Attractions of Deprivation

Pulling the thread on my pattern of attracting unavailable men.

If you’ve got at least one year of sobriety and are ready to do the deeper work, consider joining me for The Sober Life, starting in February. This 5-month program addresses the core challenges in emotional sobriety, including relationships, self-trust, purpose, and emotional resilience. Learn more and register.

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Hi, hello. First, I’m sending so much love to any of you in LA who are impacted by the fires or are grieving family and friends who are. My thoughts are with you.

Last week, I wrote about what to expect from me here in 2025. TL/DR, I won’t be writing about alcohol addiction and sobriety much anymore and instead will be writing about the topics in my third book, including love addiction (hate the term; it has nothing to do with love or being an “addict” and I’m determined to come up with better language) and attachment trauma, narcissism and how it impacts adult attachment, dating in mid-life, relationship patterns, emotional sobriety, and more. I also discussed why I do paid subscriptions here and how I earn a living overall.

On that note, today’s piece is for paid subscribers only.

Relationships of Deprivation

Growing up, I was obsessed with watching our home video labeled “Joey’s First Christmas.”

It opens with a scene of my brother (Joey/Joe) and me in the kitchen dressed in our Halloween costumes. He’s almost one, newly walking, dressed as a little Roman in a homemade toga tied at the waist with some twine. I’m four, dressed as Raggedy Ann in a blue and white flowered dress, red and white striped socks, and red lipstick on my nose. My mom helps Joe get up to stand and puts his hands on the cupboards so he can balance himself. He pushes away from them and makes it a few steps before he falls on his butt and starts crying. Whenever my dad points the camera at my brother, I say something to him to get his attention back on me.

The next shot is from Christmas morning that same year. My dad’s filming me from behind as I walk downstairs to see a white bike wrapped in a bow. I’m still sleepy, smiling, but not quite registering. Then it cuts to Joe, who’s banging his new plastic hammer on the glass coffee table while my mom keeps telling him to stop. While my dad tries to film Joe, I keep jumping in front of the camera. Eventually, I do it one too many times, and he yells at me to knock it off. I burst into tears and the picture stops.