Is Your Type Your Trauma?

When you hear the question, “What’s your type?”, what first comes to mind?

Maybe you think of a person, an aesthetic, specific characteristics, or values. Or perhaps you’re one of those who claims to not have a type at all.

The interesting thing about what attracts us to others is that it rarely comes down to simple preference. It’s easy to think of your type in terms of preference because of the way the question is phrased. However, to get better results, you need to ask better questions. A more revealing question is: What is your type rooted in? Shifting the question invites deeper self-awareness. It challenges us to look beyond surface-level attraction and explore the unconscious motivations that shape our desires.

Even if you're not ready or don’t yet have the tools to dive into your deeper patterns, consider this:

Your type may be connected to your trauma.

When I refer to your type, I’m talking about the kind of person you’re typically attracted to. And attraction? It's the power or action of evoking interest, pleasure, or liking for someone or something.

Attraction is rarely just one thing. It's layered. What we call a "type" isn’t simply a list of traits we like — it’s a complex blend of looks, behaviors, values, compatibility, and something less visible: our past.

Our early emotional experiences, pain, family dynamics, environment, and unmet needs quietly shape who we're drawn to and why. These influences affect not only our emotional depth but also our surface-level preferences. The way someone talks, walks, or makes us feel can trigger emotions we've carried for years. The way someone presents themselves can remind us of someone who made us feel a certain way.

In truth, our “type” is often less about what’s healthy for us and more about what feels familiar.

And familiar doesn’t always mean safe.

Sometimes we’re drawn to emotional unavailability, unpredictability, or chaos not because it’s passionate, but because it mirrors the environment we learned to survive in. For example, we might feel a pull toward someone who keeps us guessing, rarely expresses their emotions, or pulls away just when things start to feel close. This can feel thrilling, but really, it echoes a parent or caregiver who was emotionally distant or inconsistent, where love was something we had to earn, not something freely given.

Maybe we’re attracted to certain traits or appearances because they affirm who we think we are or fill a void we didn’t know existed. Someone polished, stoic, or powerful might seem irresistibly attractive, not because of who they are, but because they remind us of someone we admired, feared, or sought validation from growing up. Others might find themselves repeatedly drawn to partners who are chaotic, impulsive, or emotionally unstable, not realizing it’s because they had to constantly adapt to a home filled with unpredictability. Hyper-vigilance became second nature, and unpredictability became normal.

From a cultural standpoint, maybe you’re attracted to a particular skin tone that’s different from yours because it either confirms your Blackness or because you’re subconsciously trying to distance yourself from the pain, trauma, or internalized shame associated with it. Or maybe you’re chasing a certain aesthetic or look because being seen with that kind of person gives you access to social capital — status, worth.

Sometimes, it’s about playing the role of the fixer or the saver — giving endlessly to someone who seems broken. It feels noble, even romantic. But often, it's rooted in childhood roles where we had to take care of others' emotions just to feel safe or needed. This gives a false sense of control. We end up treating people like projects, mistaking instability for intimacy, caretaking for connection.

Sometimes, people say they don’t have a type. But that, too, can be revealing. Maybe it comes from a place of not having any requirements because, when you did, you were constantly disappointed. Or maybe you’ve never had the privilege of choice, so the idea of limiting yourself feels risky — even unfair. In this case, “no type” isn’t freedom. It’s a survival strategy.

These are just a few examples of how this dynamic can show up, but it’s not limited to this. It’s personal to your unique experiences. The point is: It feels normal. It feels like home. But not all homes were safe.

We often underestimate how much our past, especially our childhood, shapes our present. We chase comfort in what we know, even if what we know has hurt us. Without reflection, we mistake that comfort for chemistry.

This isn’t about right or wrong, good or bad. It just is. And from that place of neutrality, you get to choose the story you want to tell about it.

The key is awareness — awareness of what you might be missing internally, awareness of what your attractions are rooted in.

Because when you can name it, you can navigate it.

You don’t have to stay loyal to old patterns just because they feel familiar.

So it’s worth asking yourself:

• Do I truly like this person for who they are?

• Or am I drawn to them because they feel familiar in a way that touches something unhealed within me?

Familiarity can be soothing, but it can also be a whisper from a wound we’ve never acknowledged.

That’s why awareness matters. You might be genuinely attracted to someone, but that attraction can still be shaped by old emotional patterns. Without awareness, you risk repeating the same story in a different body. You think you’re choosing someone new, but it’s the same dynamic in a different face.

This isn’t about blaming yourself or demonizing your desires. It’s about creating space for understanding. When you recognize your patterns, you reclaim your agency. You stop choosing from habit, fear, or longing and start choosing from clarity and self-worth.

It’s also insightful to reflect on people who check all the boxes for you yet aren’t your “type.” Ask yourself:

• What makes that attraction feel so challenging?

• What is it about them that feels unfamiliar, and why does that matter?

• What does it say about the emotional environments you’re used to?

Sometimes, someone outside your usual type can remind you of something you've never experienced. That newness can feel uncomfortable, not because it's wrong, but because it's unfamiliar.

This doesn't mean you should force attraction to everyone or abandon your type altogether. It means becoming more mindful of how your preferences have been shaped.

Healing doesn’t always mean changing your type. It means understanding it. Without awareness, we tend to recreate what’s familiar, even when it once hurt us. Recognizing how your trauma may be influencing your type won’t erase it, but it will transform the way you relate to it.

Your willingness to explore this is what creates growth. The kind that teaches you to make informed choices, not just based on the pull of your heart, but grounded in the wisdom of your history. When we understand where our attractions and preferences come from, we reclaim our power. We stop letting old wounds shape our decisions.

So maybe your type is rooted in something deeper. Maybe it reflects something unresolved, something learned, something survived.

And that’s okay. It doesn’t make you broken. It makes you human.

But with awareness, you no longer have to choose your type through the lens of your trauma. You can choose through the clarity of your truth.

Love,

Dr. Nigel Marcellus