by Stacy Bremner, MA, RP
There’s a particular ache that rises when a visit with someone you love comes to an end, and you realize it will be a long while before you’re together again — not sharp, not dramatic, just a soft tug in the chest. I felt it recently after one of my sons visited for a few days. We had such a lovely time together, the kind of visit that fills the house with warmth. And when he left, the quiet settled in around me.
Later that evening, I was reading a novel. A granddaughter was heading out the door and called back to her grandmother, “I miss you already.” The grandmother simply replied, “I miss you too.” No guilt, no pressure, no emotional weight — just a mutual exchange of affection. A tiny moment of connection offered and received.
I paused. Something in me softened. I thought, How sweet is that. And then, Wow… I guess it’s okay to miss someone.
Reading that ease made me realize how sweet and uncomplicated missing someone can be when love is safe on both sides.
It was such a simple moment, but it touched a place in me that didn’t get to exist when I was growing up.
The Old Rule: Don’t Have Needs
I was raised in a home where emotions were kept tidy and needs were kept invisible. My mother was stoic, self‑contained, and uncomfortable with vulnerability. My dad was away for work much of the time, and after the divorce, I heard from him a couple of times a year. Both of my parents were unavailable in different ways, and the unspoken rule was simple: Don’t have needs. Or at least, don’t show them.
But of course, my mother did have needs — for closeness, reassurance, understanding. She just didn’t know how to ask for them directly. Instead, disappointment turned into complaint, criticism, or withdrawal. As a child, I absorbed the message that longing or wanting connection was unsafe.
That created a deep, quiet loneliness for me. And it’s why, when I went to university, I knew I wanted to become a psychotherapist — I did not have a helpful adult to talk to growing up. I longed for guidance, but there was no one. Today, I try to be the kind of steady, thoughtful resource I needed back then: a good listener with healthy tools to offer.
Loneliness vs. Connection-Based Longing
Lately I’ve been contemplating the difference between missing someone from loneliness versus connection that matters.
Loneliness-based missing feels urgent. Heavy. It comes from fear — fear of being alone, forgotten, or not mattering.
Connection-based longing is different. It’s warm. Steady. Not demanding. It simply acknowledges that you enjoy who someone is in your life.
That’s the kind of missing I feel now. Not the anxious or empty kind, but the human kind.
Over time, I’ve learned to approach relationships with my eyes open. I try to stay aware of how I’m showing up — with my kids, my friends, the people I love. We talk about relational things openly, something that wasn’t modelled growing up. And when I notice myself slipping into an old pattern — feeling “poor me,” becoming avoidant, or starting to blame — I gently lift myself out of it. Choosing connection over protection has become a practice, one that keeps my relationships honest, healthy, and alive.
The Gentle Unfurling of Healing
Healing doesn’t arrive all at once. It’s a gentle unfurling — a slow softening of places that were once tightly protected. A single line in a book — “I miss you already” — can open something new. Emotional maturity isn’t about having everything figured out. It’s about noticing the small shifts, the quiet permissions, the moments when an old belief loosens and a new truth has room to breathe.
Out of Sight, Out of Mind
In my family of origin, distance was handled through an “out of sight, out of mind” approach. It made separation easier, but it also reinforced emotional disconnection. As an adult, I carried that strategy for a while — it was familiar, and it kept the ache contained.
But I did not apply that to my children. With them, I’ve worked to maintain a regular connection across miles. And I’ve learned that secure attachment allows you to hold someone in your heart without feeling overwhelmed or needy. It’s a softer, steadier way of staying connected, and it’s something I’ve grown into slowly, as the old patterns loosen and new ones take root.
A Life Filled In
I make sure my life is full — friendships, meaningful work, goals that keep me active and engaged. I don’t wait around for people to reach out; I initiate connection. I’ve built a life where I am not alone, and where emotional closeness is real and reciprocal.
And still, when my son leaves after a visit, I miss him. Not because I’m lonely, or empty. But because I love who we are together.
That moment in the book — the granddaughter saying “I miss you already” and the grandmother responding “I miss you too” — felt like a gentle permission slip. A reminder that longing can be expressed simply, sweetly, without shame.
A Gentle Invitation
If you grew up in a home where needs were minimized or discouraged, I hope this lands softly:
Missing someone is not needy. It’s human. It’s relational. It’s love expressing itself across distance.
And maybe — just maybe — allowing yourself to feel that ache, or own that ache, is part of becoming securely attached to your own life.
If You Want to Learn More About Attachment Styles
Healthy relating is deeply connected to attachment. The goal for anyone who wants to cultivate secure, steady relationships — with partners, friends, or adult children — is to move toward secure attachment. It’s not about perfection; it’s about emotional safety, openness, and repair.
If you’re new to this concept, here’s a quick overview of the four main attachment styles:
- Secure Attachment — Comfortable with closeness and independence. Trusts others, communicates openly, and relationships feel steady rather than dramatic.
- Anxious Attachment — Craves closeness but worries about being forgotten or abandoned. May overthink, seek reassurance, or feel easily hurt by distance.
- Avoidant Attachment — Values independence and may downplay needs or emotions. Closeness can feel overwhelming, so distance becomes a way to stay safe.
- Fearful‑Avoidant (Disorganized) — Wants connection but fears it at the same time. Relationships can feel confusing because both closeness and distance trigger discomfort.
If you’d like a simple, accessible explanation of these styles, this short article is a great place to start:
👉 Psychology Today – “What Is Your Relationship Attachment Style?”