I changed my attachment style from avoidant to secure, and have never been happier. Here's how I did it.

• Attachment styles describe how we navigate relationships and are shaped by early life experiences.
• You can be secure, anxious, avoidant, or disorganized, a combination of avoidant and anxious.

In my early 20s, I prided myself on never being that girl crying over some guy. While I'd console teary-eyed friends and roommates, I couldn't understand why they didn't just do what I did: Not care.

It was easy. I'd set hard limits on how often I'd see someone (twice a week was risky; three times was practically marriage) and break up with them the moment I sensed the faintest possibility of feelings. But that was rare, too: I was good at picking men I could expect to disappoint me, so when it inevitably happened, I was already five emotional steps ahead of them.

Eventually, I learned this wasn't some time-saving hack as much as an avoidant attachment style — one rooted in fear of rejection.

Attachment theory explains how we form bonds with people. There are four types — secure, anxious, avoidant, and disorganized. The idea is that they're shaped by early childhood relationships. In my case, being an avoidant meant I struggled to open up, naturally withdrew, and prioritized my independence — all while wondering why I never felt close to others.

While attachment styles sound permanent, the good news is you can change yours. It took me years of self-awareness and work to feel more secure in my relationships, but it's still the best thing I've ever done for myself.

I stopped dating insecure people

It's common for avoidants and anxiously attached people to pair up; they both deal with the fear of rejection. But the idea of someone needing frequent reassurance from me made me feel controlled. So I found myself gravitating towards other avoidants instead.

How do two avoidants date each other? It usually amounted to a month of loosely seeing each other until we fizzled away or someone admitted feelings (and would be the one ditched first).

After a while, these not-quite relationships rang hollow. I realized that if I wanted to be more vulnerable and secure, I had to stop prioritizing insecure people whose inconsistent communication styles and emotional unpredictability made me feel destabilized.

If I wanted to work on not feeling rejected, I couldn't do that with a partner who was M.I.A for days. If I wanted to stop confusing intimacy with smothering, it didn't help dating someone with no hobbies, who expected to do everything together. Most of all, if I wanted to feel safe to open up, I could never be with someone who raised their voice, bombarded me with anxious texts, or withdrew when angry.

So when I realized I felt really comfortable with one of my male friends (so much so that I developed romantic feelings), I made the first move — aided by lots of tequila. Looking back, how shaky I felt taking that chance was also a sign I wanted to change.

The right therapist helped me stop catastrophizing

In the early stages of therapy, it was really important for me to parse through my past to better understand how I got here today.

But after a while, I realized that talking at length about my feelings sometimes left me more confused. Since my default was to anxiously look for trap doors everywhere, it didn't help to spend hours analyzing every interaction.

My current therapist helps me stop ruminating by asking questions about what I think I should do to move forward, and we come up with solutions together. It isn't about removing the stress of initiating hard conversations or sitting through tense moments. It just teaches me that I can handle them.

She also encouraged me to track my daily emotions in the journal I'd already been keeping for years. It not only helps me process my feelings but gives me a visual reminder that even the most chaotic weeks roll into calmer ones.

I watched my friends navigate all kinds of relationships

When my partner and I first talked about moving in together, I was consumed by panic. I kept thinking about all the adjustments we'd have to make, how we'd be around each other a lot more, and, scariest of all: The possibility of us breaking up and having to untangle our lives.

At that time, I had a few friends who had gone through breakups that involved them moving out. While it was painful for them, I also saw how quickly they adapted. They'd make new friends, move to a new city or borough, and thrive in their careers. It taught me that I wouldn't just survive the heartbreak; I could actually flourish.

What I know now is: There is absolutely no formula against breakups or divorce. I've seen seemingly perfect pairs fracture at the first sign of trouble, and I've known couples who appear to have little in common only grow in their mutual adoration.

Once I realized there is nothing that can guarantee my life will unfold exactly how I want it to, it got easier to actually live it.

Books taught me what a secure life looks like

Therapy and friendships are great, but it helps to branch out of your immediate circle. And while there are so many great books about healing from whatever caused your attachment style, I also found it helpful to learn about how to be happy in general. I read about how secure people make friends, how to host more meaningful gatherings, and how to embrace my introverted side.

Reading also plays a huge role in my relationship. My partner and I both gravitate toward books and podcasts around self-improvement and like to share what we've learned. On some date nights, we'll answer questions from "Eight Dates," a research-backed book on long-term relationship maintenance. Having a partner who grows next to me banishes my biggest relationship fear of all: The idea of being "stuck" in the same routines as the same people forever.

I learned that fear doesn't always mean I should run away

Beyond my relationship, many of the best things that ever happened to me absolutely terrified me at first. I'd have panic attacks over relatively minor events like temporarily moving abroad or performing on stage.

Changing my attachment style hasn't just impacted my romantic partnership; it's taught me to be more open in general. Some of my most cherished friends are ones I've met a few years ago in my running group or choirs — activities that involved the horrifying possibility of being bad at something and having to talk to strangers.

I still have days where I'd much rather dodge a situation that can potentially make me feel uncomfortable or rejected. But then I realize how much fuller my life has become. I barely remember feeling lonely at parties or invites left unanswered. But I'll never forget the times when I opened myself up to being hurt, only to meet someone who was absolutely worth the risk.