A runner came to me, desperate to stop obsessing over his twin flame. Though the possibility of reunion was always an option (as the chaser had made clear), he found himself yearning to forget about his twin and return to the comfort of his "normal" life, free from the emotional turmoil that had consumed him.
His situation was complex and emotionally charged. Both he and his twin were married to different partners, each leading lives that aligned perfectly with societal expectations. He was a man who had always followed the rules—checking every box, and doing what was expected by his family, his community, and himself. Stability, responsibility, and predictability had been the cornerstones of his life. Then, without warning, his twin flame entered his life and turned everything upside down. She wasn’t his usual type; she didn’t fit any of the boxes society told him to check. And yet, he found himself inexplicably and deeply in love with her, obsessing over her in ways he had never done with his current partner—a partner who, by all conventional standards, was "perfect."
This love was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was intense, all-consuming, and overwhelming. His twin flame was equally drawn to him, even willing to leave her marriage to be with him. However, despite their mutual attraction and the undeniable connection they shared, they could never seem to make things work. Their relationship was marked by fear, blocking, unblocking, and a painful pattern of leaving each other before the other could. It was a dance of avoidance and miscommunication, where they were never on the same page at the same time. This painful cycle persisted for years, leaving both of them emotionally exhausted.
The crux of their problem was their inability to confront the issues head-on. Any small bump in the road was swept under the rug and never discussed or resolved. The runner assumed he knew what the other was thinking, believing he could predict the motivations and outcomes without ever opening up to vulnerable conversations. This assumption led to a pattern of avoidance—neither party was willing to go first, and neither was willing to break the silence. Blocking and not replying became tools of emotional defense, weapons wielded against each other in their battle to protect themselves from potential pain. When they were together in person, things seemed fine, but the physical distance between them became a dangerous space where miscommunication thrived. Neither was brave enough to pick up the phone and bridge that gap.
Within the runner, there were conflicting forces at play. The dominant part of him was always looking for reasons why the relationship could never work. This part of him was logical, practical, and grounded in the reality of his life—his marriage, his family, and his responsibilities. Whenever they reached a crossroads, this part of him would win, convincing him that it was impossible to build a life with his twin flame. Yet, when they were together in person, when the difficulties faded into the background, the loving, hopeful side of him would take over. He could see a future with her during these moments, feel the possibility of a love that was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.
Despite this, the runner wanted more certainty from the chaser. He wanted her to be even more sure than he was that their relationship would work out, to carry the burden of certainty that he couldn’t shoulder. But, as is often the case in such dynamics, the more he pulled back, the more she did too, creating a vicious cycle of push and pull. Even if the chaser had remained steadfast and strong through every challenge, the runner wasn’t capable of deciding to leave his current relationship. The weight of his existing life—his commitments, his marriage, his identity—was too heavy for him to cast aside.
What the runner truly wanted was the option to see his twin flame, to keep that door open, but he wasn’t ready to step through it. He was torn between two parts of himself: one part was adamantly opposed to making any significant changes, clinging to the safety and predictability of his current life; the other, much smaller part, was curious, willing to consider the possibility of a relationship with his twin flame. Yet, despite this small flicker of hope, his overwhelming desire was to forget her, to erase the feelings she stirred within him, so he could return to his life as it was before she entered it. Their connection had been incredible, filled with moments of joy and passion, but the obstacles were too daunting, the changes required too monumental for him to seriously consider pursuing it.
In our sessions, we delved into these conflicting parts of him. We explored the part that longed to be close to his twin, the part that felt a love, playfulness, and deep connection unlike anything he had ever known. For the first time in his life, he felt truly alive, but he began to realize that these feelings were tied to the unmet needs of his inner child—a part of him that had been starved for affection, excitement, and connection. As we worked through these sessions, he came to a startling realization: as an adult, with adult responsibilities, he no longer saw why he should indulge these needs. They felt irrelevant to the life he had built, the life that was grounded in reality, not fantasy.
Yet, despite his best efforts to suppress these feelings, the inner child within him would not relent. The thoughts of his twin flame were inescapable, tormenting him day and night. He was haunted by the image of her, by the possibility of what could have been. His inner child, desperate and yearning, was hyper-focused on her, fighting against the logical, adult part of him that insisted on maintaining the status quo. This internal battle became his torture, a constant war between his head and his heart, between logic and the deep, unmet needs of his inner child, both struggling to get their needs met.
The Runner’s Block:
The runner found himself unable and unwilling to make space for his inner child’s needs—love, playfulness, and connection. He had become so accustomed to his routine, responsibilities, and the demands of his adult life that even the idea of trying to meet these needs on his own felt overwhelming and pointless. The effort required to cultivate those feelings of joy and connection seemed like a burden he didn’t have the time or energy to bear. To him, creating such emotional spaces felt like an unnecessary distraction from the "real" responsibilities he had.
Even when his soul was practically screaming at him that you were the best thing for him, he either couldn’t hear it or didn’t value what his soul was trying to tell him. His focus was on maintaining control, on adhering to the value system that had guided his life so far—one that prioritized stability, predictability, and external appearances over deep, emotional fulfillment.
Despite being able to feel the profound connection with his twin flame, his deeply ingrained values and beliefs made it impossible for him to commit to anything more than occasional meet-ups with the chaser. He was trapped in a mindset where deep love, soul-level connection, and true intimacy—even with someone as incredible as his twin flame—were sacrifices he was willing to make in favor of maintaining the life he had built. For him, anything beyond those brief moments together was simply out of the question.
This leaves us to wonder: What kind of life does the runner lead without allowing room for these essential emotional needs?
Even with someone by his side, can he ever be truly happy?
And perhaps more importantly, does the runner’s value system—one that prioritizes duty, stability, and external validation over inner fulfillment—enable him to be a good partner to anyone at all?
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