Ok, but what are your needs?

From ghosting to guilt trips—why our unmet needs make us weird in relationships.

“We all have needs.”

Sure. Of course. I knew that.

“And it’s important to learn how to meet your own needs.”

Right. Makes sense.

“In a healthy relationship, people express their needs to one another.”

Okay, yes. Obviously.

But… wait. What actually are my needs?
How do I even know what I need?
And once I figure that out… what the hell am I supposed to do with that information?

No one taught me this stuff in school. Or at home. Or anywhere, really.

Nope, I had to learn all that the hard way. And, truth be told, I’m still learning.

So let me tell you two fictional stories to illustrate just how tricky needs can get.

1. When needs turn into resentment: the Anxious Client

“I swear to God, if Luke forgets one more thing I tell him, I’m going to scream,” Sarah said, flopping onto the couch like a woman on the brink. “Three days ago, I told him I had a big meeting at work. This morning? Nothing. Not even a ‘good luck’ text.”

I raised an eyebrow gently. “And how did that make you feel?”

“Unloved. Invisible. Like, why am I even in a relationship if I have to remind someone I exist?” She sighed dramatically. “And don’t even get me started on last night. He came home from work, barely looked at me, said he was ‘exhausted,’ and just collapsed on the sofa. Didn’t even notice I got my hair done!”

I smiled, knowing this wasn’t really about the haircut. “What did you do?”

“I made pasta. Then I kind of… snapped at him because he didn’t say thank you. Which turned into this whole thing where I accused him of being emotionally unavailable. He got super defensive and told me I was being hysterical. And then I cried, because… well, I am kind of a lot, aren’t I?”

She looked at me, waiting for a verdict.

“Actually, no,” I said. “You’re not too much. You just have needs you don’t feel safe naming.”

She blinked. “I mean… yeah. I do want affection. Reassurance. A little ‘Hey, I see you, I appreciate you.’ Is that so much to ask?”

“Not at all,” I said. “But I think when you don’t get that kind of reassurance, it really rattles something in you. And then it all just… spills out.”

She looked down. “Yeah. It’s like I know he loves me, but the moment he feels far away, I forget everything and go into panic mode.”

“Exactly. That’s not you being dramatic. That’s just an old part of you trying to protect yourself. Sounds a lot like anxious attachment to me.”

She paused. “Wait, are you saying I’m anxiously attached?”

I nodded gently. “It sounds like that, yes. But don’t worry, we’re working on it.”

---

Here’s what was happening underneath the surface.

Sarah, like many people with an anxious attachment style, had a deep need for love and connection. But instead of knowing how to ask for what she needed in a calm, direct way, her body would go into overdrive the moment she sensed even subtle distance: a delayed text, a tired expression, a forgotten comment.

To her nervous system, those moments felt threatening. Not because she was irrational, but because a younger part of her had learned that love could be inconsistent, and closeness unpredictable.

She didn’t yet know how to self-soothe when connection felt unavailable, or how to express her needs from a place of grounded curiosity rather than anger or shame. And like many of us, she believed that if someone truly loved her, they’d just know what she needed.

But relationships don’t work like that. And unspoken needs tend to turn into unspoken resentments.

2. When silence feels safer: the Avoidant Client

Adam sat across from me, arms folded, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, exasperated. “Why do people lose their minds when I don’t text back for a few days? I’m not dead, I’m just busy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Busy… for five days?”

He shrugged. “I needed space. Work was insane. Plus, I was just... not in the mood to talk.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I didn’t. That’s kind of the point. If I don’t reply, it means I’m not available. Isn’t that obvious?”

I smiled. “To you, maybe. But to them, it’s not clear at all. They don’t know if you’re upset, ignoring them, ghosting them, or lying in a ditch somewhere.”

He looked genuinely baffled. “But why would they assume the worst? That’s their stuff. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just protecting my peace.”

“Adam,” I said gently but firmly, “protecting your peace is totally valid. Disappearing without a word? That’s confusing and, honestly, kind of hurtful.”

He opened his mouth to argue but stopped. “I mean... I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.”

“I believe you. But intent doesn’t erase impact.”

He stared at the ceiling like it might have answers. “So what, I have to announce every time I need a break?”

“You don’t have to send out a press release,” I said with a soft smile. “But a quick, ‘Hey, I need a little time to myself. I'll be in touch soon,’ goes a long way. It meets your need for space and honours the other person’s need for connection.”

Adam sighed. “This is so much more complicated than just being alone.”

“Relationships are,” I said. “But they’re also more rewarding.”

---

Here’s what was going on beneath Adam’s confusion.

Adam had a strong need for safety and autonomy, but expressing that need felt risky. Vulnerable. Like an invitation to conflict or rejection. So he ghosted—not to punish anyone, but to protect himself.

But when we ghost instead of communicate, we don’t just take space, we create confusion and disconnection. And in doing so, we unintentionally reinforce the very belief that closeness isn’t safe or sustainable.

The truth is: taking space is healthy.
Disappearing without a word? Not so much.

3. What these stories have in common

Sarah and Adam were opposites in many ways. One leaned in too hard, the other pulled away. But at the core, they were doing the same thing: trying to meet deeply human needs in unconscious, reactive ways.

When we don’t understand our needs, our nervous system will find any way to meet them. Even if that way isn’t nourishing or sustainable.

4. The six core Human Needs

Several psychological frameworks describe our universal human needs. A helpful one—drawing from Maslow’s hierarchy and self-determination theory—highlights six essential needs that drive our behaviour:

• Love and Connection – to feel bonded, accepted, emotionally close

• Safety / Certainty – to feel stable, secure, grounded

• Variety / Novelty – to experience stimulation, surprise, adventure

• Significance – to feel valued, seen, important

• Growth – to evolve, learn, expand

• Contribution – to give, serve, and make a meaningful impact

We’re always trying to meet these needs, whether we’re conscious of it or not.

But when we’re unaware of them, we tend to reach for what’s easiest, not what’s best.

• We need love, so we sleep with someone we just met, hoping for intimacy without safety.

• We need certainty, so we stay in a job that drains us.

• We need significance, so we post something provocative online and wait for likes.

Your subconscious isn’t evaluating whether your strategy is healthy. It just wants results, fast.

5. The real work of adult relationships

Being an adult doesn’t mean meeting all your needs alone. It means learning to recognize your needs, own them, and communicate them—sometimes to yourself, sometimes to others.

When we start relating to our needs from this grounded place, our relationships begin to shift.

We stop blaming.
We stop hiding.
We stop expecting people to read our minds or tolerate our silence.

We become real partners—to ourselves, and to the people we love.

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In the paid edition of this article, I’ll walk you through a step-by-step journaling practice to map your unmet needs, spot your go-to strategies, and replace them with conscious, compassionate ones.

You’ll also get real-life scripts for expressing your needs in relationships, without guilt, defensiveness, or drama.