🕊 Cleaning the Cling: Releasing Codependency + Cultivating Clear Connection

For the woman whose fear of loss runs deep — this reflection explores the roots of clinginess, how COVID changed our attachments, and how to build emotional safety without losing yourself.

Because sometimes, clinginess isn’t about control.
It’s about safety.
It’s about wanting love so badly that your nervous system forgets what it feels like to be held by yourself.

 

 

There’s a kind of ache that comes when you love from fear instead of fullness.
The ache of wanting to be chosen.
The ache of waiting for someone to prove that you matter.
The ache of holding on so tight that your own breath gets caught in the grip.

For a long time, I didn’t realize that my “clinginess” wasn’t just neediness — it was fear.

I was scared they’d leave.
Scared they’d die.
Scared they’d wake up one day and decide they didn’t want me anymore.
So I’d hold tighter. Call more. Text more. Check in more.

Not because I wanted to control them — but because I wanted to feel safe.

 

 

💔 The Truth Beneath the Cling

I didn’t understand that underneath it all, I wasn’t craving attention.
I was craving assurance.
I wanted love.
I wanted affection.
I wanted to feel like I was important to someone — like I was their first choice.

Every unanswered text felt like abandonment.
Every delay in response felt like rejection.
Every quiet moment felt like proof that I wasn’t enough.

Anytime they didn’t answer their phone or text me, my mind spiraled —
they were with someone else.
They were cheating on me.
They had changed their mind.

Because in my past, that’s what had happened.
The silence wasn’t neutral — it was evidence.
And my nervous system remembered.

I was clingy because I was terrified of loss.
I was clingy because I thought if I loosened my grip, they’d disappear — like so many people before them had.

But I never once stopped to ask myself:
What if I cling to myself?
What if the love I’m fighting for externally is the very love I’ve been starving to give myself?

 

 

🪞The Questions That Changed Everything

I started asking myself questions — not to shame myself, but to understand myself.

• Why do you feel the need to have this person’s approval?

• Why do you need to be in contact with them ten times a day?

• What do you think will happen if you don’t talk for twenty-four hours?

• What emotion are you trying to avoid when they don’t respond right away?

• What are you afraid you’ll feel if you sit in the silence?

I had to sit in the discomfort. I had to trace it back.
Because every cling has a root — and mine was loss.

After my mom died, I started clinging harder.
To friends. To relationships. To anyone who felt like stability in a world that kept shifting.

But eventually, I realized — clinging doesn’t keep people close.
It pushes them away.

 

 

🌿 The Practice of Cleaning the Cling

Healing didn’t mean shutting off my heart — it meant learning how to hold it without handing it away.

It meant noticing when my body tightened in fear and choosing to soften instead.
It meant responding, not reacting.
It meant realizing that my worth doesn’t live in someone else’s hands.

So now, when the urge to reach out rises like a wave, I pause.
I breathe.
And I ask myself:
“What am I really needing right now?”

If it’s connection, I might place my hand on my heart and whisper, “I’m here.”
If it’s reassurance, I might journal or take a walk.
If it’s love, I might wrap my arms around myself — because I deserve to feel it first.

 

 

🕯 How COVID Changed My Cling

Did COVID and the worldwide lockdown change your clinginess?
It did for me.

My significant other and I were dating when COVID started, and we spent two years in a house together — just us.
We built a world inside those walls, a rhythm of constant closeness.

So when the world opened again, and it was time to go back to work, I had full-blown panic attacks.
For two years, I hadn’t spent an entire day away from him.

Suddenly, the thought of being apart felt unbearable — not because I didn’t trust him, but because I was so used to being in his presence.
He was my safe space.
My calm.
My constant.

After years of chaos, that closeness had become my comfort zone.
And stepping outside of it — even for a few hours — sent my nervous system into overdrive.

It took another two years to relearn how to be alone.
To remember that I could still be safe even when I wasn’t beside him.
To breathe in the space between us without panicking that it meant something was wrong.

Now, I can go on trips by myself.
I can enjoy time apart.
I can sit in silence without spiraling.

Not because I stopped needing connection — but because I learned that presence doesn’t have to mean proximity.
He is my safe space, yes.
But so am I.

 

 

💫 Embodiment Practice: Coming Back to Yourself

Try this 5-step ritual when you feel yourself clinging, overthinking, or fearing distance.

1) Breathe.
Inhale through your nose for four counts, exhale through your mouth for six. Repeat three times. Let your shoulders drop.

2) Name it.
Say out loud what’s happening:
“I feel scared they’ll leave.”
“I feel anxious they haven’t replied.”
Naming the fear disarms it.

3) Ground.
Press your feet into the floor. Feel the support beneath you.
Remind yourself: “I am safe in this moment.”

4) Re-root.
Place a hand on your heart and say:
“I am my own anchor.”
“I am my own home.”
“I can hold myself.”

5) Redirect.
Do one thing that nourishes you — journal, stretch, dance, make tea, or step outside. Replace the impulse to reach for them with a ritual that reconnects you to you.

 

💎 Closing Reflection

Codependency isn’t weakness — it’s a coping mechanism born from love and fear.
You wanted to be held, not abandoned.
To be chosen, not forgotten.

And that’s okay.

But the healing comes when you realize:
The safety you crave can’t be found in someone else’s presence.
It’s built in your own.

You can loosen your grip without losing your heart.
You can give love without giving yourself away.
You can cling to yourself —
and that will always be enough.

 

With softness and sovereignty,
Karli 

For the woman learning that love isn’t proven by how tightly you hold on —
but by how gently you can let go.

💎