Aanya J | June 17, 2025
When Love Isn’t Enough
In the age of constant connection, many of us are finding ourselves almost loved, nearly held, and almost chosen. There are connections that unfold like chapters from a slow-burning novel—spanning months, sometimes years—woven through daily chats, emotional exchange, and unspoken understanding.
And yet, when the time comes for presence, for truth, for crossing over from virtual closeness to physical reality, some connections falter. Not because they were false, but because they were never fully made real.
This is not the typical heartbreak born of betrayal. It is the quiet devastation of being deeply involved in something that was never clearly defined—what psychology now often calls a situationship. But in this case, it wasn’t just emotional ambiguity. It was physical ghosting through ongoing emotional contact—a peculiar form of disconnection where one person remains digitally present while physically absent.
This article is not about blame. It is about emotional literacy, trauma-informed insight, and the kind of self-inquiry that can help us heal not only from one connection, but from every unconscious pattern we’ve carried into love.
A situationship is an emotionally intense, often exclusive bond that exists outside traditional relationship structures. It usually lacks:
*Defined roles or boundaries
*Future-oriented conversations
*Mutual agreements around commitment or expectations
Psychologist Dr. Sabrina Romanoff defines a situationship as “a romantic connection that exists without formal definition or clear expectation.” These relationships thrive on emotional intimacy but are vulnerable to unmet needs and disappointment when the depth is not matched with clarity.
What makes these especially difficult for trauma survivors is the repetition of inconsistency—a core wound many of us carry from childhood or previous relationships. When someone shows up emotionally but not physically, it mirrors the experience of having emotionally unavailable caregivers: present but unreachable.
Modern relationships have a strange feature: you can be in touch every day, and still not be present. Texting, voice notes, and emojis can simulate closeness—but they cannot substitute the physiological reassurance of presence.
In situations like these, one person often continues to emotionally engage—sharing updates, expressing affection, maintaining the appearance of connection—while consistently avoiding physical meetings, difficult conversations, or relational clarity.
This can create deep psychological dissonance. Dr. Gabor Maté notes that “connection without attunement is not connection—it is confusion.”
And in a world increasingly destabilized by war, climate anxiety, health crises, and isolation, presence becomes a psychological anchor. Without it, emotional engagement begins to feel like performance—familiar, but unfulfilling.
In many trauma-affected relationships, there is a pattern of overgiving—an unconscious drive to offer emotional care, validation, or intimacy in the hope of reciprocity. This often stems from childhood roles where love was earned, not received.
In such cases:
*Oversharing becomes a survival strategy: “If they know all of me, they won’t leave.”
*Overgiving masks insecurity: “If I give enough, they’ll commit.”
*Care becomes currency: “If I help them enough, I’ll be loved back.”
But when emotional intimacy is offered without mutual readiness or spoken consent, it can lead to self-abandonment.
As Brené Brown says, “Vulnerability without boundaries is not vulnerability. It’s desperation.”
One of the most common psychological pitfalls in undefined relationships is the assumption of consent—believing the other person is equally involved, simply because they haven’t objected or stepped away.
But in truth:
*Consent to emotional depth must be mutual and spoken, not implied
*Silence is not always agreement; it can be avoidance or confusion
*Proximity (working together, daily chatting) is not the same as relational commitment
When we assume mutuality without confirmation, we enter what therapists call “unspoken contracts”—agreements one person believes they’re both following, while the other has no idea it exists.
Not everyone who withholds clarity does so out of carelessness or cruelty. Often, it’s the opposite. Some of the most emotionally sensitive and deeply feeling individuals struggle with giving clarity—not because they don’t value connection, but because clarity requires vulnerability. And vulnerability, for many—especially men raised in patriarchal systems—is entwined with shame, fear, and past hurt.
In cultures where emotional expression is seen as weakness, where men are taught to perform strength but never reveal uncertainty, and where emotional nuance is not modeled or encouraged, silence becomes a kind of self-protection.
For these individuals, sharing their confusion, fears, or conflicting feelings might feel too exposing. They may fear hurting others, being misunderstood, or facing parts of themselves they haven’t yet come to terms with. So they linger in emotional proximity, hoping their presence is enough—even when their silence slowly creates distance.
This isn’t to excuse the impact. Ambiguity still wounds. But understanding the roots of avoidant behavior allows us to soften the inner narrative. Some people aren’t withholding answers—they’re just still learning how to hold space for their own.
For those with attachment wounds, particularly from emotionally neglectful environments, there is a tendency to become hyper-attuned to nonverbal cues. This is a trauma response—a form of hypervigilance meant to detect danger or affection before it is explicitly expressed.
This can lead to:
*Over-interpreting gestures as signs of love
*Confusing intermittent affection for commitment
*Filling in emotional blanks with hope instead of fact
In trauma psychology, this is known as “pattern completion”—the nervous system’s attempt to resolve unresolved relational wounds by creating closure where none exists.
Ambiguous loss is a term coined by Dr. Pauline Boss to describe situations where the object of grief is physically present but psychologically absent, or emotionally close but unavailable.
When a situationship ends—especially without a proper conversation—it leads to disenfranchised grief, a form of mourning not acknowledged by society or the person who left.
You go through:
*Denial: “Maybe this is just a break.”
*Anger: “How could they just disappear?”
*Bargaining: “If I just explain myself one more time…”
*Depression: “Maybe I wasn’t worth the clarity.”
*Acceptance: “This was never mutual to begin with.”
But this journey is not linear—and without verbal closure, we often stay stuck in limbo.
In proximity-based dynamics—such as working together, collaborating, or being emotionally in touch daily—there is a sense of shared rhythm. That rhythm, without clarity, breeds assumption.
You begin to expect:
*That emotional consistency means relational commitment
*That vulnerability means future planning
*That intimacy means exclusivity
But without shared language, expectations become emotional time bombs. When unmet, they don’t just cause disappointment—they reawaken abandonment schemas, creating an outsized emotional response to what others may dismiss as “miscommunication.”
For trauma survivors—especially those who grew up around inconsistent caregiving, emotional neglect, or chronic stress—unpredictability isn’t just uncomfortable. It’s unsafe.
The nervous system, shaped by years of survival, becomes hyper-attuned to cues, always scanning for what’s next, always bracing for loss.
This results in:
*Anxious attachment: Craving closeness but fearing abandonment
*Fawn responses: Over-adapting to keep the connection alive
*Freeze states: Shutting down emotionally when clarity is denied
Situationships, by their very nature, are:
*Ambiguous
*Unstable in structure
*Rely on unspoken understandings
*Often avoidant of responsibility or clear timelines
For someone with Complex PTSD or developmental trauma, these qualities don’t feel casual—they feel threatening.
The push-pull of connection without certainty can retraumatize the system. What appears to others as “just taking it slow” may be experienced internally as emotional starvation—a return to the exact environment that originally fractured trust.
As Dr. Janina Fisher explains, trauma survivors often struggle to tolerate ambiguity because their survival once depended on predicting danger. So when someone is warm one day, distant the next, or refuses to define their feelings, it can feel like abandonment all over again.
Even without malicious intent, the impact is the same:
*Deepening emotional dysregulation
*Heightened self-blame: “Why am I too much?”
*Re-triggering of shame, fear, and compulsive overfunctioning
It’s important to distinguish between:
*What feels familiar (because it mirrors past chaos)
*And what feels secure (because it’s rooted in presence, clarity, and mutual care)
As trauma survivors, we must ask not just “Does this feel exciting?” but “Does this feel safe in my body after they leave the room?”
Situationships may offer emotional closeness without demand—but they often lack the predictability and accountability that secure attachments require for healing.
For those reclaiming their nervous system, vague is not vague—it is dangerous.
In some relationships, no one lies—but no one tells the full truth either.
Flirtation replaces clarity.
Check-ins replace commitment.
Gentle ambiguity replaces directness.
Indirect communication creates a reality where people are constantly guessing each other’s intentions. It may feel poetic at first, but over time, it builds:
*Emotional fatigue
*Power imbalances
*Fragile fantasies
As Esther Perel says, “When people don’t say what they mean, you’re left to decode the pauses.”
In emotionally undefined relationships, often no one is malicious. The damage happens in the absence of shared preparedness.
One person may not have known how to express uncertainty. The other may have needed more transparency but didn’t ask.
Both may have sensed something powerful—but failed to speak it into form.
No one is wrong. But when foresight, transparency, and timing are missing, both people suffer silently.
Ending a situationship—even a non-physical one—can cause physical and emotional withdrawal. Studies show that romantic rejection activates the same brain regions as drug withdrawal.
Symptoms include:
*Obsessive thoughts
*Fatigue or restlessness
*Panic, insomnia, or stomach issues
*Seeking emotional “fixes” in texts or memories
But this pain is not proof of love lost—it is evidence of emotional habits being broken.
Healing requires:
*Somatic practices: breathwork, body scanning, grounding
*IFS (Internal Family Systems): dialoguing with inner parts that feel abandoned, overextended, or ashamed
*Discipline: creating structure to support nervous system regulation
*Willpower: resisting the urge to reach out to soothe the pain
*Purpose: rediscovering identity beyond the relationship
Resilience is not forgetting. It is holding the memory with less pain.
It is creating self-closure when external closure is denied.
And that requires:
*Having honest conversations with yourself about what was and wasn’t real
*Honoring the love without justifying the harm
*Choosing clarity over longing
*Allowing grief to pass through your body like weather—not a story to retell, but an emotion to digest
As Viktor Frankl wrote, “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.”
Love, in itself, is not enough.
Not without clarity. Not without presence. Not without timing, courage, or integrity.
There are relationships that feel like poetry, yet end without punctuation.
There are people who almost loved you—but not quite enough to choose you fully.
And there are endings that don’t happen once—but many times in silence.
Still, you are not broken.
You are becoming more whole.
Every tear, every re-read message, every imagined future—has carved you closer to the version of yourself that no longer waits to be chosen, but walks away because you have finally chosen you.