Why You Feel Left Out in Groups (and What to Do About It)

When I first began teaching about trauma, I never imagined that one of the most persistent, defining consequences of childhood abuse and neglect would also be the very thing that haunted me most. I didn’t recognize it as a symptom of trauma—I just felt perpetually out of place, like I didn’t belong anywhere. I assumed something was wrong with me, that I was fundamentally different. If that resonates with you, it’s worth reading on. How do you feel when you try to join a group? Many people who experienced abuse or neglect in childhood find themselves feeling, as adults, slightly or consistently outside of social circles. Do you sense being half-in, half-out—never fully included? Or do you begin as an engaged member and then gradually withdraw? I have done this countless times. Maybe you’ve resigned yourself to the idea that groups are simply not for you. Yet belonging is a basic human need. You might keep signing up for groups, feel uncomfortable or excluded, then leave again—often blaming others. Sometimes that’s accurate, but a clue that your behavior may be driving the pattern is that you tend to gravitate to roughly the same distance from the group’s core each time. Every group has a center—one or two leaders at the middle—surrounded by highly invested members, then by people who are involved but less central, and so on. I used to habitually position myself about eighty percent out from the center: invited to the gathering but not responsible for making it happen. Frequently I’d start enthusiastic, thinking I’d finally found my people, even stepping into more active roles or leadership. But sooner rather than later I’d find a reason to retreat—first to maybe forty percent out, and eventually I’d bail on the group entirely. Being part of something has been, and in some areas still is, deeply uncomfortable for me. Why is that? For years I chalked it up to bad luck: the wrong coworkers, the wrong moms’ group, the wrong 12-step fellowship. I figured I must be different and that other people just didn’t understand me. I didn’t notice the pattern until I made progress calming my nervous system and gained clarity. It makes sense: groups can overwhelm someone with the sensitivities left by childhood PTSD. People trigger us, and a group is essentially a congregation of potential triggers. Group dynamics reopen old wounds about belonging and fitting in—the very places where we were hurt. Being around lots of people can feel like an ongoing emotional onslaught; it can replay a high-school-style experience that never ends. Childhood PTSD isn’t the same as introversion, though there are overlaps: social interaction can demand more energy because you’re constantly working to appear “normal” and to manage the flood of feelings. Still, people matter for practical reasons, and relationships are essential to healing trauma, which is fundamentally relational in origin. Trauma damages your nervous system, but it was caused by interactions with other people—most often caregivers—so recovery must occur both internally and through relationships. Small everyday interactions are where you practice new skills and receive emotional nourishment, even though they sometimes bring criticism, rejection, or the pain of feeling different when others seem connected. Over time, that gets easier. Everyone needs to belong, so it’s natural to drift toward groups—but often toward the perimeter at first, where it’s easier. You can socialize a bit while keeping one foot near the exit in case you need to get away. That’s a valid survival strategy; healthy groups usually accommodate many roles and levels of participation, and it’s okay not to dive in fully at the start. Life would be simpler if you could stay there—absorbing a light sense of belonging without risking the intense feelings that come with deeper engagement. But relationships kept at the margins make it difficult to build meaning. You need friction and sustained contact to develop social skills; remaining peripheral keeps connections shallow. What begins as a protective developmental pause can turn into a genuine deficit: slowly you become more isolated. Playing it safe means staying stuck. Growth requires taking small risks to widen your comfort zone. Friendship and group life naturally include ups and downs; missing out on those cycles risks not only exclusion but becoming harder to include. Avoidance often breeds self-absorption—holding yourself back from sharing who you are. While this is an emergency protective maneuver, it isn’t a sustainable way to live. Opportunities to share are everywhere: bring a dish to a potluck, join a choir, learn quilting, invite people for a hike. Showing up for others makes you less fragile, more adaptable, more connected, and more included. Inclusion takes effort, and solitude can seem soothing, but if you let isolation take root it will expand and fertilize your worst tendencies. People who withdraw often grow cranky, self-centered, bitter, or suspicious, and reversing that drift becomes harder because you’ve become more eccentric or awkward. I’ve called this “turning weird” on YouTube before; some said it was harsh, but isolation certainly made me a stranger version of myself—not in a good way. Have you noticed this beginning in yourself or others? I saw it clearly in myself, and when pandemic lockdowns lifted and social life resumed, I was rough around the edges—talking too much at times, unsure what to say, a bit irritable—but gradually I found my footing again. Take your needed alone time, and then keep taking small steps to rebuild your capacity to stay connected. Many of you watching this might be wondering if change is possible or worthwhile. The answer is yes to both. Start with a single small act: show up. I teach many practical methods for this in my Connection Boot Camp, a 30-day program that supports daily positive actions and teaches relationship skills—you can find a link in the description if you want to look into it. For today, try something simple: take a shower, put on a coat, say hello to someone, revisit a group you once enjoyed, visit a friend you’ve been neglecting, or sign up for a community event like a beach cleanup or a blood drive. It doesn’t have to be thrilling—just get out of the house and show up. If you do one of these things every other day, you’ll likely start feeling included again within a few weeks. The need to belong isn’t a flaw—it’s primal. Humans are born into community, and despite occasional urges for total independence, we can’t completely detach. Evolutionary biology reminds us inclusion was a survival strategy—warmth, food, protection—but its value isn’t purely physical. Social connection is crucial for the development of your mind, spirit, and whole self. Without it, your growth is stunted and fulfillment remains out of reach. Being included supports not only emotional well-being but physical and brain health too—it helps guard against cognitive decline and builds a safety net of people who can help when life gets dark. You don’t have to face hardships alone anymore; healing can restore that network. One-on-one relationships can be as challenging as group belonging for those with childhood PTSD—you need both kinds of connection. It’s difficult, yes, but keep trying and keep participating. The payoff is inclusion, and inclusion is what we all secretly yearn for. If you struggle with feeling connected or included and want to explore how past trauma might be affecting you now, there is hope for healing. I also have a quiz that can help you identify how your past may be influencing your present—you can download that quiz right here. I will see you very soon.

Practical Steps You Can Use Today

Below are concrete, low-risk actions and simple skills to help you move from the perimeter toward meaningful participation—without overwhelming yourself.

• Create a tiny exposure plan: Pick one social action you can do this week that nudges you slightly beyond your comfort zone (e.g., stay for 10 minutes longer, ask someone a question, or offer to bring snacks). Repeat similar micro-challenges to build tolerance gradually.
• Practice two-line openings: Having a short, practiced way to enter conversations reduces anxiety. Examples: “Hi, I’m [name]. I don’t think we’ve met—what brought you here?” or “That sounds interesting—how long have you been doing this?”
• Use a safety anchor: Before entering a group event, choose a grounding tool to use if you get triggered: three deep breaths, pressing your feet into the floor, or naming five things you can see. These quick actions reset your nervous system in the moment.
• Signal your availability: If fully committing feels unsafe, show consistency in small ways—arrive at the same café on the same day each week, or volunteer once a month. Reliability builds recognition and trust over time.
• Ask to help: Tasks create belonging. Offer to set up chairs, bring materials, or coordinate snacks. Doing something practical reduces social ambiguity and gives you a clear role.
• Use “soft self-disclosures”: Share small, safe personal details—your favorite hobby, a book you like, or what you cooked that week. These low-stakes reveals invite reciprocity without exposing deep vulnerabilities too soon.
• Plan an exit but postpone it: Give yourself a scheduled break time (e.g., “I’ll stay 45 minutes”), and if things feel manageable at that point, stay a bit longer. Often the urge to leave decreases after the initial window.

How to Respond When You Feel Excluded or Triggered

• First, name the experience to yourself: “I feel left out,” or “I’m getting triggered.” Naming reduces intensity.
• Use a simple grounding phrase: “I am safe right now. I can breathe.” Repeat it quietly until the surge subsides.
• Check facts vs. feelings: ask, “Is there evidence that people are excluding me, or could this be my internal alarm?” If appropriate, check in with one person you trust rather than assuming the whole group’s intentions.
• If you need space, excuse yourself gently: “I’m stepping outside for a minute—back soon.” Returning, even briefly, signals resilience rather than complete withdrawal.

Longer-Term Skills and Practices

• Nervous system work: Practices like paced breathing, progressive muscle relaxation, gentle movement, and guided mindfulness lower baseline reactivity and make socializing easier.
• Build a social skills rhythm: Practice small interactions daily—short greetings, comments about the weather, or a one-sentence compliment. These are low-cost rehearsals that add up.
• Repair practice: When awkward or hurtful moments happen (and they will), practice brief repair: apologize if you misstep, or kindly name your need if someone’s comment stung. Repairing builds trust more than avoiding problems altogether.
• Reflect without ruminating: After a group event, ask two constructive questions: What went okay? What would I try differently next time? Avoid replaying imagined slights.
• Seek trauma-informed therapy: If persistent shame, hypervigilance, or flashbacks interfere with connecting, a therapist trained in trauma (EMDR, somatic experiencing, sensorimotor therapy, or trauma-informed CBT) can help you rewire those patterns.

Practical Scripts You Can Use

• Entering a small group: “Hi—I’m [name]. I heard you talking about [topic]. I’m curious—how did you get into that?”
• Asking to join an activity: “That hike looks fun—mind if I tag along?”
• When feeling excluded: “I sometimes feel a bit on the outside—could I check in with you about X?” (directing the feeling to one person reduces defensiveness)
• Setting a gentle boundary: “I need a short break but I’d love to reconnect after.”

When to Reach Out for Extra Support

If social avoidance is accompanied by severe anxiety, panic attacks, depressive withdrawal, substance use to cope, or if old trauma memories are activated intensely by group situations, seek professional support. A trauma-informed therapist can help stabilize your nervous system, create a personalized exposure plan, and guide relationship repair work.

Resources That People Find Helpful

• Books that many find useful: The Body Keeps the Score (Bessel van der Kolk), Polyvagal Theory in Therapy (Deb Dana), and Attached (Amir Levine & Rachel Heller) for understanding attachment patterns.
• Apps for grounding and regulation: breathwork, meditation, and sleep apps (e.g., Calm, Insight Timer) and simple habit trackers to record small social steps.
• Community platforms: look for trauma-informed groups, hobby clubs, volunteer organizations, or low-pressure classes (community college, library groups, or local meetups) that emphasize inclusion and predictable structure.

Closing Note

Belonging is a set of skills as much as it is a feeling. Treat yourself like a beginner learning an important craft: be curious, keep the challenges small, track tiny wins, and get help when the work feels too heavy to do alone. Over time, the perimeter gets smaller and the center gets more reachable. You don’t need to become the most social person in the room; you only need to become more available—to yourself and to others—so that genuine connection can grow.