Lachlan Brown
There was a time in my twenties when I fell for someone hard. She had this calm presence, a softness that made me want to open up—but instead, I pulled away. I didn’t ghost her or stop replying. I was around. But emotionally, I became distant. I made jokes when things got serious. I cancelled plans when I sensed we might get too close. And I told myself it was because I didn’t want to lead her on.
But that wasn’t the truth.
The truth was, I liked her more than I was willing to admit—not just to her, but to myself. And that scared me.
When closeness feels like a risk
What I’ve come to understand, both from personal experience and from studying psychology, is that many men retreat when they feel too much. Not because they’re emotionally unavailable—but because they suddenly become too emotionally available, and that feels unfamiliar, even dangerous.
We’re taught to pursue what we want. But emotional vulnerability? That’s something many of us have been conditioned to suppress. From childhood, boys are subtly rewarded for independence and stoicism. We learn that too much emotion makes us weak, needy, or less masculine.
So when a man meets someone who genuinely touches something deep within him, there’s a conflict. Part of him wants to move forward. The other part wants to retreat to the safety of detachment. It’s not always conscious. But the body knows. He might feel a tight chest. A need for space. A sudden wave of anxiety after a moment of closeness.
In that sense, distance isn’t always about disinterest. Sometimes it’s the clearest sign he does care—he just hasn’t developed the inner tools to handle what that stirs in him.
The myth of emotional clarity
One of the most damaging assumptions in modern dating advice is that emotionally distant behavior always means lack of interest. “If he liked you, you’d know.” It’s a comforting certainty—but it oversimplifies human psychology.
In my own case, I wasn’t confused about how I felt toward her. I was confused about what to do with those feelings. I hadn’t yet developed the emotional language or security to express vulnerability without fear of being engulfed, controlled, or exposed.
The psychoanalyst Carl Jung said, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” For many men, emotional withdrawal is an unconscious strategy. Not a manipulative game. Not a power play. But a deeply ingrained habit of self-protection.
This is where Buddhist wisdom meets psychological insight.
Walking the Middle Way in love
In Buddhism, the Middle Way refers to the path between extremes—between indulgence and denial, attachment and aversion. It’s about finding balance.
When it comes to love, many of us—especially men conditioned by emotional suppression—oscillate between two extremes: the desire to merge and the urge to escape. We either overattach or pull away. We give too much or become cold.
The Middle Way teaches that emotional maturity is the ability to stay present with what arises—without clinging and without fleeing. To feel desire without grasping. To hold love lightly, with open hands.
I’ve found this particularly useful in understanding my own reactions. In the past, strong feelings would make me contract. Now, I pause. I notice the emotion. I name it. I breathe into it. I don’t act on the first impulse. And in that space, I can choose a wiser response.
Before: Emotional defense as default
In my earlier relationships, emotional distance was my go-to defense. If I felt vulnerable, I’d use humor to deflect. If I sensed too much intensity, I’d become critical or sarcastic. If I cared deeply, I’d act aloof.
It wasn’t conscious cruelty—it was protection. I didn’t know how to hold intimacy without losing myself. I thought I had to choose between emotional openness and personal freedom.
Looking back, I can see the women I dated weren’t confused because I didn’t care—they were confused because my actions and my presence didn’t match the connection they felt.
That disconnect hurts. It’s not just frustrating—it’s destabilizing. And if you’re on the receiving end, you might internalize it: “Did I come on too strong? Was I not enough?”
But often, his distance says more about his emotional blueprint than your worth.
After: Holding connection without collapsing into it
My growth came not from becoming more stoic, but from becoming more honest. I started to tell the truth, even when it made me feel exposed. I practiced mindfulness—not just as a meditation technique, but as a way to meet my emotions with clarity and compassion.
In one relationship years later, I felt myself start to pull away again. The old reflex. But instead of acting on it, I said, “I feel really close to you, and that scares me a little. I don’t want to lose myself in this.”
She didn’t flinch. She smiled and said, “Thanks for telling me. Let’s take it slow.”
That moment changed everything. Vulnerability didn’t collapse the connection—it strengthened it.
This is the Middle Way in action: staying present with the discomfort without letting it dictate our actions.
What to do if he’s acting distant
If someone you’re seeing is acting distant, the worst thing you can do is chase or assume. Instead, meet the moment with awareness.
Start by checking in with yourself: Are you projecting old wounds onto his behavior? Are you expecting him to regulate your anxiety by being more consistent?
Then, create space for a gentle truth. You might say:
- “I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit distant lately. If you’re unsure about how you feel, that’s okay—I’d just appreciate honesty.”
- “I really like spending time with you. I want to understand where you’re at without pressuring you.”
If he’s emotionally overwhelmed, that kind of steady presence might invite him to open up. If he’s just not interested, your clarity will help you move on.
And if he’s caught between feeling and fear—your groundedness might show him a new way.
Closing the distance (internally and externally)
When I reflect on the man I used to be—the one who distanced himself from someone he genuinely liked—I don’t feel shame. I feel compassion. I was doing the best I could with the emotional tools I had.
And that’s true for many of us.
What helps close the distance isn’t forcing clarity, but cultivating inner steadiness. Whether you’re the one pulling away or the one left wondering, the Middle Way offers a path to meet love without losing yourself.
Sometimes, the bravest thing we can do isn’t to chase or retreat—but to simply stay.
Stay present. Stay honest. Stay open.
Because love isn’t found in extremes. It’s found in the space between.
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