Aloof
In my research into attachment "disorders" I came across this article about cold people in Psychology Today.
If you've gotten into a relationship with a cold person, the article says, "hopefully you walked away." "Avoidant-dismissive attachment disorder" (characterized by aloofness, coldness, lack of affection, self-absorption--the list is long and decidedly not neutral) is caused by faults of "maternal caretaking". One commenter on part 2 of the article calls for finding and sterilizing women with this disorder, presumably to curb the creation of more people the commenter might feel uncomfortable with.
It's just one pop-psych article, written in a comment-baiting style, so I don't take it too seriously. But its strongly biased language and illustrations caused some disparate ideas to coalesce in my mind--ideas about myself, heredity, types of people, and the peculiarly American drive for "self improvement" that has dogged me all my days.
Mary Ainsworth and John Bowlby developed attachment theory in the 1960s by studying the effect a mother's nurturing style has on the personality of her baby. Basically, "good" nurturing fosters a "securely attached" child who grows up to be well-liked, well-integrated, easy with intimacy and, if female, likely to raise good, socially-desirable children of her own. (The language in the field really is that value-laden.)
Bowlby himself questioned why the undesirable attachment styles (present in a sizable minority of the population) would persist unless they served an evolutionary purpose. Otherwise wouldn't they have been selected out of existence? Maybe attachment style is heritable--like introversion. The nurture argument still holds the field--Blaming Mom, after all, was the name of the 20th century psychology game--but the nature crowd might be making some inroads.
It doesn't matter whether I was born this way or made this way. What matters is that I am this way. What matters is that I've spent way too much of my life trying to be cured of something that's far more of a problem for other people than it is for me.
All the therapies, programs and methods I tried were aimed at fixing me. I don't blame them--I went into each of them hoping to be cured. I longed to be one of those winning, attractive people.
Funny, it was a scientifically-unsound fashion-and-beauty system that gave me the gift of self-acceptance that years of therapy withheld.
In Carol Tuttle's Energy Profiling, the Cold Person corresponds strongly with Type 4-Carbon, and Carol (quite unscientifically) contends that your Energy Type is detectable from birth--sometimes even in utero--clearly implying nature, not nurture.
Energy Profiling and Dressing Your Truth provided better illustrations than Psychology Today, and a much better vocabulary: cool, still, deep, silent, bold, exacting, striking, poised, moderate, dignified, commanding, structured, thorough, elite, serious, regal, reflective. (Also ironic, sarcastic, intolerant of fools, literal-minded, logical, and perfectionistic. So sue me.)
"But don't you pay a high price for your insistence on being an ice queen?"
Okay, a)? I don't insist; it's not like I haven't tried to change and b) Yes, there's a price. I'm not popular. Nobody discernibly wanted to marry me and hardly anyone even had the nerve to get to know me when I was younger. I have few friends: I just can't keep up a warmhearted facade long enough to win a host of social contacts. Even as a little girl I was sometimes perceived as a threat by adults. I'm looking at an old age of pretty much total self-sufficiency (which, thank God, I can probably manage).
What's more, I'm rigid, and prone to ailments of rigidity like arthritis. I have rarely been lonely, but I have been terribly ashamed of being alone, and I spent years battling the depression that arose from that self-hatred. The stress of not being able to become what I was supposed to be took on near-suicidal proportions.
So yes, there's a price. Cry me a river. The thing is, I've accepted it. I've learned how to pay it because trying to avoid it costs a lot more.
To every wonderful person who has dared to be my friend I say thank you, from the bottom of my cold (but deep) heart.
And to the name-calling institutions and individuals who can't get past the fact that I'm not the kind of lady you're comfortable with, I say NOT SORRY. FIND BETTER WORDS, OR STOP TALKING ABOUT ME.
Crossposted from Dreamwidth, where there are
comments.
If you've gotten into a relationship with a cold person, the article says, "hopefully you walked away." "Avoidant-dismissive attachment disorder" (characterized by aloofness, coldness, lack of affection, self-absorption--the list is long and decidedly not neutral) is caused by faults of "maternal caretaking". One commenter on part 2 of the article calls for finding and sterilizing women with this disorder, presumably to curb the creation of more people the commenter might feel uncomfortable with.
It's just one pop-psych article, written in a comment-baiting style, so I don't take it too seriously. But its strongly biased language and illustrations caused some disparate ideas to coalesce in my mind--ideas about myself, heredity, types of people, and the peculiarly American drive for "self improvement" that has dogged me all my days.
Mary Ainsworth and John Bowlby developed attachment theory in the 1960s by studying the effect a mother's nurturing style has on the personality of her baby. Basically, "good" nurturing fosters a "securely attached" child who grows up to be well-liked, well-integrated, easy with intimacy and, if female, likely to raise good, socially-desirable children of her own. (The language in the field really is that value-laden.)
Bowlby himself questioned why the undesirable attachment styles (present in a sizable minority of the population) would persist unless they served an evolutionary purpose. Otherwise wouldn't they have been selected out of existence? Maybe attachment style is heritable--like introversion. The nurture argument still holds the field--Blaming Mom, after all, was the name of the 20th century psychology game--but the nature crowd might be making some inroads.
It doesn't matter whether I was born this way or made this way. What matters is that I am this way. What matters is that I've spent way too much of my life trying to be cured of something that's far more of a problem for other people than it is for me.
All the therapies, programs and methods I tried were aimed at fixing me. I don't blame them--I went into each of them hoping to be cured. I longed to be one of those winning, attractive people.
Funny, it was a scientifically-unsound fashion-and-beauty system that gave me the gift of self-acceptance that years of therapy withheld.
In Carol Tuttle's Energy Profiling, the Cold Person corresponds strongly with Type 4-Carbon, and Carol (quite unscientifically) contends that your Energy Type is detectable from birth--sometimes even in utero--clearly implying nature, not nurture.
Energy Profiling and Dressing Your Truth provided better illustrations than Psychology Today, and a much better vocabulary: cool, still, deep, silent, bold, exacting, striking, poised, moderate, dignified, commanding, structured, thorough, elite, serious, regal, reflective. (Also ironic, sarcastic, intolerant of fools, literal-minded, logical, and perfectionistic. So sue me.)
"But don't you pay a high price for your insistence on being an ice queen?"
Okay, a)? I don't insist; it's not like I haven't tried to change and b) Yes, there's a price. I'm not popular. Nobody discernibly wanted to marry me and hardly anyone even had the nerve to get to know me when I was younger. I have few friends: I just can't keep up a warmhearted facade long enough to win a host of social contacts. Even as a little girl I was sometimes perceived as a threat by adults. I'm looking at an old age of pretty much total self-sufficiency (which, thank God, I can probably manage).
What's more, I'm rigid, and prone to ailments of rigidity like arthritis. I have rarely been lonely, but I have been terribly ashamed of being alone, and I spent years battling the depression that arose from that self-hatred. The stress of not being able to become what I was supposed to be took on near-suicidal proportions.
So yes, there's a price. Cry me a river. The thing is, I've accepted it. I've learned how to pay it because trying to avoid it costs a lot more.
To every wonderful person who has dared to be my friend I say thank you, from the bottom of my cold (but deep) heart.
And to the name-calling institutions and individuals who can't get past the fact that I'm not the kind of lady you're comfortable with, I say NOT SORRY. FIND BETTER WORDS, OR STOP TALKING ABOUT ME.
Crossposted from Dreamwidth, where there are
comments.