwise, her voice is louder.
And here’s the thing—Little Me isn’t going anywhere. She’s part of me. But I don’t have to let her run my life.
I’m learning that core wounds don’t just disappear overnight. But awareness? That’s the first step. I can recognize when I’m reacting from a place of fear rather than truth. I can remind myself that I am not the scapegoat anymore, that I don’t have to keep proving myself to people who will never see my worth. I can start showing up for Little Me in ways no one ever did—by telling her she is enough, that she doesn’t have to chase love, that she doesn’t have to be perfect to be wanted.
I am not the problem. I never was. But I am the solution.
And maybe healing is just that—learning how to quiet the voices from the past so they don’t drown out the life I’m trying to build.
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