Why Strong Girls Fall for Emotionally Unavailable People

I used to think I was too smart to fall for the wrong person. Too self-aware. Too emotionally literate. Too “strong.” But I did. And not just once. I kept falling for the ones who couldn’t love me. The ones who looked at my heart like it was too much. The ones who withheld softness like it was a privilege I hadn’t earned. The ones who flinched when I offered closeness. The ones who loved me with distance.

I thought I could change them. Heal them. Show them a love so safe, so pure, so unwavering, they would have to stay. I thought maybe if I poured enough of myself into their empty spaces, they would finally look at me and say, “You’re the reason I believe again.”

But they never did. They pulled away. They shut down. They disappeared. Or worse they stayed long enough to make me believe I was finally safe, then emotionally starved me until I was on my knees begging for breadcrumbs. And somehow, I always blamed myself.

Because strong girls weren’t supposed to feel this empty. I carried everyone else’s burdens like a badge of honor. I was the one people called when life broke them open. I was the safe space, the strong shoulder, the emotional anchor. I was proud of that.

But there was a cost. Because being strong often meant swallowing my needs, hiding my tears, and pretending I wasn’t exhausted from carrying weight I never asked for. I thought if I loved hard enough, if I gave enough, if I proved I was good enough… someone would finally stay. No one ever told me that strength without boundaries isn’t love. It’s survival.

And emotional unavailability felt familiar. It mirrored the way I learned to love — by over-giving. By proving. By earning. When someone didn’t reciprocate, I didn’t walk away. I leaned in harder. I thought their walls meant I had to try more, not leave. I confused withholding with mystery. I called silence “calm.” I interpreted emotional detachment as “depth.” I mistook avoidance for trauma I could heal. Why? Because somewhere deep inside me, a voice whispered: "Love isn’t freely given. It has to be earned."

I was loving them the way I wished someone had loved me. Patiently. Relentlessly. Without conditions. I wanted to be their safe space because I never had one. I wanted to be the person who stayed, even when they pushed me away, because I knew what it felt like to be abandoned. I kept choosing the ones who mirrored the ache I grew up with — the coldness, the emotional gaps, the unmet needs. I chased the same dynamic over and over, hoping this time, the ending would be different. It never was. Each time, I disappeared a little more inside myself.

Strong girls often fall for emotionally unavailable people because we think our love can save them. But really, we’re trying to save ourselves. We’re trying to rewrite the past. To finally feel chosen. To finally be enough. We think if we crack through their emotional walls, maybe someone will finally do the same for us. But we don’t realize we’re bleeding ourselves dry in the process. We don’t realize that loving someone who cannot or will not emotionally show up is a slow form of self-erasure. And that the longer we stay, the more we begin to believe that love must hurt.

Here’s what I had to unlearn:

Love is not supposed to feel like chasing.

Silence isn’t depth — it’s disconnection.

You shouldn’t have to earn affection you freely give.

Someone who loves you will not constantly confuse you.

The ache in your chest is not passion — it’s a warning.

The day I realized I was the one keeping the cycle alive, I broke. I was sitting alone on my bedroom floor, phone in hand, rereading a message I had sent to him — a message I knew he wouldn’t respond to. I waited anyway. Hoping. Checking. Rechecking. My heart pounding with the kind of anxiety that only comes from loving someone who’s emotionally absent.

I had nothing left to give, but I was still offering him pieces of me. And then it hit me: This isn’t love. This is a performance. This is me trying to earn my worth again. I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe. Because the grief wasn’t just for him — it was for every time I betrayed myself in the name of being “strong.”

I stopped calling strength the ability to hold others. I started calling it the ability to hold myself.

To walk away when someone couldn’t meet me emotionally.

To say “no” even when it made me feel guilty.

To admit I was tired of always being the strong one.

To believe that I didn’t have to suffer to be loved.

It wasn’t easy. Because healing meant giving up the fantasy that one day, they’d wake up and realize I was enough. It meant grieving the love I had dreamed of but never received. But slowly, I came back to myself.

I learned that the strongest thing a girl can do is stop chasing people who can't love her. And instead, turn all that love inward. It’s not easy to unlearn survival patterns disguised as relationships. It’s not easy to walk away from someone you thought you could fix. It’s not easy to sit with your own emptiness without reaching for someone else to fill it.

But it’s necessary. Because the truth is, strong girls aren’t unbreakable. We bleed too. We ache too. We cry in the dark, then wipe our faces before anyone notices. But strength isn’t about hiding your wounds. It’s about healing them. And sometimes, healing starts with admitting the people we chose weren’t meant to stay.

So if you’ve been loving someone who feels distant… someone who makes you feel like too much and not enough at the same time…

Let this be your sign:

You don’t have to keep proving your worth.

You don’t have to keep explaining your heart.

You don’t have to be the one who always understands, always gives, always stays.

You are allowed to want more.

You are allowed to leave.

You are allowed to save yourself.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what real strength looks like. Not the ability to hold everyone together… But the courage to let go of what was breaking you.