Why we withdraw
It’s a familiar scene for many couples: one partner brings up a concern—maybe it’s about how much time they’re spending together or a forgotten promise—and the other partner goes quiet. The silence is heavy, the air thick with unspoken tension. Eventually, someone says, “You’re not listening to me,” and the response is a hurried “I am! Can we talk about this later?”
In emotionally focused couple therapy (EFCT), this pattern is a common one. The partner who pulls away is often called the withdrawer. At first glance, withdrawing seems unhelpful, or even hurtful. But as with most behaviors in relationships, there’s more to the story. Withdrawal isn’t about indifference or avoidance for its own sake. It’s a protective strategy, one rooted in deep emotional needs.
To understand why we withdraw in relationships, let’s start with a story.
I named our imaginary child Colin. Colin loves his parents deeply and wants to make them proud. One day, he spills juice on the living room carpet. His dad, stressed from a long day at work, yells, “What were you thinking? You’ve ruined it!” Colin feels a sharp pang of shame. He didn’t mean to mess up—he was just trying to pour the juice himself, like a “big kid.”
The next time Colin spills something, he freezes. His dad looks at him expectantly, waiting for an apology, but Colin doesn’t say anything. His silence isn’t defiance; it’s protection. If I don’t say anything, maybe this won’t get worse, Colin thinks. And it works, nothing happens.
This pattern starts to repeat itself. If Colin feels scared or overwhelmed, he stays quiet. If he accidentally breaks a toy, he hides it under his bed instead of asking for help. Silence becomes his shield, protecting him from moments when he feels exposed or inadequate.
Fast forward to Colin’s adult relationships. When his partner, Lily, tells him she feels disconnected, Colin’s chest tightens. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s afraid that if he speaks, he’ll say the wrong thing or make her feel worse. So, he withdraws.
For Colin, silence is protection. But for Lily, it feels like rejection. She might think,
Why won’t he open up? Doesn’t he care?
This is the tricky part about withdrawal. It protects one partner while unintentionally wounding the other.
Silence, like all defenses, serves a purpose. It says, I’m not sure how to handle this, so I’m going to step back. It’s an attempt to avoid escalation or harm. But the problem is, silence leaves the other person feeling unheard and alone.
Colin’s silence is joined by other strategies: minimizing, defensiveness, and postponing conversations. Each has its own protective function.
When Lily tells Colin she’s upset about how much time they spend apart, he might say, “It’s not that big of a deal. We’re both just busy right now.” Minimizing helps him cope with being overwhelmed. If the problem feels smaller, it seems less scary. But for Lily, minimizing feels like dismissal. She might think, Why isn’t he taking this seriously?
If Lily presses the issue, Colin might snap, “You’re the one who’s always working late! Why is this on me?”
Defensiveness is Colin’s way of saying, I’m not the bad guy here. It’s an attempt to protect his sense of self-worth. But for Lily, defensiveness feels like an attack, pushing them further apart.
Finally, Colin might say, “Can we talk about this later? I can’t deal with this right now.”
Postponing seems like a neutral response, but it’s rooted in fear. Colin might think, If I wait long enough, maybe this will go away. But for Lily, postponing feels like avoidance. She might wonder, Does he even want to solve this?
Withdrawal is never about not loving, it’s usually about being afraid to lose love or to disappoint our partners. For someone like Colin, his silence, minimizing, and defensiveness are not meant to harm or distance his partner. They’re efforts to protect himself and the relationship in the best way he knows how.
For Lily, understanding this dynamic can bring profound shifts in how she sees Colin’s behavior. Instead of interpreting his withdrawal as indifference or rejection, she can begin to see it as fear and self-protection. Colin isn’t pulling away because he doesn’t care. He’s pulling away because he does care and is unsure how to handle the weight of those feelings.
When Lily approaches Colin’s withdrawal with empathy instead of frustration, she creates an environment where he feels safer. Over time, this safety might encourage Colin to lower his defenses, because he feels understood.
At the same time, Colin might ask himself, What am I afraid of saying? Instead of minimizing, he could reflect, Why does this feel so overwhelming? Instead of getting defensive, he might pause and think, What am I trying to protect?
Colin can also work on sharing these reflections with Lily. He might say, “I get quiet because I don’t know how to respond. It’s not that I don’t care—I just feel overwhelmed.”
For Lily, hearing this can transform her experience. Instead of feeling rejected, she might think, Oh, he does care. He’s just scared, too.
Ultimately, relationships are about holding space for one another’s vulnerabilities. When we understand the protective nature of withdrawal, we can meet it with compassion rather than criticism. When we understand our own defenses, we can learn to set those defenses down. In doing so, we honor the part of us that’s always been trying to protect what matters most.