#internalnarrative

The story you keep telling yourself is the anchor keeping you attached.

Every attachment issue begins with a story. You look at a situation—a silent text, a canceled plan, a lukewarm partner—and your mind immediately fills in the gaps with narrative. 'They're just stressed,' you whisper. 'They'll come around,' you promise. 'If I just hold on a little longer, the plot will turn.'

This is the internal monologue of attachment. It is a script you did not consciously write, but one you have rehearsed so many times it feels like truth. The problem is that this narrative is not yours. It is a projection of hope onto someone else's character. And as long as you keep writing their story for them, you will never be free to write your own.

Why your narrator is unreliable

Your brain is wired to protect you from loss, so it creates comforting fictions. It minimizes red flags and magnifies crumbs of affection. It turns a person who is not choosing you into a tragic hero who just needs more time. This narrator is not your friend—it is your survival instinct dressed up as love.

To detach, you must fire that unreliable narrator. You must stop editing the lines of someone who is not even reading from the same script. The real work is not in convincing them to stay. It is in convincing yourself to stop ghostwriting their role in your life.

How to rewrite the narrative in three edits

Edit one: Delete the potential chapter

You have a file in your mind called 'What They Could Be.' It is full of highlighted passages and bookmarks to a future that does not exist. Delete that file. The only chapter that matters is the one they are currently living out loud. If their present actions do not match your desired ending, you are not writing a romance—you are writing a tragedy with a happy ending you forced onto the page.

Edit two: Replace 'maybe' with 'this is'

Your internal monologue is packed with 'maybe they...' statements. 'Maybe they are overwhelmed. Maybe they will change. Maybe I am being too demanding.' These are filler words that keep the story in limbo. Replace every 'maybe' with a factual statement: 'This is what they are showing me. This is the effort they are giving. This is the distance they are keeping.' Facts are not mean—they are freeing.

Edit three: Write your own dialogue

Once you stop writing their lines, you suddenly have space to hear your own voice. What do you want to say? What boundaries do you need to declare? Write the scene where you walk away with dignity. Write the scene where you choose yourself. That is the only dialogue you have control over—and it is the one that will set you free.

Detachment is not a loss of story—it is a change of authorship

When you detach, you are not ending the narrative. You are simply realizing that you were never the co-author. You were the sole author all along, and you gave your pen to someone who did not even write in your language. Take it back. The next page is blank. And for the first time, you get to write what you actually want.