Macaron I used to not really understand what emotionally unavailable meant.
I thought it was about someone who was still in love with their ex, or maybe still tangled up in another relationship — basically, someone who wasn’t open to something new.
But I’ve come to realize that emotional unavailability isn’t just about being stuck in the past.
It’s about the lack of willingness to be vulnerable — to really look at another person, and also to look within yourself. Thus as a result, not letting the other person look into you beyond surface.
Content
When detachment means Physically close, but Emotionally distant
Recently, I went on a date with a man who never really saw me as a whole person. He was smart, funny, successful — and he treated me well. But still, it felt like he was interacting not with me, but with a vague category: a woman. As if he was trying to understand me through a mental checklist built from past experiences, fitting me into patterns he thought he already knew.
A man who could see me only as one of women, not as human
Every time I asked him something — out of pure curiosity, just trying to get to know him — he grew defensive, reacting with “why do you ask?” to trivial questions. At one point he even said, “Women never ask questions without motives.” That line stuck with me. Not because it hurt (though it did), but because it revealed something deeper: he wasn’t in conversation with me at all. He was responding to someone else — some imaginary woman, stitched together from his own past.
I was right there, present, open — but somehow already disbelieved. I felt powerless and lost. That I felt it would be impossible to build a connection with him. Closed a door for potential intimacy. That’s detachment — dressed up as engagement, wrapped in politeness, but ultimately, absent.
I am physically attached to him, but emotionally invisible to him
I had a hard time sleeping that night beside him. He was holding me tightly, his arms around me like I meant something — but inside, I knew it didn’t. I could feel it: it wouldn’t have mattered who I was. He would’ve done the exact same thing with any other woman. I was interchangeable. A doll. A plush toy. A body he could hold to feel close, without actually being close.
And I tried so hard to make sense of it in my head. I tried to protect myself, telling myself not to care — not to feel — but it didn’t work. Because when someone is physically skin to skin, so warm and kind in the material, visible ways, I can’t help but want to get emotionally close, too. I can’t help developing feelings. Even when I know, deep down, that to him… none of it means anything.
Not answering directly was his “No” to vulnerability
The day after, I tried to share how I felt. I thanked him for his time — for picking me up, taking me out for dinner and drink, dropping me off, for being kind in those visible, practical ways.
And then I asked what was really on my mind: I told him that sometimes during our time together, I felt he was detached like his mind was elsewhere in my presence. And I asked, gently, “Is it something I did? Or are you like this in general?”
His reply was: “I like seeing you, but I don’t get attached easily.”
And I remember feeling… disoriented. Was that an answer? Did he not understand what I was really asking? Or was he just unwilling to share anything at all — not even his thoughts, let alone his feelings?
This was the moment when I felt it most clearly: detachment not as boundary, but as distant and disengagement. A refusal to meet me at any emotional depth, even when I was offering the opening.
And it was not the only time I felt it. I felt this with every response, reaction, teasing he gave me, that he was just not interested in getting to know me, and letting me get to know him. Though he said “we are still trying to get to know each other”.
Now one might say, it takes time to open up. But there is a big difference between taking time to open up even when you want to open up versus actively withdrawing and avoiding emotional intimacy.
And it reminded me of anecdotes he told about his ex girlfriends.
What his Story about His “Crazy Ex” revealed
There was something he told me the first time we went out that I couldn’t stop thinking about. He shared an anecdote about an ex-girlfriend who, according to him, had pretended to be pregnant in order to force him into marriage.
At the time, I remember asking him: “Didn’t you notice who she was before things got to that point?”
And he said something like, “I like to believe in people. You can’t really know someone when you only see them two hours twice a week.” Then he added: “Women are just better at hiding who they are. It’s easier for women to see through men.”
I tend to remember every detail — a retention habit from working as an interpreter.
But this exchange hit me differently after my own experience. Because now, looking back, I don’t just hear a story about a manipulative partner — I hear a story about a relationship with no real trust, no emotional openness, no effort to build something safe and honest. It sounded like there was no space for vulnerability, no shared foundation. Maybe they were both guarded in different ways. I don’t know — I wasn’t there.
But what I do believe is this: the way you treat people you don’t care about leaks into how you treat people you do. You can’t just flip a switch and become emotionally available only when it matters to you. Emotional integrity isn’t selective. If you’re careless with people — dismissive, distant, avoidant — that habit doesn’t stay neatly compartmentalized. It spills over. Especially when you are not at your best.
Vulnerability Isn’t Optional — It’s the Foundation of Trust
Obviously, faking a pregnancy is crossing a line. It’s deception.
But when something that extreme happens, it’s rarely just because someone is “crazy” or inherently toxic.
More often, it points to a connection where something fundamental was already broken.
There was no trust. No honest communication.
No shared effort to create a space where both people could truly speak their minds and be seen.
Sometimes, one person shuts down. The other gets tired of trying to communicate and gives up.
Not because they don’t care — but because it starts to feel useless.
So they bury their frustration, keep the peace, and stop asking for what they need.
Do you think this is a good way to build a trusted relationship?
The Space for Vulnerability Doesn’t Build Itself
I believe real trust can only grow when both people feel free — and safe — to be vulnerable.
And this isn’t limited to committed romantic relationships. It matters in casual connections, too — and in platonic friendships.
And here’s the hard truth: that kind of space doesn’t just appear.
It doesn’t build itself. And it doesn’t stay intact on its own.
It has to be created — deliberately — and rebuilt again and again, because people change.
They grow. They go through things. And so the container for that openness has to grow with them.
Of course, the depth and expectations vary.
Not every interaction needs the same level of emotional exposure.
But if any kind of relationship is going to evolve beyond surface-level, this shared willingness to create a safe, honest space becomes non-negotiable.
I know it’s not easy.
We’re all tired, guarded, disappointed.
But if we’re not willing to do the work — to stay open even when it’s uncomfortable — maybe we’re not truly ready to ask someone else to let us into their life at all.
When there’s no space for emotional vulnerability, the one on the receiving end doesn’t just feel unseen — they start to doubt their own worth. You feel like you’re standing there, wide open, reaching out with your full presence, and the other person is behind glass.
You ask questions, not to pry, but to connect — and you’re met with suspicion or deflection. You offer warmth, and get cold politeness in return. And slowly, the message seeps in: “Your emotional presence is too much. Your curiosity is too much. Your need is too much.”
That kind of emotional neglect doesn’t just make you lonely. It makes you feel like you’re a burden just for wanting to connect.
Every time someone shuts the other down, that gap grows.
You realize — oh, sharing this will be useless. This will annoy the receiving end.
So you just stay silent.
And you keep going, because you want to keep the peace.
But then, a part of you starts to feel dead inside.
Invalidated. And that’s how it begins — you kill a part of yourself.
Then another part.
And another.
Until one day, you’re just a body.
Still functioning, still speaking maybe — but not there.
And someone wants access to that body, and it doesn’t even matter who you are.
And when you feel that —
that complete disconnect between your existence and your being —
there isn’t even anger left.
Just a quiet surrender.
“I wish I didn’t exist in the first place.”
What Can You Do About It?
So what can you actually do about emotional unavailability in human-to-human relationships?
I’m no guru with an ultimate solution. But my answer — the one I come back to — is continuous, lifelong introspection.
Everyone is different. Some people might be okay with having no real vulnerability in their relationships.
But I’m not one of them.
I’ve met people who talk about their partners in a way that feels… diplomatic. Like they’re describing a colleague or a project they’ve managed well — not someone they’re actually into. There’s no real affection, no emotional presence in their words. And maybe that’s just how some people are. Maybe that’s enough for them.
But for me, that kind of emotional distance would be unbearable.
At the same time, I’ve seen the opposite. I’ve seen couples — even after decades — who still speak to each other with quiet care. Who are genuinely proud of each other. Not in a performative way, but in a way you can feel in the atmosphere.
So I know it exists.
That’s why I believe it starts with learning how your inner world works.
What makes you feel seen. What shuts you down. What you need when you’re hurt.
And how to treat yourself with the emotional availability you want from others.
You can’t expect anyone to read your mind.
But you can write your own “how to treat me” manual — and choose to share it with the people you decide to let into your life.
That, at least, feels like a healthier way to deal with emotional unavailability —
instead of waiting in silence, hoping the other person will eventually become emotionally aware.
FAQ
🧠 what is the difference between Intention vs. Impact
Someone might intend to be kind, polite, or “a good person,” but the impact of their behavior still lands as dismissive, invalidating, or transactional. And impact always matters more than intention in human connection.
🧊what is Emotional Absence
You can receive:
- a sweet message,
- a carefully planned date,
- physical affection…
…but if the person isn’t really there, if they’re not attuned to you, it creates a disconnect. You’re left wondering, “Do I matter? Or could anyone have been in my place?”
And that is a form of disrespect—even if it’s not consciously intended.
🎭 what is Performance of Care
Sometimes people are good at performing care—checking the boxes that look like love, but without emotional availability. And being treated like a role to be filled—“woman,” “girlfriend,” “warm body in bed”—rather than you specifically, is dehumanizing.
