The Dance of Trust: Embracing Withdrawal and Self-Acceptance
This photo from October 2022 shows Anat as she finally dared to step into the house after spending several nights in the garden. In her eyes, you can clearly see both her fear and curiosity – a meaningful moment symbolizing her first brave step into a new, safe environment.
I used to think retreating was a sign of weakness, especially in relationships. But when I watched one of my rescue dogs, Anat, withdraw to feel safe, I began to question my own need for distance. Is there strength in stepping back? Could connection and solitude actually work together?
In the following reflection, inspired by Anat’s journey to trust, I found myself rethinking my beliefs about connection and solitude. Watching Anat, I began to reconsider how I approach my own moments of withdrawal.
For years, I saw my need to pull back as a flaw, a tendency I resisted, thinking it was something to overcome. But Anat, with her gentle caution, showed me there may be another way to view this need—a way that honors both safety and connection.
In this post, I’ll explore how the inner conflict between connection and retreat doesn’t have to be a battle but can become a dance.
Loving Patience
“There's nothing more fulfilling to me than patiently guiding a being from fear to trust.”
Reading time: 7 minutes
Anat’s Journey to Trust: Emotions and Insights
Today marks two years since we welcomed Anat from the streets into our home. Celebrating this, I found myself sifting through photos from our time together, overwhelmed with emotion. As I looked back on Anat’s journey toward trust, I couldn’t help but cry, filled with love and admiration. Unlike the other dogs in our pack, Anat needed a lot more time to allow closeness.
Yet, I never saw her need for distance as a weakness. Instead, I admired her strength in taking the time she needed to feel safe—a strength that I like to invite to my own journey.
Self-Care Through Withdrawal: What Anat Taught Me About Feeling Safe
Anat’s behavior has shown me that withdrawing isn’t a weakness but a necessary act of self-care—a lesson I’ve struggled to accept. Like Anat, I often withdraw when I feel insecure. While I see her retreat as a strength, I’ve long judged myself for for needing the same.
Anat Retreating in the Potato-Box
This image shows Anat retreating to our potato box, her chosen safe space. She sleeps with her eyes half-open as if it makes her feel more secure. A moment that symbolizes both her need for safety and her watchful alertness.
When I feel overwhelmed, withdrawal hits me suddenly, like a heavy wave of apathy, and the urge to be alone becomes overpowering. Depression — An automatic response that I judged myself for badly. In the past, I thought it was “wrong” to isolate myself, failing to see that my body was trying to give me the space I needed to release pressure.
“Depression is my way of saying: I’m taking the pressure off you so you can rest.”
Now, I’m beginning to understand that withdrawal, just like in Anat’s case, can offer me safety. Yet I often ask myself: Why is it so hard for me to allow myself this space? Why do I judge myself for my body’s need to release the pressure?
Anxiety is Exhausting
Anat lies completely exhausted under a chair. The toll that fear takes on her is clearly visible. This moment highlights the importance of resting and recovering after intense moments of fear.
Letting Go of Old Beliefs: Moving Beyond Self-Judgment
Over time, I’ve learned to question my automatic responses—the wave of heaviness and apathy that hits …
When I open up and feel vulnerable but don’t feel appreciated.
When I perceive that I’m being treated unfairly.
When I sense someone holds an opinion about me that doesn’t match my perception and I urgently want them to correct their view.
When I feel expectations are placed on me that I don’t want to meet but can’t find the courage to express that.
These perceptions can feel so intense that they seem like absolute truths. Yet another part of me—my “therapist-self”—steps in to analyze this response, reminding me that these feelings stem from an outdated belief that I’m not enough. But instead of showing patience, this voice can become harsh, saying, “You should have learned by now that you’re enough. No need to feel unsafe.”
I’d never speak to Anat this way. It would be absurd to tell her, “Your past fears are over; you should stop being afraid.”
Yet, I expect this from myself.
But trust doesn’t work that way. It isn’t built on rational insight alone. Trust is like a slow, careful dance where both partners gradually learn to rely on each other. It takes time, space, and inner consistency—the kind of reassurance that says,
“I’m here, I’m staying, and I’ll be patient with you until you’re ready to come back out.”
In this video, Anat is being gently introduced to the other dogs while I hold her lovingly in my arms. The dogs curiously sniff her while she remains safely nestled in my embrace. This moment represents the 'dance of trust' as Anat finds safety in my arms while cautiously observing the others.
Learning Patience and Acceptance: Mindful Withdrawal as Self-Care
When I feel the urge to withdraw in social situations, I often pretend everything is fine, even when anxiety or sadness is swirling inside me. Anat, however, would simply retreat—and I’m learning to give myself that same permission.
From now on, I want to allow myself to mindfully retreat when I don’t feel safe. This isn’t about running away but about consciously stepping back to give myself the space I need. It’s a retreat into safety, not from insecurity. Maybe, stepping back is exactly what I need to breathe more freely and reconnect with myself.
Recognizing Resistance: Why I Struggle to Give Myself Space
If retreating were easy, I’d have done it by now—and wouldn’t be writing about it. So let’s explore my resistance. Resistance—my familiar internal companion 😉—appears whenever two parts of me want opposite things. On one side, I long to connect, fearing that retreat might disappoint others or come across as strange. On the other, I crave safety in solitude, making it difficult to stay engaged.
I imagine these two parts as fighters in a ring, each ready for a showdown:
Welcome to my mind and another round of
“The Great Internal Resistance.”
In one corner, we have the “Need for Connection,” gloves on, bouncing on its toes, eager to dive into every social situation like a champ.
In the opposite corner, glaring fiercely is “Need for Safety,” already planning its knockout move—a well-timed wave of heaviness, its signature technique for ending every match early.
Ding ding ding—the bell rings! “Need for Connection” lunges forward, shouting, “We need to engage for people to love us!” while “Need for Safety” crosses its arms, deadpan, and replies, “We need to retreat to feel safe!”
Round after round, they clash, each one with a point, each with a different goal. And me? I’m the reluctant referee, stuck in the middle, unsure who to root for.
Ding ding ding—the bell sounds again, and the neverending clash continues.
Through my relationship with Anat, I’m beginning to see that my need to connect and my need to retreat aren’t at odds; they’re parts of the same dance. Rather than competing, both deserve to be heard and honored.
Growing up, I often put my parents' needs first, soothing and supporting them in the hope that they would then care for mine. As a child, I never stepped back to nurture myself—how could I? For a child, connection is the only place that feels safe. So, unconsciously, I believed that if my parents were okay, I would be too.
Now, I’m building the safe, trusting connection I longed for with my parents within myself. I’m learning to care for my own needs, giving myself permission to retreat when needed, and building self-trust in the process. It’s not about choosing one need over the other; it’s about allowing both connection and solitude to coexist, finding a rhythm where each feels safe. The real work lies in how I approach myself, turning the fight into a dance.
Kindness is key. If I can catch myself in moments of judgment or harsh self-demand, that’s a meaningful step. It’s about transforming judgment into grace—the same grace I held in my heart as I guided Anat out of her fear. Nothing more, nothing less..
Final thought — Finding Patience and Self-Acceptance in the Dance of Trust
Ultimately, I want to learn to approach myself the way I’ve approached Anat—with patience, attention, and care. I want to accept that I need time and space to feel safe enough to slowly open back up to life and relationships. I want to learn my own dance of trust, at my own pace.
Both fear and the need for safety will guide me. By recognizing each—fear as a signal to pull back and safety as a sign that I’m ready to re-engage—I can find my own steps in the dance of trust.
Let’s not fight anymore, let’s dance.
Anat, after three months with us, relaxing at the beach after a playful romp with the other dogs in the waves and sand. She glances back at the camera with a soft, almost grateful expression, as if to say 'Thank you.' Bathed in bright sunlight, she appears both relaxed and at home – capturing a perfect moment of peace and contentment.
“This is a space for exploration, for feeling, for raw honesty. I invite you to join me as I move through life’s cycles. Take what resonates, and leave the rest. We grow together, in unique ways.”
