"Facing the Waves of Anxious Attachment: Small Anxieties Within My Secure Attachment Style"

The Small Anxieties Within My Secure Self

As I mentioned in my previous blog, I generally see myself as having a “secure” attachment style. But even so, there are moments when hints of anxious tendencies quietly surface within me. They're not overwhelming like a storm—more like gentle ripples that spread softly across my heart before I even realise it.

For example, there are times in relationships when I find myself wondering, “Am I really accepted for who I am?” or “Will this person leave me?” And in such moments, I sometimes act in ways that, without meaning to, test the other person’s affection, or I end up being overly self-critical.

These emotional wobbles are signs of the little anxious part of me peeking through. While I may generally feel secure, I realise that somewhere deep inside, those subtle ripples of insecurity quietly linger.

That’s why I believe it’s so important to notice our emotions and gently hold them with compassion. I may not be perfectly secure, but these small anxieties are also part of who I am—and I choose to live alongside them.

What My Son’s Depression Taught Me

Recently, my son suddenly lost all energy and stopped going to school. He wouldn’t respond when I spoke to him, wouldn’t meet my gaze, and seemed to struggle just to get out of bed. At first, I was overwhelmed by worry.

But that worry soon morphed into something else—an anxiety that whispered, “Is this my fault?” Thoughts like, “Shouldn’t I have noticed something earlier?” and “Is this my failure as a parent?” began to quietly creep in.

This, I now see, was the self-blaming voice of anxious attachment speaking within me—my own small anxious side showing up once again.

Looking back, I realise that I had, without meaning to, taken a very directive approach in parenting—similar to how I myself was raised. I’d often find myself saying things like, “Do your homework,” or “Tidy your room,” more than I truly listened to what my son was trying to express. I was so focused on “being a good parent” that I think my own anxiety about getting it right took the lead.

To make matters more complex, my son and I speak different first languages. I’m most comfortable in Japanese, while he prefers English. When he spoke to me in English, I had to focus hard to fully take in his words, and even then, there were moments I missed things. That language barrier—more significant than I’d expected—made it harder to really hear and understand him.

I believed I was “listening properly”. But no matter how much attention I tried to give, there must have been moments I missed. And in those moments, I think he felt, “Mummy isn’t really listening to me.” I had no intention of making him feel that way. So when he finally said those words out loud, it pierced straight through my heart.

To make my son feel unheard—as a mother, that was devastating. Suddenly I was flooded with thoughts like, “I’m failing as a parent,” and “What can I do to fix this?”—and there I was again, blaming myself.

It was then that I realised: this too was my own anxious pattern emerging. I might appear secure most of the time, but when a misunderstanding arises with someone I deeply care about, I feel unsettled. I start to question whether my love is really being felt, whether I’m doing enough—and then, I turn that worry inward and blame myself. That emotional wobble lives in me, quietly, but certainly.

From “I Must Get It Right” to “I Choose to Trust”

In that moment, I decided to focus less on the content of what was being said, and more on the emotional world of the person in front of me. I wanted to meet my son not just with words, but with warmth—and to make that warmth central in how I connect with him moving forward.

One day, I made a conscious shift. I chose to act not from fear or pressure, but from trust: “My son will be okay. I will be okay. We’re not getting it all wrong.” I stopped responding from a place of anxious urgency—“I must raise him properly,” “I must not fail as a mother”—and started showing up from a place rooted in trust and safety.

Alongside that, I let go of the stereotype that “teenage boys don’t talk to their mums.” Instead, I reminded myself that what matters most now is not simply what I say, but how consistently I show my son—through my daily presence—that I am here and that I truly care.

Since making that change, I’ve noticed that my son’s condition has started to improve little by little. Of course, we’re not out of the woods yet, and I know I need to stay present. But right now, I can honestly say: “I love my son deeply, and I will continue to be a mother who helps him feel safe in that love.”

My son’s recent emotional struggles have brought me some profound realisations and growth. I believe every experience holds meaning. It’s one of the values I hold closest to my heart.

Walking Alongside My Small Anxieties

These days, I no longer get as overwhelmed by anxiety as I once did. It hasn’t disappeared completely, but I feel I’ve gained the capacity to say, “Ah, there it is again,” with a bit more calm. And when it shows up, I’m learning to meet it not with blame, but with acceptance.

When I feel like withdrawing from others, or when I find myself unsure of how to hold the desire to be loved, I try to pause and listen to my “small anxiety.” In doing so, I find I can connect more honestly with myself—and that, in turn, helps me connect more meaningfully with others.

And so, I continue walking, gently and steadily, alongside these small anxieties—with my son by my side.

To Those of You Who Also Feel These Wobbles

If you’ve read this far, perhaps you too have experienced similar doubts or inner tremors. If so, please don’t carry it all alone. Take a moment to listen to what your heart is quietly trying to say.

And if you ever feel the need, know that seeking support—whether through counselling or another form of help—is never something to be ashamed of.

At Locus of Life, I offer support grounded in understanding attachment, and I’d be honoured to walk with you on your journey towards feeling safe and authentic in your own life. When you’re ready, please feel free to knock on the door.