She was extraordinary. Beautiful and on the path. And she was exactly the kind of woman where all my oldest patterns could hide in plain sight. I could be her helper. Her coach. Her therapist. Her tantric lover. Her guide through deep medicine journeys.
I had it all. For a while, we were in heaven.
But slowly — almost invisibly — the familiar current began to pull. Her fears met my compulsion to hold her through them. Her rejections met my willingness to keep giving. My heart began to close. Our intimacy faded. I went back to the jungle alone, to work on myself. But I could feel it — I was working on her too. Trying to fix what was not mine to fix.
I didn't want to lose another relationship. But when I went through a hard day and needed her — she closed the door and left.
We had built something real together. A home. A dream. Held retreats together. We had begun to build a retreat center where we were going to do this work side by side — for others, for ourselves, for the family we had spoken about creating.
When it ended, we sold it all. Almost without fighting.
Thirty years of this journey. More than a hundred and fifty plant medicine ceremonies. A decade of teaching this work to other men. And still — the pattern had taken me down again.
The price this time was everything I had imagined my future to be. Perhaps my last chance at becoming a father. And having a family.
That is what this pattern costs. Not just relationships. Not just intimacy. It costs men their lives.
What followed was the deepest awakening of my life. Not because the relationship ended. But because I finally saw — with complete clarity — how much of myself I was willing to abandon to be loved. How deep the anxious attachment ran. How much of it traced back to my mother. How after my father died, that bond became everything — and how that everything had quietly shaped every intimate relationship I had ever been in.
I had known about this layer. I had simply not yet been able to break through it.
Until now.