When Comfortable Chaos Starts to Feel Uncomfortable

I am not addicted to love; I am addicted to the pursuit. I am addicted to performance. I wonder why love feels like a conquest. Why does it always seem like a constant, chaotic spike in my nervous system? I grew up in an environment that had the same effect on me—I was taught to celebrate my accomplishments only when they were earned through hardship. Reward only comes after a struggle. Why does love feel the same? After graduating high school, getting into college on a full scholarship, and maintaining a 3.9 GPA semester after semester, I never felt accomplished. I only felt like it was an obligation, something I was “supposed” to do. I never felt proud of myself. 

"Adaptable" is a word I would use to describe myself. "People say Geminis are two-faced because our symbol is the twin, but we are just adaptable," I always argue. "Most people get along with me because I am adaptable—that's all." It’s a trait that has helped me more than hurt me (though I’m still figuring this one out), and I believe everyone should have it—a skill for life. But how does that translate into love? I think this caused me to learn to be “easy,” to constantly try my best to fit the needs of others. Adaptability made me charming, helpful, a problem-solver, and pleasant. I realized at a young age that the one thing people love to talk about is themselves, so I learned to never talk about me unless they asked. Never bring up my own emotions—just focus on their wants and needs. My double-edged sword was that I was always highly articulate and emotionally intelligent. I always knew exactly how I felt and could write an entire book in great detail about how people made me feel, but I never thought anyone cared. And when I did share how I felt, it was always met with deflection and resistance. So, I became whoever I needed to be just to avoid abandonment from others. Although adaptability is not always linked to trauma, for me, I think this internal response has either made me all I am or ruined all I ever was. I wrote in my very first journal at the age of 15: "I am not afraid of death because it's inevitable, I am not afraid of failure because my own level of discipline determines my success. I am most afraid of abandonment because others leaving you is something you cannot control." I now look back and wonder what the fuck I was going through to make me write such heavy shit at 15.

I always considered myself someone reliable and consistent in people’s lives. I was never the type to run when things got hard in any aspect of life. But I had an experience that made me reevaluate this—why does the person whose biggest fear is abandonment also abandon others? Another reason people become adaptable is because they have to learn how to adjust at a young age. I think this is true for me as well. I had to learn quickly how to read the emotions of others to avoid conflict. I now realize this was a self-preservation response. While some people learn to ignore or hide, I learned how to become low-maintenance and a diluted version of myself. Another thing many adaptable individuals possess is the need for control, structure, and consistency due to the environmental response to chaos. I am guilty of this.

But adaptability, while often seen as a strength, can also leave you feeling fragmented. It teaches you how to survive, but not necessarily how to thrive. It’s a tool, not a solution. I wonder if being too adaptable causes a loss of authenticity—a shapeshifter instead of a person with a solid core. This search for control, for structure honesty, feels like an itch that can never be scratched. The irony is that the adaptability that helped me navigate through life often caused me to abandon myself in favor of others’ needs.

I encourage everyone to analyze their life experiences like this: I wrote down every single time I believed another individual would have said I abandoned them (don’t write about the times you personally felt you abandoned someone—look at it from their perspective), and then I wrote down all the similarities in these situations. I came to one common denominator: confusion vs. clarity. All these people had actions that contradicted their words or words that contradicted their actions. They never quite made their intentions completely clear but never made them completely unknown either. A grey area was left for interpretation and overthinking. So while adaptability is learned in chaos, once the chaos is over, structure and stability are needed and this one non-negotiable for me, was something these individuals never offered me. 

But clarity is not something you can always rely on from others. I learned that while it’s easy to blame others for leaving me in a grey area, the truth is I’ve often done the same to myself. I’ve left myself in a grey area by not vocalizing what I truly want or need and sticking to it. I’ve allowed the noise of others' desires and expectations to drown out my own. The same thing I fear and never wanted to do to others—abandonment—was often what I needed to learn to embrace myself: to accept the parts of me that aren’t always neat, clear, or easy to understand. The parts of me that were built while in chaos. 

I am not addicted to love; I am addicted to the pursuit. But now I wonder if the pursuit is not of the next obstacle or challenge externally, but of understanding myself internally. Maybe love isn’t the thing that spikes my nervous system—it’s the unfamiliarity with stillness. No adaptability- just completely me and me being enough one hundred percent.