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How Your Attachment Style Shows Up in Bed

February 26, 2026 by Todd Creager Leave a Comment

Most people walk into my office with a pretty clear story about who they are in bed. “I’m the anxious one.” “My partner is avoidant.” They’ve read the books, taken the quizzes, and they’ve got their attachment style pinned down like a name tag at a conference.

And look, that’s a starting point. I get it. But after 35+ years of working with couples—many of them sitting across from me in the middle of an infidelity crisis or a dead bedroom—I can tell you that what actually happens between two people under the sheets is a lot messier and more fluid than those neat categories suggest.

The truth that most of the attachment-style content out there misses? You’re not just one style. Different parts of you carry different attachment patterns. And depending on which part gets activated in an intimate moment, you might show up as a completely different person than you did last Tuesday night.

Let’s get into what that actually looks like.

The Short Version

The four attachment styles—secure, anxious (fearful), avoidant, and fearful-avoidant (disorganized)—each create recognizable patterns during sexual intimacy. Secure attachment allows for full presence, giving, and receiving. Anxious attachment tends toward people-pleasing and losing yourself. Avoidant attachment leans toward disconnection and self-focused pleasure. Fearful-avoidant can swing between all of these, sometimes within the same encounter.

But here’s what the popular attachment content usually leaves out:

You are made up of multiple parts, and each part may carry its own attachment pattern. Your “secure self” might be running the show during a calm Sunday morning, but a triggered, fearful part might take over the moment things get physically vulnerable. This isn’t a flaw—it’s how the human system works. And understanding this changes everything about how you approach intimacy with your partner.

What Attachment Styles Actually Are (And Aren’t)

Before we talk about what happens in the bedroom, I want to reset something. There’s a tendency in popular psychology right now to treat attachment styles like personality types—fixed, singular, definitional. You take a quiz, you get a label, and now you’ve got your identity.

That’s not how it works. Not really.

Attachment theory originally comes from the work of John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth, who studied how infants bond with their caregivers. The core insight is that our earliest relational experiences create internal working models—templates for how we expect relationships to function. Those templates follow us into adulthood, including into our sexual relationships.

The four main styles most people know are:

→ Secure attachment – a felt sense of safety in closeness and independence

→ Anxious attachment (sometimes called “fearful” or “preoccupied”) – a pull toward closeness paired with fear of abandonment

→ Avoidant attachment (sometimes called “dismissive”) – a pull toward independence paired with discomfort around emotional closeness

→ Fearful-avoidant attachment (sometimes called “disorganized”) – a conflicted experience of wanting closeness and fearing it at the same time

Now, what the research has been increasingly showing—and what I’ve been seeing in my clinical work for years—is that we’re not just one of these.

We carry different attachment adaptations in different parts of ourselves. A person might operate from secure attachment in their friendships, anxious attachment in their romantic relationship, and avoidant attachment specifically around sexual intimacy.

This is why two people can look at the same person and have totally different experiences of them. It depends on which part of that person is present.

Secure Attachment in the Bedroom: What Presence Actually Looks Like

When your secure self is present during intimacy, there’s a quality of flow to the experience. You can give to your partner—emotionally and physically—without losing yourself. And just as importantly, you can receive. You can take in the pleasure, the affection, the emotional nutrients your partner is offering.

That word “receive” is one I come back to over and over in my work with couples, because it’s something a lot of people struggle with far more than they realize.

Giving can feel controlled, manageable.

But opening yourself up to genuinely receive another person’s love, desire, and attention during sex? That requires a kind of vulnerability that only happens when you feel safe enough.

In secure mode, there’s a fluid back-and-forth. You maintain your sense of self—your own desires, your own body, your own experience—while also being attuned to your partner. It’s not selfless. It’s not selfish. It’s a kind of relational dance where both people are fully participating.

When both partners are operating from this place, the sexual experience doesn’t need to follow a script. The positions, the techniques, the sequence of events—none of that matters as much as the quality of connection underneath it all. I’ve seen couples with very simple physical routines who have incredible sexual satisfaction because they’re actually there with each other. Present. Attuned. Open.

Anxious Attachment in Bed: The Pleaser Pattern

When a fearfully attached part of you gets triggered during sex, what I most commonly see in my practice is a shift into people-pleasing mode. And I don’t mean the kind of generous attentiveness that comes from secure attachment. I mean a kind of anxious giving where the underlying motivation isn’t “I want to make you feel good” but rather “I need to make sure you don’t leave me.”

There’s a big difference between those two.

The person operating from anxious attachment in bed tends to give up their individuality. They stop asking for what they want. They stop paying attention to their own body’s signals. Their entire focus narrows onto one question: Is my partner okay? Are they happy? Are they going to stay?

Sexually, this can look like always deferring to the other person’s preferences. Never initiating something new. Going along with things that don’t feel great because saying “no” or “not like that” feels too risky. The underlying fear is that any assertion of self will be met with rejection, judgment, or abandonment.

I’ve worked with clients who can’t orgasm with their partner—not because of any physical issue, but because they literally cannot stop monitoring their partner’s experience long enough to be present in their own body. That’s the anxious attachment pattern running the show.

What sometimes confuses people is that this pattern can look like great sex from the outside. The anxiously attached partner may appear generous, attentive, willing. But underneath, they’re running on fear, not desire. And that distinction matters enormously over time, because it’s exhausting to be sexually present when your nervous system is constantly scanning for threat.

Avoidant Attachment in Bed: The Island Pattern

When a part of you that’s avoidantly attached shows up in the bedroom, it tends to look like disengagement—not necessarily from the physical act itself, but from the emotional dimension of it.

The avoidant pattern in sex often shows up as a focus on physical release without much interest in emotional connection. The person might go through the motions, might even enjoy the physical sensations, but there’s a wall between them and their partner. Vulnerability doesn’t feel safe. Letting someone truly see you, truly affect you—that’s where the avoidant part pulls back.

In my practice, I’ve noticed that people with strong avoidant patterns around sex are often not very good at receiving, either—but for different reasons than the anxiously attached person. The anxious person can’t receive because they’re too busy monitoring their partner. The avoidant person can’t receive because receiving means being affected by someone else, and that feels like a loss of control.

I think of the avoidant pattern as “island mode.” The person becomes an island unto themselves during sex. They might not be overly concerned with how their partner is doing or what their partner is feeling. It’s more about one’s own experience, one’s own pleasure, one’s own timeline.

This is also why some people who operate from strong avoidant patterns may prefer masturbation to partnered sex. With masturbation, there’s no emotional risk. No one to attune to. No vulnerability required. It’s pleasure without the relational exposure.

That’s not a judgment, by the way. It’s information. And when you understand the attachment pattern driving that preference, it opens up the possibility of making a different choice—not out of obligation, but out of a desire for something deeper.

Fearful-Avoidant in Bed: The Unpredictable Pattern

This is the one that often creates the most confusion for both the person experiencing it and their partner. Fearful-avoidant attachment (sometimes called disorganized attachment) carries both the anxious and avoidant patterns—and it can toggle between them rapidly.

In the bedroom, this might look like someone who is intensely people-pleasing one night and then emotionally checked out the next. They might go from “forget about me, it’s all about you” to “forget about you, it’s all about me”—and the partner on the receiving end is left thinking, “Who is showing up right now?”

That volatility is confusing. And if you’re the partner of someone whose fearful-avoidant part frequently gets activated during sex, it can feel like you’re making love to a different person depending on the day. That’s destabilizing.

What’s usually happening underneath is a nervous system that can’t decide whether closeness is safe or dangerous. So it oscillates. One moment it reaches for connection (the anxious side). The next moment it recoils from it (the avoidant side). In sexual situations—where you’re physically naked, emotionally exposed, and sensorially heightened—this push-pull can be especially intense.

I want to be clear: this isn’t someone being “difficult” or “crazy.” This is a nervous system responding to old, deep relational wounds. And with the right awareness and support, these patterns can shift.

Why the “Parts” Perspective Changes Everything

Here’s where I want to challenge the way most people think about attachment styles, because this is where the real growth happens.

It’s tempting to say, “I’m an avoidant” and leave it at that. But in my experience working with hundreds of couples, what’s more accurate—and more useful—is to say, “A part of me that carries an avoidant pattern tends to get activated during sex.”

Why does that distinction matter? Because when you identify with the pattern (“I am avoidant”), there’s not much room for change. It becomes who you are. But when you recognize it as a part of you—a part that developed for good reasons, usually protective ones—then you’re no longer stuck. You have a relationship with that part. You can be curious about it. You can even dialogue with it.

This perspective draws heavily from Internal Family Systems (IFS) work and other parts-based therapeutic approaches, and it maps onto what the attachment research is increasingly confirming: we are not monolithic. Different contexts activate different internal systems. The version of you that shows up with a trusted long-term partner may be very different from the version that shows up after a betrayal or during a period of high stress.

In the bedroom, this means that your attachment pattern during sex might shift depending on how safe you feel that day, what happened earlier in the conversation, whether there’s been a recent rupture in the relationship, or even how tired you are. It’s context-dependent. And knowing that gives you something to work with rather than a label to hide behind.

Recognizing Your Own Patterns: A Self-Reflection Framework

If you’re reading this and trying to figure out which pattern shows up for you in bed, here are some honest questions to sit with. These aren’t diagnostic—they’re reflective. Take your time with them.

If you tend toward anxious patterns: Do you find it hard to ask for what you want during sex? Do you monitor your partner’s reactions more than your own sensations? Do you sometimes feel like your sexuality exists to serve the relationship rather than to express your own desire? Does the thought of your partner being disappointed during sex create a disproportionate level of dread?

If you tend toward avoidant patterns: Do you prefer the physical act of sex but feel uncomfortable with prolonged eye contact, emotional sharing during intimacy, or post-sex closeness? Do you find yourself mentally “checking out” during sex even when your body is still engaged? Is masturbation easier or more satisfying than partnered sex more often than you’d like to admit?

If you tend toward fearful-avoidant patterns: Does your experience of sex feel inconsistent—sometimes connected, sometimes distant, and you’re not sure what determines which? Has your partner expressed confusion about who “shows up” in bed? Do you feel pulled between wanting deep closeness during sex and simultaneously wanting to withdraw?

If you tend toward secure patterns: Can you stay present in your own body while also attuning to your partner? Can you ask for what you want and also receive what’s offered? Does sex feel like a space of connection rather than performance, obligation, or escape?

Most people will recognize themselves in more than one of these. That’s the point. The goal isn’t to pick a box. It’s to notice which parts of you tend to show up under which conditions.

What to Do With This Information

Awareness is the first step, but it’s not the last one. Once you start recognizing which attachment pattern is running the show in any given intimate moment, you have options.

For the anxiously attached part, the work is often about developing what I call “emotional muscle”—the ability to stay present with your own experience even when your nervous system is screaming at you to abandon yourself and focus on your partner. This doesn’t mean becoming selfish. It means learning that you can be generous and still have a self.

For the avoidant part, the work tends to be about risk—specifically, the risk of being truly seen and affected by another person during sex. This often means slowing down, making eye contact, and staying present during the moments when the pull to check out is strongest.

For the fearful-avoidant pattern, the work is often about recognizing the oscillation as it’s happening. “Oh, I’m swinging into people-pleasing mode right now” or “I notice I’m pulling away.” That recognition—that moment of noticing—creates a tiny gap where choice becomes possible.

And for all of these, couples therapy or individual therapy with someone who understands attachment and intimacy can be extraordinarily helpful. These patterns didn’t develop overnight, and they usually don’t shift through willpower alone. Having a skilled guide who’s seen hundreds of people work through this—that makes a real difference.

Three Misunderstandings I See All the Time

“If my partner is avoidant, they just don’t want me.” This is almost never accurate. The avoidant pattern is a protective strategy, not a statement about desire. Most of the avoidant clients I’ve worked with do want connection—they just have a part that learned very early on that connection was dangerous. There’s usually a great deal of longing underneath the distance.

“Anxious attachment means I’m needy.” Needy is a judgment. Attachment anxiety is a nervous system response. The part of you that reaches for reassurance during sex isn’t being “too much”—it’s trying to feel safe. The work isn’t to suppress that need but to develop a more secure internal base so that need doesn’t run the show.

“Secure attachment means you never have issues in bed.” Not even close. Even people with predominantly secure attachment hit rough patches, experience desire discrepancies, deal with body image concerns, and go through seasons where sex is complicated. The difference is that secure attachment gives you the relational tools to talk about it, stay connected through it, and repair when things go sideways.

The Bigger Picture

What I really want you to take from this is that sexual intimacy is one of the most attachment-rich situations you’ll ever find yourself in. You’re physically close, emotionally exposed, and your nervous system is running hot. Of course your deepest relational patterns are going to show up there.

And that’s not a problem to solve—it’s an opportunity. The bedroom, more than almost any other context, gives you direct feedback about which parts of you feel safe and which ones don’t. If you’re willing to be curious about that feedback—not judgmental, curious—then your sexual relationship becomes one of the most powerful spaces for personal and relational growth you’ll ever have.

Both partners need to develop the emotional muscles to stay present for each other, even when old patterns get triggered. It takes work. It takes patience. It takes a willingness to be seen in your most vulnerable moments. But I’ve watched couples do this again and again over the course of my career, and what comes out the other side is something deeper and more real than what they started with.

That’s the part that gives me hope—and it’s why I keep doing this work.


Todd Creager, LCSW, LMFT, is a relationship and intimacy specialist with over 35 years of clinical experience helping couples rebuild trust, restore sexual connection, and work through the aftermath of infidelity. He is the author of multiple books on relationships and intimacy, and has helped hundreds of couples develop the emotional and relational skills needed to create deeper, more authentic partnerships.

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She Called Herself a Venus Fly Trap — And I Was the Fly

February 19, 2026 by Todd Creager Leave a Comment

What a wild love story, borderline personality disorder, and a stolen key fob taught me about the parts of ourselves we hide — and what happens when someone draws them out.

Hi everybody. I get a lot of requests to be on my podcast, and I’ll be honest — I usually pass. But when Stephen Paul Edwards reached out, something about him intrigued me. Stephen is a writer with a PhD in spiritual counseling, and he’s the author of a book called The Venus Fly Trap. It’s a memoir about a relationship that was, by any measure, extraordinary. Wild. Funny. Erotic. And also deeply painful.

We had one of those conversations where forty-plus minutes felt like five. And I walked away thinking about themes that come up constantly in my work with couples — the parts of ourselves we exile, the relationships that force us to look at those parts, and the terrifying freedom that comes when you stop hiding.

I want to share some of what we talked about, because whether or not your story looks anything like Stephen’s, I think the underlying dynamics are going to feel very familiar.

How a Flower Question Became a Prophecy

The title of Stephen’s book came from the woman herself — and the way it happened tells you a lot about this relationship.

Stephen had just met her. They were texting about their first date, and he asked her a simple question: what’s your favorite flower? She said Bird of Paradise. Stephen, who has a very English, very dry sense of humor, texted back something like, “No way, mine too. But it’s a bit expensive. What’s your second favorite?”

She texted back within seconds: Venus fly trap.

And there it was. She was telling him exactly who she was, right from the beginning. She could be the Bird of Paradise — beautiful, exotic, stunning. And she could be the Venus fly trap. Both were true. Stephen said something that stuck with me: deep in his subconscious, he knew. He knew she was the Venus fly trap and he was the fly. But his desire to be with her overrode that intuition.

I talk about this with clients all the time.

That moment where something hits you intuitively — a warning, a knowing — and then your ego, your loneliness, your need to be with someone, pushes that knowing underground. It’s one of the most human things we do. And it’s one of the most costly.

A Fantasy Life That Wasn’t Real Life

Stephen was living in a 7,500-square-foot mansion. He was making a million dollars a year. He was driving a Rolls Royce. And the woman he fell for — he calls her Tamar in the book — was a former international supermodel. Five-eleven. Gorgeous. Extraordinarily intelligent. Extraordinarily intuitive.

And she had acute borderline personality disorder. All nine diagnostic symptoms, off the charts.

The stories Stephen told me were the kind you can’t look away from. They almost got thrown off a luxury cruise ship after having sex on the penthouse veranda while passengers watched from the deck above. She got banned from his entire neighborhood after the police showed up with dogs and six sheriff’s cars. She threw a fake engagement party for them at a bar in Miami without telling him. She stole the key fob to his Rolls Royce so he couldn’t leave her hotel — then pretended she had no idea what he was talking about.

And through all of it, Stephen loved her. He still does. He told me that directly, and I believe him.

But here’s what I found most striking about the way Stephen described their life together: he called it a fantasy world. Not real life. They didn’t have kids. They traveled constantly. They stayed in beautiful hotels. They had a sex room in the mansion and played backgammon in between everything else. It was exciting and intense and it was, by his own admission, not sustainable.

He compared her to heroin. And he said the same thing a heroin addict would say: I know I can never go near her again. Because if I do, I’m right back where I was.

Borderline Personality Disorder: What I Want People to Understand

I want to pause here and say something about borderline personality disorder, because I think it’s important.

BPD exists on a spectrum, like most things in our field. Some people have milder forms that are very treatable. They can manage it. It doesn’t run their lives. Other people have it acutely, and the picture is much harder.

In Stephen’s case, Tamar’s BPD was severe. And the piece that made it truly heartbreaking was this: her father had put her in an asylum when she was sixteen years old. So she would never go to therapy. Never. Because in her mind, if anyone found out she had this issue, they’d put her back in. That fear was so deep and so primal that it closed the door on any possibility of treatment.

That’s the part of this story that, as a clinician, really gets to me. The disorder itself is painful enough. But when someone’s early experiences have made them terrified of the very help that could give them relief — that’s a kind of trap that’s much harder to escape than any relationship.

And I think Stephen understood that. When he finally made the decision to end the relationship, it wasn’t because he stopped loving her. It was because he realized this particular disorder, at this severity, in a person who would never accept treatment — there was no path through it together. As he put it: do you want a life, or do you want a life like that?

The Parts We Hide and the People Who Draw Them Out

This is where the conversation really got into territory that I think about every day in my practice.

Stephen said something I loved. He said Tamar was the greatest gift he’d ever received from another person. He called her a “master teacher.” What she taught him, he said, was to own the part of himself he’d been hiding his entire life.

We all have a light side and a dark side. Most of us spend enormous energy keeping that dark side out of view. Not just from other people — from ourselves. We judge it. We shame it. We pretend it doesn’t exist. And then we wonder why we make decisions that don’t make sense to us, or why we’re drawn to people and situations that seem so clearly destructive from the outside.

I do trauma work. I use Internal Family Systems therapy, EMDR, different modalities. And one of the core ideas across all of this work is that we have parts. Some parts are easy to present to the world — the kind, the loving, the competent. Other parts are harder. The insecure parts. The vengeful parts. The sexual parts. The parts that are selfish or needy or afraid.

When we exile those parts — when we push them underground because they’re not acceptable to us or our family or our culture — they don’t disappear. They run us. We can’t make good decisions because we’re being driven by parts of ourselves we refuse to acknowledge.

Stephen was drawn to Tamar because his outside mirrored his inside. He’d been diagnosed as manic depressive at sixteen. His whole life had been up and down. He loved the excitement, the adventure, the fact that they didn’t live a normal life. That wasn’t just about her being exciting. It was about a part of him that needed that intensity to feel alive.

And by the end of writing this book, Stephen said something that I thought was remarkable. He said: there’s nothing left to hide. I have nothing left to hide. What a way to live. That’s a kind of freedom most people never get to.

A Couple I Worked With — The Ring on the Finger

Stephen’s story reminded me of a couple I saw years ago in Newport Beach, California. Good-looking couple. They came in and I asked what brought them to therapy. She held up her left hand, pointed to her bare fourth finger, and said, “This is why we’re here.”

So I looked at him and asked why he hadn’t proposed. He said he wanted to. He loved her. But she needed to get her emotions under control first. He used the word “mayhem.” Their conflicts were mayhem.

And she said: if you put a ring on my finger, maybe there wouldn’t be mayhem.

He said: maybe the problem is that you sleep with other men because you’re angry at me when I don’t put the ring on your finger.

And she said: I wouldn’t sleep with those other men if you gave me the ring.

You can hear the trap, right? It’s circular. In her reality, he was the villain and she was the victim. It’s the same dynamic Stephen described. This roping-in quality where you’re put in a position where you can’t move. Like a straight jacket — and as Stephen said, he was helping her put it on.

I eventually shared with this man that I believed she had borderline personality disorder. I showed him the nine diagnostic criteria from the DSM. And I watched his body relax. Because even though part of him knew something was off, the gaslighting had been so effective that he’d internalized it. He thought the problem was him. Just hearing that it wasn’t — that there was a name for what was happening — freed him from an enormous weight.

The Slow Loss of Self That Comes with Gaslighting

One of the things Stephen talked about that I think is so important for people to hear is how gradual the process of losing yourself really is.

He didn’t wake up one morning and realize he’d lost his mind. It happened little by little. He wanted to believe her so badly that each small distortion of reality seemed manageable. She’d make accusations out of thin air — claiming she could smell another woman’s perfume on him, saying she’d seen a picture of someone, none of it real — and he’d try to manage it. He’d agree with her. He’d make jokes. He’d rationalize.

That’s what we do when we’re in these situations. We rationalize. We tell ourselves it’s not that big of a deal. And each time we do that, we give away a little more of ourselves. Until one day you realize you’re not sure what’s real anymore.

And the person doing the gaslighting? In many cases, they don’t fully know they’re doing it. With BPD, the accusations feel real to them in the moment. Their fear of abandonment is so intense that it creates a reality in their mind — and then they project that reality onto you. She’d text him pages of awful accusations, and then when she was done, she’d text “I love you.” She was emoting. Whatever she was feeling came out, got projected, and then when the wave passed, the love was back.

I’ve seen this pattern hundreds of times. It’s confusing and it’s crazy-making, and it’s not your imagination.

Why Stopping and Looking Inside Changes Everything

I think one of the most important decisions any person can make — and I really believe this separates people who have better lives from people who don’t — is the decision to stop running and look inside.

Stephen spent most of his life going two hundred miles an hour. He told me he journaled, but he never read his journals. That’s such a good detail, because it captures exactly how people run. They go through the motions of self-reflection without ever actually doing it. The journal exists, but the looking doesn’t happen.

About three years ago, Stephen took a break from relationships and gave himself time to actually reflect. And writing the book became that process. He said he’d find himself writing and laughing at what happened, then crying at what happened. It was cathartic in a way that just living through it never could have been.

That’s what happens when you stop. The emotions that were too big to feel in the moment finally get their chance. And when you let them through, something shifts. You develop a deeper relationship with yourself. You stop performing a version of yourself and start actually being yourself.

Stephen said he’d been performing since he was a teenager. I think a lot of people can relate to that. You put on a version of yourself that the world finds acceptable, and you run with it for years — decades — until something forces you to stop. Sometimes that something is a crisis. Sometimes it’s a relationship that blows your life apart. And sometimes, if you’re fortunate, it’s a choice you make before the crisis forces it.

Childhood Trauma and Why We’re Drawn to Who We’re Drawn To

Both Stephen and Tamar had childhood trauma. Stephen was diagnosed as manic depressive at sixteen. Tamar’s father was a billionaire who raised her like a princess and then had her institutionalized as a teenager. They both carried deep wounds into adulthood, and those wounds shaped who they were attracted to and why.

This is something I see over and over in my practice. Childhood trauma doesn’t just affect how you feel about yourself. It affects who you choose. The partner who feels like electricity, who makes you feel more alive than anyone else, who you can’t seem to walk away from — that person often fits with your wounds in ways you don’t fully understand until you stop and look.

I’ve spent years developing a program called Healing Infidelity from the Inside Out, and the “inside out” part is the whole point. The external behaviors — the cheating, the lying, the chaos — are symptoms. The real work happens when you turn inward and ask: what part of me was looking for this? What was I running from? What did this person or this situation give me that I didn’t know how to give myself?

I also think there are societal reasons we end up in these patterns. We’ve been taught to hide from ourselves. If a feeling isn’t acceptable to our family or our culture, it goes underground. We exile it. And then it runs us from the shadows.

Monogamy, Sexual Freedom, and Learning to Handle Complexity

Stephen and I had a really interesting exchange about what he called “the new sexual revolution.” His take was that people are more sexually liberated than they were fifty years ago, and that this liberation keeps building on itself. Women are claiming parts of themselves that used to be forbidden. Social media lets us see into lives we never would have seen before. The boundaries around identity and sexuality are shifting in real time.

And I think he’s right. But here’s where my clinical mind goes: with that freedom comes complexity. And complexity requires skills that most of us were never taught.

I wrote a book called The Long, Hot Marriage, and I’ve chosen a monogamous lifestyle myself. And I’ve had to evolve in how I think about this. I’ve worked with couples in polyamorous relationships, and some of them do it in a very healthy, intentional way. I’ve worked with monogamous couples who do it in an unhealthy way. The structure isn’t the issue. The issue is: do you have the emotional maturity and communication skills to honor whatever contract you’ve created?

In my own marriage, I can tell my wife that some part of me wants to flirt with a woman half my age. And she’ll say, “Yeah, you’re a creeper.” And we laugh. Because that part of me is allowed to exist. It’s acknowledged. It’s not exiled into the shadows where it could cause real damage. That’s what I mean by handling complexity.

For Stephen, the issue wasn’t that Tamar was bisexual or non-monogamous. The issue was that her behavior was driven by a disorder that made real partnership impossible. She was smart enough to articulate interesting ideas about monogamy — and Stephen acknowledged that. But the illness underneath meant those ideas were serving a compulsion, not a philosophy.

If Any of This Sounds Familiar…

I’m sharing all of this because Stephen’s story, as wild as it is, contains threads that run through so many of the relationships I see in my practice. The gaslighting. The losing yourself. The choosing someone who matches your wounds. The rationalization. The way excitement and trauma can feel almost identical when you’re in the middle of it.

Your version of this might not involve a Rolls Royce or a cruise ship or a stolen key fob. But if you’re with someone and you feel like you’re in a straight jacket — and part of you knows you’re helping them put it on — that’s worth paying attention to.

And if you’ve come out the other side of a relationship like this, and you’re trying to make sense of what happened and why you stayed — please know that making sense of it is some of the most important work you can do. Not to assign blame. Not to beat yourself up. But because understanding the parts of yourself that were running the show is how you stop repeating the pattern.

Stephen’s book is available at VFT23.com, where you can also get a free e-version and a bonus book called Madness and Mayhem. I’d recommend it. Not just for the stories — though those are something — but for the honesty. Stephen said that by the time he finished writing, he had nothing left to hide. That kind of radical honesty is rare, and it’s the thing that makes real healing possible.

If you’re dealing with a relationship that feels impossible to understand, or if you know you need to stop running and start looking — reach out. That’s what I’m here for. You don’t have to figure it out alone.

About This Article

This article is based on a podcast conversation between Todd Creager, LCSW, and Stephen Paul Edwards, author of The Venus Fly Trap. Clinical observations are informed by over 30 years of practice specializing in couples therapy, infidelity recovery, and trauma work using Internal Family Systems (IFS) and EMDR. Client details in Todd’s clinical examples have been changed to protect privacy. Stephen’s book The Venus Fly Trap and bonus book Madness and Mayhem are available at VFT23.com.

Todd Creager, LCSW, is a licensed clinical social worker and relationship therapist. He is the author of The Long, Hot Marriage and the creator of the Healing Infidelity from the Inside Out program.

Watch The Interview with Stephen Paul Edwards

About Stephen Paul Edwards

Stephen Paul Edwards is a writer, speaker, and spiritual development coach with a PhD in spiritual counseling. Originally from England, Stephen spent years working alongside Tony Robbins before launching his own personal and spiritual development program.

His memoir, The Venus Fly Trap, tells the raw, funny, and heartbreaking story of a relationship that changed his life and forced him to confront the parts of himself he’d been hiding for decades.

His bonus book, Madness and Mayhem, gives readers a taste of the full story – get a free version here: https://bit.ly/3MvAtAa  

Filed Under: Blog, Post, Relationship Advice, Toxic Relationship Tips & Advice

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