Women twist the knife

On my avoidant attachment style with women specifically

I am more afraid of loving women than of loving men. This may seem absurd and maybe it is. No woman has ever put my body through a wall. I was going to follow that up with no woman has ever physically or sexually assaulted me — but that isn’t true. I have experienced both physical and sexual assault at the hands of women, just a lot less of it than I have experienced from men.

I have tried to deny this for a long time, never wanting to say it clearly and directly because I was afraid of what it said about me — but the truth is that my disorganized attachment strategies are split pretty evenly along gendered lines. There are noteable exceptions, but generally speaking, I am anxious preoccupied with men, and avoidant with women. This is true both in a romantic/sexual context and a platonic one.

I was deeply afraid that this discrepancy represented the classic prioritization of men and devaluation of women that bisexual women are so often accused and found guilty of. And even if it doesn’t stem from unexamined misogyny or unaddressed patriarchy the result feels like the same thing. In a polyamorous context it feels extremely wrong to be anxious preoccupied with my male partners and avoidant with my female ones. I’ve been working on it, but I don’t think I can really face it without looking at it head on.

The truth is that women terrify me and I don’t trust them, not completely. While men are predictable in their violence, women disavow theirs, always denying it and pushing it out of sight. While a man will humiliate me and perhaps assault me in the typical misogynist ways, women will turn on me and when they do, the character assassination will leave no trace of my personhood in sight. I have never felt afraid that a break up with a man will result in false accusations being spread about me, on the internet or through social networks. I have always feared this with women. I have also witnessed women do this to each other, over and over again, and I have participated in it myself.

I have always feared expressing desire or initiating sexuality with women partners, because I don’t want to be a “creep,” I don’t want to be “invasive,” but also because I know that I may be painted that way even if I try my hardest to be respectful and welcoming of her no. I have seen the take downs queer women do of each other, and it is truly terrifying.

But this isn’t just about sexuality. I fear women in all my relationships. I pretend that I don’t. I love women and I value my relationships with them. I tell them I love them and commit myself to them, both in romantic and platonic contexts. I take my relationships with women very seriously. But I always have one foot out the door. I never fully settle into delicious trust and let my guard down the way I can with men. I never let them fully see me. I never feel completely safe. I don’t show them my anger because I fear it will be twisted against me in a way that men would never. I don’t show them my need because I do not trust them with it — my need betrays a weakness that I know can be instrumentalized. I do not show them my boundaries because I expect my boundaries to be pushed and crossed. I do not reveal myself. I expect betrayal.

In a therapy session I was discussing my avoidant attachment style with women. My therapist is a woman and I also have an avoidant attachment style with her. I was describing how, with women, I feel it is all about them. I know I am expected to listen and provide support, and I do so, endlessly. But I don’t believe there is equal space for my vulnerability and I fundamentally don’t trust them with that vulnerability. I become a therapist friend. I am overly accommodating, crossing my own boundaries, taking care of their feelings, and building up resentments. I let women treat me in ways I would never accept from men. I told my therapist that with women it feels like there is no space for me, that I am expected to fulfil a role, rather than be a person. I am terrified of disappointing women because I know their disappointment can be dangerous. My therapist asked me if this dynamic reminded me of anything and when I realized she was referring to my relationship with my mother I almost screamed.

It’s true there is something of my mother in this. My mother who expects me to be her mother. My mother who has “never done anything wrong,” who I never even called abusive until this year when she attacked me and threatened to sue me for writing about the sexual abuse in my family. She has, of course, attacked me many times, going for the jugular and saying the cruelest things imagineable, all while maintaining a public image as a feminist. My mother takes duplicity to incredible heights. But compared to the men in my family, I had to see her as the “good guy.” She never assaulted me or sexually threatened me. But her cruelty, when it reveals itself, and the betrayal it represents, is equally traumatic.

This isn’t only about my mother though. Any woman who was once a girl knows all about the cruelty of girlhood. Boys get into fist fights. Girls are more likely to destroy your social belonging. Girls are mean, first earning your trust and vulnerability, and then exploiting it. I learned in childhood that loving other girls came with terrifying social risks. I both received and meted out the cruelty and betrayal of girlhood. I learned that I had to be really careful, because anything I said could be used against me.

Strangely, in all my writing about cancellation, I don’t think I’ve ever told the story of what could be called my earliest cancellation. When I was 16/17 I had my first serious relationship with a girl. I was anxious preoccupied with her and deeply, deeply in love. I was a dysfunctional and traumatized teenager, and so was she. We fought a lot, and admittedly, I was jealous and controlling in the way that anxious preoccupieds tend to be. I never called her names or acted in threatening or degrading ways, but like many teenagers, I wasn’t the greatest partner. I loved her so much. I didn’t think I would ever love anyone else that much again. She broke up with me, and it devastated me, but I accepted it.

We still went to the same (tiny, alternative) high school for queer youth. One day she approached me and gave me a letter. In the letter she accused me of being abusive, told me I was not allowed to look at her, and told me that she was telling everyone I was an abuser. I was horrified. I wondered if I was an abuser, but I also knew that her assumptions about my motivations were false. She brought up our sexual relationship (which mostly consisted of making out with occasional grinding on each other) and told me the reason I got off on grinding on her is because I was abusive and enjoyed being on top because it was a dominating position. The damage this did to my sexuality really can’t be overstated, but her accusation was completely false. I loved her. I had no desire to dominate her. I just happen to get off on grinding.

Her mini cancellation of me terrified me so much that I literally left the city and moved back in with my abusive family. Years later she reached out and apologized, retracting her accusations. We became friends and I continued to love her. I then found out that she was going around telling people that I was not really queer because when we were together, we never had sex (apparently, in this telling, the grinding didn’t count). Later, she told my extremely abusive male partner who loved to call me a disgusting slut, about a (non-permanent) STI diagnosis I had received before dating him, and that he should “be careful.” Betrayal upon betrayal. I never had anxious preoccupied attachment with a woman again.

I could continue to trace the origins of my lack of trust in women through many dysfuntional friendships and dating relationships. I could also point out that cancel culture itself is a distinctly feminine mode of aggression. I could tell you that the worst cancellation I have ever seen came out of a sapphic/queer dating context. I could tell you to watch Mean Girls. But none of this helps me with my dilemma, which is that I love women so fucking much. I want to love the women I love completely, and with abandon, the way I can with men. I want to give myself to women, totally, in friendship, in romantic love, and in sexuality. I fucking love women.

My avoidance does not come a from a devaluation of women. It is the opposite. My love of women is profound and women were my first experience of love. I have been madly in love with women, both in a friendship way and in a gay way, many times. Women have brutally broken my heart, and they were only able to do this because I loved them so thoroughly. To this day, when I am close with a woman I will tell her that she “has my sword.” I mean it. My loyalty is profound but my heart is not open. I think maybe if I make bold declarations of love she will decide never to betray me. But I never trust it.

I don’t know what the answer is but I imagine it has something to do with discernment. With men, I used to make very bad choices, dating and loving men who were definitely going to abuse me. In time, and through so much therapy, I learned to see the red flags. I learned how to hold out for and notice safe, trust worthy men. I do not give men any chances to be fucked up to me anymore. I have very high standards. I stand up for myself. I communicate. And I don’t settle for less than I deserve.

But with women this all seems so much more confusing. Perhaps because duplicity is part of it — women are so much better at hiding our capacity for violence and betrayal, even from ourselves. Perhaps because I still feel guilty for not being everything women (my mother) want(s) me to be. Perhaps because the deep emotional intimacy and endless emotional processing I share with women feels like a maze I can get lost in. Perhaps because I fear losing her so deeply, I don’t want to risk letting her know me at all, and so I don’t take the risks that are a necessary part of discernment. Perhaps because women split on each other, turning a best friend or a love of a lifetime or a desired sexual partner into a monster overnight, and I know that my closest confidant who knows my deepest secrets can become my sworn enemy in public. Perhaps because I know that women twist the knife.

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Clementine Morrigan is an independent writer, cultural change maker, truth teller, and moral philosopher. She writes essays and literary nonfiction about ethics, politics, relationships, sexuality, violence, trauma, and unconditional compassion. Her cult classic zine, Love Without Emergency, has sold more than 11,000 copies (that’s a lot of stapling). Her podcast, Fucking Cancelled, independently toured the United States. Her readers have created and disseminated amateur translations of her work in several languages. If you have spent time in a punk house or queer collective house in the last 20 years, you have probably flipped through one of her zines in the bathroom.

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