I was at the farmers’ market last Saturday when I overheard two moms talking near the tomato stand.
One was venting about a friend who “just doesn’t get it anymore” — always negative, always complaining, impossible to please. The other nodded knowingly, and I found myself wondering: do any of us realize when we’re becoming that person?
It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, especially as I juggle writing deadlines, two little ones, and trying to maintain the connections that keep me sane.
The truth is, it’s surprisingly easy to slip into patterns that push people away without having a clue it’s happening.
So let’s talk about those subtle signs that you might be becoming difficult to be around. Not because I have it all figured out (I definitely don’t), but because recognizing these patterns is the first step toward changing them.
1) You’ve stopped asking questions
Remember when conversations felt like a back-and-forth? When you genuinely wondered about other people’s lives and asked follow-up questions?
If you’re finding that most conversations now revolve around your updates, your problems, your opinions — without much curiosity about the other person — that’s worth noticing.
I caught myself doing this a few months back. Matt would come home from a job site, and before he could finish telling me about his day, I’d launch into everything that went wrong with mine. Ellie’s meltdown at lunch. Milo refusing his nap. The article deadline I was stressed about.
One evening he gently said, “Hey, can I finish?” and I realized I’d completely steamrolled his story about a tricky cabinet install he was proud of solving.
When we stop being curious about others, we inadvertently send the message that their experiences don’t matter as much as ours. And that gets exhausting for the people around us.
Try this: In your next conversation, aim to ask three genuine questions before sharing your own experience. You might be surprised how much deeper the connection feels.
2) Everything becomes a complaint
There’s venting, and then there’s chronic negativity. The difference? Venting is occasional and seeks connection or solutions. Chronic complaining is a constant filter that colors everything gray.
I went through a phase after Milo was born where I complained about everything. The weather. The grocery store being out of organic apples. My parents’ unsolicited parenting advice. Matt’s work schedule. My writing rejections.
Looking back, I can see how draining that must have been for everyone around me.
The thing about constant complaining is that it creates a low-grade stress for listeners. Not only that, but according to psychology, chronic negativity can actually rewire our brains to focus on problems rather than solutions.
When complaining becomes your default mode, people start bracing themselves before spending time with you. They know they’ll leave feeling heavier, not lighter.
This doesn’t mean you can’t share struggles. But balance matters. For every hard thing you share, try noticing something good too, even if it’s small, like Milo’s sticky kiss this morning or the way the light hit the basil plants on the windowsill.
3) You’ve become rigid about your way of doing things
When I first transitioned our family to a more natural lifestyle, I’ll admit I got a little… intense about it.
Conventional cleaning products? Not in my house. Plastic toys? Absolutely not. Screen time? Don’t even think about it.
I didn’t realize how judgmental I’d become until a friend mentioned she felt like she couldn’t invite us over anymore because her house wasn’t “natural enough.”
That stung. Because that wasn’t the kind of person I wanted to be.
Here’s the thing: having values and boundaries is healthy. But when we become so rigid that there’s only one right way to do things (our way), we create an uncomfortable environment for everyone else.
People feel like they’re walking on eggshells, worried about saying or doing the “wrong” thing. Spontaneity dies. Connection suffers.
I’ve learned to hold my values while staying flexible with others. Yes, I prioritize organic food and low-tox living for my family. But when we’re at someone else’s home, I don’t police what my kids eat or comment on their choices.
“Progress, not perfection” applies to relationships too.
4) You interrupt and talk over people
This one’s sneaky because we often don’t notice we’re doing it.
You’re excited about something, or you have the perfect solution to someone’s problem, or their story reminds you of your own experience—so you jump in before they finish.
But here’s what the other person experiences: “My thoughts and words don’t matter enough for you to hear them completely.”
I see this play out with Ellie sometimes. She’ll be telling me an elaborate story about the beetle she found in the garden, complete with intricate details about its legs and where it was walking, and I’ll cut her off with “That’s nice, sweetie” while mentally planning dinner.
The look on her face tells me everything. She feels dismissed.
Adults feel the same way when we interrupt them, even if they don’t show it as obviously as a five-year-old.
Listening without formulating your response or waiting for your turn to talk is a gift. It says, “You matter. Your experience matters. I’m here with you.”
5) You’ve stopped showing up
Life gets busy. I get it. Between work deadlines, two kids, managing a household, and trying to keep some semblance of self-care going, I’m stretched thin most days.
But when canceling plans becomes your pattern rather than the exception, people notice.
They notice when you’re always the one who backs out. When you say you’ll come to the playground meetup but don’t show. When you commit to the babysitting co-op rotation but cancel last minute.
After a while, they stop inviting you. Not out of malice, but because unreliable people require emotional labor — the disappointment of looking forward to seeing you, the inconvenience of last-minute changes, the hurt of feeling like you don’t prioritize them.
If you’re genuinely overwhelmed, be honest about your capacity upfront. Say, “I’m in a really busy season and can’t commit to regular playdates, but I’d love to find a time next month when things settle.” People appreciate honesty way more than repeated cancellations.
6) Everything’s a competition or comparison
Someone shares they’re tired? You’re more tired.
They mention their kid hit a milestone? Yours did it earlier.
They’re stressed about work? Let me tell you about my stress.
This pattern, often called “conversational narcissism,” turns every interaction into a subtle competition where you need to match or top whatever someone else shares.
I’ve definitely fallen into this trap, especially in those early postpartum months when I was sleep-deprived and feeling invisible.
A friend would mention her rough night, and I’d immediately launch into how Milo woke up six times and I hadn’t slept more than two hours straight in weeks.
Was I trying to connect over our shared exhaustion? Maybe. But what I was actually doing was dismissing her experience and centering mine.
Real connection happens when we can sit with someone else’s experience without making it about us. When we can say, “That sounds really hard. Tell me more about what you’re going through” instead of immediately pivoting to our own story.
7) You’re always right (and need to prove it)
This is a tough one to admit, but I’m a recovering know-it-all.
My years as a kindergarten teacher, combined with my deep dive into natural parenting research, sometimes made me think I had all the answers.
Someone would mention an approach to sleep training, and I’d launch into why gentle methods are better. They’d talk about their food choices, and I’d share research about organic versus conventional.
I thought I was being helpful. But what I was actually doing was making people feel judged and inadequate.
Here’s what I’ve learned: being right isn’t the same as being kind. And people don’t actually want your expertise unless they ask for it.
Most of the time, when someone shares something with you, they’re not looking for correction or education. They’re looking for connection.
You can hold your knowledge and values without wielding them as weapons. You can disagree with someone’s choices without needing to convince them yours are better.
The strongest relationships I have are with people who can hold space for different approaches — who trust that we’re all doing our best with the information and resources we have.
Conclusion
Look, none of us are perfect, and if you recognized yourself in any of these signs, that doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you human.
I’ve been guilty of every single one of these at different points, and honestly, I still slip into old patterns when I’m stressed or overwhelmed.
The difference is awareness. Once you notice these habits, you can choose differently.
You can pause before interrupting. You can ask a question instead of complaining. You can show up even when you don’t feel like it.
And here’s the beautiful part: when you start shifting these patterns, your relationships shift too. People feel safer around you. Conversations feel lighter. Connections deepen.
Recently, I picked up Rudá Iandê’s book “Laughing in the Face of Chaos: A Politically Incorrect Shamanic Guide for Modern Life“, and one insight really stuck with me: “Being human means inevitably disappointing and hurting others, and the sooner you accept this reality, the easier it becomes to navigate life’s challenges.”
That takes so much pressure off, doesn’t it? We’re going to mess up. We’re going to have moments where we’re difficult. The goal isn’t perfection. It’s awareness, repair, and growth.
So be gentle with yourself as you work on these patterns. And remember: the fact that you’re even reading this and reflecting on your behavior means you care about your relationships and how you show up in the world.
That awareness alone puts you miles ahead.
