Wound bonding is one of the most subtle and painful forms of attachment.
I realized that I often feel hurt not because what the other person says or does is really about me, but because that pain keeps a connection alive. On a psychological level, the need for attachment is so deep that even painful relationships can become more bearable than the complete absence of connection.
I let myself be affected by the behaviors of those in the past, of my mother, of some close ones, not because I could not understand that their reactions speak more about them than about me, but because that suffering gives me the illusion of a relationship that still exists. As long as I am hurt, I am still tied up. Pain becomes a substitute for love, a confirmation that there is still something, even if that something no longer nourishes us, but keeps us in a vicious circle.
Indifference would mean the complete loss of the relationship. It would mean that there is nothing left. And, in a way, it is harder to be at peace, but alone, than in conflict, but tied.
This awareness hurts, but it is a gateway to liberation. Because I can learn to consciously choose bonds that nourish, not hurt. To accept that sometimes the connection disappears, although I remain alone.
Just as we stay connected to other people through pain, sometimes we also cling to our old selves. Not because we would not be able to break away, but because that version, no matter how deplorable, is all we know. And it can be scary to abandon it because it means losing the last bridge to what we were. Pain thus becomes a form of continuity, a proof that we are still here, even if it still hurts.
Even the fear of evolving has its roots in this need for attachment. We are afraid of the unknown in us: of the person we could become. I used to tell my therapist that I do not know if I am going to like myself once I become someone better. But in this “I don’t know”, there is already an acknowledgment of the fact that that future version is not the result of chance or external influences, but the consequence of one’s conscience. You do not get there despite others or a lack of care for yourself, but because of yourself, precisely because you start to pay attention to what you bring into your life.
The latest version of the self is a choice, not a reaction to the world. And once you start living lucidly, it is hard not to like yourself: what you see in the mirror is no longer a distorted reflection of trauma, but a conscious creation. A way of saying: I am here for me, completely.
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