For years, I couldn’t figure out why my social interactions felt like pushing a boulder uphill. People would smile politely, then drift away at parties. Colleagues kept conversations surface-level. Even potential friendships seemed to fizzle out before they really started.
I blamed it on being introverted, on other people being “fake,” on just about everything except the one thing that mattered: my own behavior.
It wasn’t until I dove deep into psychology during my degree that the uncomfortable truth hit me. The distance I felt from others? I was creating it myself through subtle behaviors I didn’t even realize were pushing people away.
Looking back now, after years of working on these blind spots, I can see exactly what I was doing wrong. And if you’re feeling that same invisible barrier between you and others, you might be making some of the same mistakes.
1. I waited for my turn to talk instead of actually listening
This one stings to admit, but I used to be that person who spent entire conversations planning what to say next. While someone was sharing something important, I’d be mentally rehearsing my response or searching for a similar story to share.
The result? People could feel it. They knew I wasn’t really present with them.
Real listening means shutting up that internal monologue and genuinely focusing on what the other person is expressing. It means asking follow-up questions that show you’re engaged, not just waiting for your chance to redirect the conversation back to yourself.
Once I started truly listening, something magical happened. People opened up more. Conversations went deeper. And ironically, by talking less, I became someone people actually wanted to talk to more.
2. I tried too hard to impress instead of connect
Back in my mid-twenties, when I was feeling lost and anxious despite ticking all the conventional success boxes, I thought the solution was to impress people with achievements, knowledge, or witty comments.
Every interaction became a performance. I’d name-drop books I’d read, humble-brag about work accomplishments, or try to sound smarter than I actually was.
But here’s what I learned from both psychology and Buddhist philosophy (something I explore more deeply in my book Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: genuine connection comes from vulnerability, not perfection.
People don’t connect with your resume. They connect with your humanity. The moments when you admit you don’t know something, share a failure, or laugh at yourself? Those are the moments that build real relationships.
3. I avoided conflict at all costs
Growing up as the quieter brother, I developed a habit of avoiding any form of disagreement. If someone said something I disagreed with, I’d nod along. If there was tension in a group, I’d disappear or try to smooth it over with jokes.
I thought I was being easygoing and likeable. In reality, I was being inauthentic.
Healthy conflict, when handled respectfully, actually strengthens relationships. It shows you care enough to be honest. It demonstrates that you have values and boundaries. And surprisingly, people respect you more when you can disagree without being disagreeable.
Learning to voice disagreement calmly and respectfully was terrifying at first, but it transformed my relationships from shallow pleasantries to meaningful connections.
4. I gave advice when people just needed empathy
Psychology taught me something crucial: most of the time when people share problems, they’re not looking for solutions. They’re looking for understanding.
But for years, I’d jump straight into problem-solving mode. Friend having relationship issues? Here’s what you should do. Colleague stressed about work? Let me tell you how to fix it.
I thought I was being helpful. Instead, I was being dismissive of their feelings.
Now, when someone shares a struggle, my first response is to acknowledge how they’re feeling. “That sounds really frustrating” or “I can see why that would be stressful” goes so much further than any advice ever could.
5. I made everything about me
This is subtle but deadly for relationships. Someone would share good news, and I’d immediately relate it to my own experience. They got a promotion? Let me tell you about my career wins. They went on an amazing trip? Here’s where I traveled.
I thought I was relating and building rapport. I was actually stealing their moment.
Learning to celebrate others without making it about myself was a game-changer. When you can genuinely be happy for someone else’s success without needing to share your own, people feel truly seen and valued.
6. I projected my insecurities onto others
During those anxious years in my mid-twenties, I was constantly worried about what others thought of me. The twist? I assumed everyone was as critical as my inner voice.
If someone was quiet, they must hate me. If they didn’t text back immediately, I must have offended them. If they seemed distracted, it was definitely something I did.
This paranoid mindset created a self-fulfilling prophecy. My nervous energy and constant need for reassurance pushed people away, confirming my worst fears.
The truth I discovered (partly through studying Buddhism, which I write about in Hidden Secrets of Buddhism is that most people are too worried about their own insecurities to judge yours as harshly as you imagine.
7. I couldn’t handle silence
Uncomfortable with quiet moments, I’d fill every pause with nervous chatter. Small talk about the weather, random observations, anything to avoid the dreaded awkward silence.
But silence isn’t awkward unless you make it awkward. In fact, comfortable silence is a sign of genuine connection. It means you don’t need to perform or entertain to justify your presence.
Learning to sit with silence, to let conversations breathe, created space for deeper connections. Some of the most meaningful moments I’ve shared with people have happened in those quiet pauses I used to frantically try to fill.
8. I was afraid to be disliked
This might be the biggest one. My desperate need to be liked by everyone meant I became a watered-down version of myself. I’d agree with opinions I didn’t share, laugh at jokes I didn’t find funny, and hide parts of my personality that might be “too much.”
The result? People liked me fine, but they didn’t really know me. How could they, when I wasn’t showing them who I really was?
It took practicing vulnerability in my writing first, then gradually in person, to overcome this. And yes, when I started being more authentic, some people did drift away. But the ones who stayed? Those relationships became deeper and more meaningful than any of the surface-level connections I’d had before.
Final words
Recognizing these patterns was painful. Admitting I was the common denominator in my relationship struggles bruised my ego more than I’d like to admit.
But here’s what psychology taught me that changed everything: these behaviors aren’t character flaws. They’re learned patterns, often developed as protective mechanisms. And if they’re learned, they can be unlearned.
The distance I felt from others wasn’t because I was inherently unlikeable or because people were unfriendly. It was because my behaviors, born from insecurity and fear, were creating barriers I didn’t even know existed.
Changing these patterns didn’t happen overnight. It took conscious effort, many uncomfortable moments, and quite a few awkward attempts at being more authentic. But gradually, the invisible wall between me and others started to crumble.
Now, my relationships have a depth I never thought possible. Not because I became a different person, but because I finally stopped getting in my own way.
