Socializing is Stressful for People with CPTSD; Is it Controlling Your Life？

Growing up in a chaotic, dysfunctional household where emotional neglect — and sometimes abuse — were common can scar your capacity to form secure bonds. If this is your story, you might find yourself alternately clinging to people or reacting to anything that touches that old wound by fleeing — a pattern known as avoidance. If you’ve ever backed away from a partner, friend, or family member who genuinely cared for you, you know how overwhelming the urge to escape can be in the moment and how awful the regret feels afterward. Perhaps their closeness or expectations overwhelmed you, or perhaps it had little to do with them at all and everything to do with childhood PTSD triggers that made disappearing feel like the only option. Maybe you lashed out so someone would leave you first — another strategy to avoid intimacy. Even when you desperately want connection, maintaining it can feel impossible beyond brief stretches. Like clinging, avoidance often traces back to childhood neglect and abandonment; those early wounds load relationships with threats. By “triggers” I mean events or stimuli that throw your nervous system and emotions out of balance. When that dysregulation hits, you can find yourself trying to escape that panicked, scattered feeling without even being fully aware of why: concentration slips, everything seems excessive, you become agitated or frozen, simply overwhelmed. Many avoidant people unconsciously gravitate toward partners who keep them at arm’s length, not recognizing that this is another way of keeping intimacy at bay. Others oscillate between pursuing and abandoning — pushing someone away and then being pushed away — even within the same relationship. Either way, avoidance is a maladaptive coping strategy that once protected you and now damages you and those who try to love you. How do you know if you’re avoidant? Look at what you do when the impulse to run surfaces — often without conscious awareness. Do any of these sound familiar: storming out of a room in anger; declaring a relationship over when you don’t truly mean it; quitting a job in a sudden fit of stress; getting out of a car during an argument and not planning how to get home; failing to show up for important events without explanation; ghosting someone and cutting off contact; hanging up on callers in anger; staying out all night to end a committed relationship by absence; refusing to speak to someone who wanted to resolve a conflict; escaping painful moments by fantasizing about a perfect romance or an improbably successful future? These are all avoidance behaviors — and when habitual, they wreck relationships and can amount to emotional harm. With awareness and structure, though, you can soothe your triggers and learn to move through relationships at a slower pace, giving yourself the breathing room you need without destroying the bond. You can’t always control how others behave, but you can stop abandoning them, and breaking that pattern can interrupt the cycle that repeats the imprint of past abandonment and keeps drawing you to situations that reaffirm it. When my CPTSD once dominated my life, I swung between clinging and dramatic exits. Needing relief from helplessness, I’d act impulsively to end things or behave in ways that pushed others to leave. I didn’t intend to be hurtful; when I was dysregulated, the urge to get away felt urgent and obvious — like needing fresh air in a tiny, suffocating room. Once I walked outside and disconnected from the emotion, a brief wash of relief would pass, but the damage was often already done: cruel words said, bridges burned. Back then I was usually in relationships I secretly wanted to leave but lacked the means to do so calmly, so I relied on the drama as an exit. That pattern was unhealthy and painful for everyone, including me. If you want close relationships, harmful behaviors like dramatic fleeing have to go. Fleeing as self-regulation won’t sustain healthy partnerships; people who tolerate that pattern tend to be traumatized themselves, and though they may understand, their own wounds often keep them stuck. In cases of abuse, leaving is always necessary and should be done with support. When a relationship truly needs to end, it’s best handled soberly and deliberately, not from a place of frantic dysregulation. Much avoidance isn’t overtly explosive; it’s quiet and subtle — what I call covert avoidance. You can look socially connected: married, a parent, a large circle of acquaintances, even hosting people — yet remain emotionally distant. A covert avoider presents well: cheerful, appropriate, functioning. But intimacy is missing. You don’t make real commitments; you RSVP “yes” and then don’t go. At gatherings you skirt conversations, slip out early, or stare at your phone while a loved one talks about their day. Covert avoidance is a way of sidestepping anything that might trigger fears of rejection, criticism, or abandonment — fears that can feel annihilating to someone with CPTSD. But a life spent constantly defending against triggers prevents healing and the development of new strengths; it hollows you out, stealing the possibility of genuine love, purpose, and the human connection you need. If your life feels empty and lonely despite following the checklist of things that should bring fulfillment, covert avoidance might be the reason. One hallmark of covert avoidance is chronic “too busy” or “too tired” excuses that keep you from ordinary tasks: cleaning, cooking, getting up when the alarm rings, or even brushing and flossing — mundane actions that signal basic engagement with life. Avoiding this level of functioning is an inward-facing form of escape. Outward signs include habitual lateness — occasional lateness happens to everyone, but a predictable pattern of being late by the same amount can signal avoidance. Other traits to notice: being surrounded by people yet keeping yourself slightly apart; appearing to look forward to time with others but secretly dreading it; complaints from partners or friends that you’re distant, disengaged, or emotionally uninvested despite saying and doing the right surface things; fibbing about reasons to decline invitations — “someone’s sick” or “I have to work late”; keeping conversations deliberately brief at social events; canceling at the last minute; contributing less than others in group efforts like potlucks or fundraisers; ending relationships because they “were getting too close”; repeatedly choosing partners who are unavailable; feeling anxious when someone does something kind because you fear they’ll expect something in return; peeking out to make sure no neighbors are watching before you go outside; exaggerating reasons you missed events (claiming severe illness or terrible traffic). If most of your relationships feel shallow, that’s another signal of chronic avoidance. Over time, covert avoidance drains your life of connection and meaning. You might survive for a while — perhaps while depressed or distracted — but eventually a crisis will reveal that you lack the deeper ties needed to weather hardship. Many of us justify avoidance as protection for a fragile inner part that fears judgment, exclusion, or abandonment. But over the long haul, avoidance equals loneliness. People avoid life in different ways: through constant phone use, by staying in unfulfilling jobs and postponing the start of a “real” life until after leaving a role they never should have taken, by saying no to volunteering, skipping walks with friends, or collapsing into the sofa night after night. Even within close relationships you can engage in covert avoidance: going through the motions with people you care about or remaining with someone you never truly loved while waiting for a day when you’ll feel able to make a change. Numbing through food, substances, video games, or any distraction is also avoidance, with the familiar promise that you’ll stop tomorrow and finally change. The turning point comes when you learn ways to calm your triggers and tolerate stress when it arrives, because stress inevitably does. When your trauma wounds no longer sever you from your life, avoidance loses its power. Begin by honestly assessing your present situation and what is likely to happen if nothing changes. Increase your awareness of why you’re avoiding — usually because dysregulation in your nervous system convinces you there’s an external reason to escape. You’ll find excuses not to arrive on time, not to keep plans, not to answer calls, or to avoid vulnerable conversations, when in truth you’re trying to stave off dysregulation. Remember that dysregulation is neurological and embodied: it happens in your brain and body, and it can distort how hard or easy genuine connection would actually be. You may be rusty at closeness, but with deliberate practice at re-regulating, interacting with people becomes less terrifying. Once you can calm your triggers and feel okay around others — combined with setting clear boundaries — you can approach gatherings or relationships with less fear. Confidence in being able to step back when needed (thanks to firm boundaries) makes it easier to try things a little at a time and expand your world, slowly building the inner balance you need. To cultivate that balance, daily practice techniques are extraordinarily helpful. There are short resources and simple exercises available — including a brief free course and a downloadable PDF — that teach you how to re-regulate right away. If you want to begin immediately, those materials can guide you in calming your nervous system and taking the first steps toward safer, more sustainable connection. [Music]

Practical tools to calm triggers

Short, concrete grounding and breathing practices can interrupt an urge to flee and give you time to choose a different response. Try these simple tools when you feel dysregulated:

– 5–4–3–2–1 grounding: name 5 things you can see, 4 you can touch, 3 you can hear, 2 you can smell, 1 you can taste.

– Box breathing: inhale for 4, hold for 4, exhale for 4, hold for 4. Repeat 4–8 times.

– Name what’s happening in your body and emotion out loud (or silently): “My chest feels tight; I’m scared right now.” Labeling reduces intensity.

– Safe-place visualization: imagine a calm, protected scene with sensory detail for 1–2 minutes.

– Sensory grounding: hold a cold bottle of water or press your feet into the floor, or touch a textured object to anchor yourself.

– Progressive muscle relaxation: tense and release major muscle groups from feet to head.

A simple script and plan for moments you want to escape

Having a prepared, nondramatic plan lowers the likelihood of impulsive exits. Use this brief sequence when you feel the impulse to flee:

1) Pause for 10 breaths. 2) Say a short statement: “I’m feeling overwhelmed. I need a break for 20 minutes.” 3) If you leave, do it without blame and follow up later: “I’m sorry I left earlier. I got overwhelmed and needed a break.” 4) Use a grounding practice, call a trusted person, or move to a safe place for the break.

Having a trusted contact you can text or call (“I’m triggered, can you check in?”) is often lifesaving for maintaining connection instead of disappearing.

Communication phrases that help repair and keep connection

Practice simple, honest lines you can use when triggered or after a difficult moment:

– “I’m feeling flooded right now; I need a short break. I’ll come back in X minutes.”

– “That felt scary to me. I don’t want to make it worse. Can we pause and return to this?”

– “I’m sorry I reacted that way. I was overwhelmed and not thinking clearly.”

– “I want to be with you, but I need small steps to be okay.”

Small experiments to rebuild tolerance

Recovery is incremental. Design low-risk exposures that gradually expand your comfort zone:

– Say “yes” to one short social event each week and commit to a fixed end time.

– Practice attending part of a gathering, then leaving intentionally and returning the next time.

– Start conversations for just two minutes and slowly increase the time.

– Arrange one trusted, predictable weekly connection (a phone call, walk, or coffee) to practice consistency.

Daily habits that strengthen regulation

Small lifestyle changes improve baseline tolerance to stress: regular sleep, gentle daily movement, consistent meals, reduced caffeine and alcohol, and brief mindfulness or breathing practice each morning and evening. These increase your capacity to stay present in relationships.

Therapies and supports that help

Effective, trauma-informed treatments include EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing), trauma-focused CBT, DBT skills training (for emotion regulation and distress tolerance), somatic therapies (Somatic Experiencing, Sensorimotor Psychotherapy), and schema therapy for attachment wounds. Group therapy and trauma-informed peer support can also reduce shame and isolation. Medication may help with anxiety or depression symptoms alongside therapy; discuss options with a psychiatrist.

Safety, abuse, and urgent help

If you are in an abusive relationship, plan for safety and seek specialized support from domestic violence services. If you feel at risk of harming yourself or someone else, seek emergency care or contact a crisis hotline immediately. In many countries there are national suicide and domestic violence hotlines that can connect you to local help.

Resources to explore

Books and resources that many people find useful: The Body Keeps the Score (Bessel van der Kolk), Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving (Pete Walker), DBT Skills Training materials (Marsha Linehan). Apps that support grounding and breathwork include Calm, Insight Timer, and breath-focused apps (e.g., Breathwrk). Search for local trauma-informed clinicians and peer-support groups.

Keep going — and be gentle with yourself

Changing avoidance patterns takes time and repeated, small practices. You will stumble — that is normal. Each time you notice an urge to run and use a grounding skill, make a boundary, or repair after leaving, you build a new kind of memory: one that says you can tolerate distress and still keep relationships. Over months and years those new experiences shift what feels possible. Progress is rarely linear, but steady practice, clear boundaries, and trauma-informed support make lasting change possible.