The very awareness that you recognize this pattern in yourself is already a huge step toward getting to know yourself better. Still, the path to an honest answer is rarely easy, because it leads through an encounter with a painful truth about yourself, one that our consciousness tries hard to avoid.

We often explain our decision to leave a relationship by "fundamental incompatibility." But if this pattern repeats again and again on your side, it’s worth digging deeper. Behind this universal explanation there is often a biased interpretation of a partner’s behavior.

We look at relationships as if through a thick curtain: we see only vague outlines. We are afraid to pull it aside, because we are afraid of being truly seen.

The inner critic whispers through a stone wall: "Does a version of me like this really deserve a relationship?" And instead of listening to it, we find a "problem" in our partner. It’s easier that way. We run away without giving them a chance to truly see us, to feel us — and, most frightening of all, — to embrace us.

This fear takes us back to the origins of basic trust in the world and in ourselves. It comes from childhood, but I urge you not to look for someone to blame among parents or relatives, and instead try to understand their life scripts. The fear of being rejected manifests itself in three main beliefs.

The inner child is convinced that to be noticed and loved, you have to work hard and constantly prove yourself. A woman begins to "earn" love: she cooks well, keeps the house spotless, takes care of others, while remaining silent about her own true needs.

At some point she simply becomes exhausted and, turning away, leaves with the phrase "he doesn’t share my values," remaining misunderstood.

This grows out of experiences where love was unpredictable: yesterday dad hugged and kissed you, today he punish you without any explanation. In adult life, this turns into the belief: "My partner can leave me at any moment. Nothing lasts forever. So that I don’t have to wait for the blow, I’ll leave first."

Think back: if in childhood you were told in response to tears or hurt, "Calm down, we’ll talk later," or "Stop whining," a clear conclusion forms — expressing feelings is dangerous.

That’s why being vulnerable, asking for help and care, becomes unacceptable to you. And what kind of relationship is it if you can’t be weak in it? The conclusion is the same: "I'd rather disappear and live alone."

This reason is extremely popular today, though it often makes me smile slightly. What independence, and from whom, are we so afraid of losing? In any case, we ultimately come to dependence on ourselves.

Here I recall a recent interview with actor Miloš Biković, whose words spread widely online. Addressing women, he asked a very reasonable question:

It’s hard to disagree with him: self-persuasion about the fear of losing independence often looks unconvincing and cannot serve as either an inner or outer support.

Like many others, I was taught from childhood: "A woman should be able to do everything herself!" This belief, passed down through generations of women in the family, creates "reinforced concrete" supports for a life lived solely for one’s own pleasure — where everything is clearly planned: work, sports, friends, hobbies.

Then any relationship is perceived as a threat to this ideal schedule. A fear of dissolving into a partner arises, a fear of codependent relationships.

Both fears ultimately come down to one thing: the inability to openly and clearly talk about one’s needs.

This is the key to getting out of the trap.

Instead of fleeing, try choosing dialogue. Instead of silent accusations — direct statements:

Recall the climactic line of Katya Tikhomirova, played by Vera Alentova in the film "Moscow Does Not Believe in Tears": "How long I’ve been looking for you."

This phrase is about the moment when the concepts of dependence and independence lose all meaning, giving way to trust.

As my favorite American psychotherapist Aaron Beck wrote in his brilliantly titled book "Love Is Never Enough":