CPTSD Makes You Yearn for Closeness, But FEAR It (3-Video Compilation)

A lot of people feel like they can’t truly connect with others anymore. If you keep trying but conversations stay surface-level, friendships never form, or people seem to drift away, the issue might be your attunement — your capacity to pick up on someone else’s openness or to “read the room.” Before concluding others are closed-off, there are internal shifts you can make to become more responsive so people feel noticed, understood, and that you’re actually present with them. Attunement is hugely attractive in most social settings. When you’re attuned, others gravitate to you. It’s not something you must be born with. Childhood trauma can blunt attunement, and there are common behaviors that betray this — I’ll outline many of them here.
One clear sign of poor attunement is offering advice people never asked for. This shows up whenever someone tells you about a problem and you immediately prescribe a remedy — the vitamin, the diet, the doctor, the gadget, the tactic. It happens around health, weight, careers, emotions. Good friends can hear someone’s pain without leaping in with their own “fix.” If you’ve ever disclosed a serious illness and been overwhelmed by unsolicited solutions, you know how tuning-out that is. In my own case, years of hospital stays after a surgical error taught me this painfully: the injury had little to do with diet, and what helped most was silencing outside noise and tuning into my inner state. When people impose advice, they drown another person’s intuition and usually come across as dismissive, self-centered, or critical. A simple alternative: share your experience only if invited — “I went through something similar; I’m happy to tell you what helped if you want.” Often, what someone in pain needs is presence and empathy, not directives. When you can resist the urge to instruct, intimacy grows and people will be more likely to ask for your counsel when they truly want it.
Another red flag is a lack of curiosity. If your reactions to new ideas are immediate judgments or lectures — “That’s because…” or “The government always…” — you’re closing the door on connection. When someone expresses a view you haven’t heard before, try a genuine question: “Interesting — how did you arrive at that?” Listen without the agenda of correcting them. You can still disagree afterward and remain close. Comfort with differing opinions is a mature social skill; it’s not about tolerating bullies, but about not being an “opinion bully” yourself. Different perspectives enrich human life — they stop us from being robotic. Right now, forces in society push us toward contempt for anyone who disagrees. That polarization damages relationships. If you want to contribute positively, learn to hold disagreement without demonizing the other person, and assume their experience shaped their view.
Curiosity doesn’t have to be heavy or controversial. Asking about a vacation, a small success, or the reason someone loved a particular moment invites connection. Noticing something in the environment — “Look at that sunset; what do you think makes the clouds look like that?” — can be a gentle way to engage someone who enjoys thinking about why things are the way they are. Small sparks like that pull people in.
Insensitivity to people’s highs and lows is another common problem. If someone completed a big program, earned a degree, or achieved a milestone, it matters to them even if it seems small to you. People crave recognition; celebration — even a simple congratulations, a cupcake, or a sincere “well done” — fosters closeness. On the flip side, honoring painful moments matters too. Noticing an anniversary of loss or commenting on a joyful photo can mean the world. You don’t have to share a similar story; validation alone — “You look so happy in that picture; congrats” — builds connection.
Closely related is the inability to own mistakes. When someone says you hurt them and your first reflex is to clam up, defend, explain, or deflect (“But you did the same”), that’s a sign of poor attunement. A sensitive response tunes into feelings: “Are you worried? How do you feel about this? Do you have what you need?” If you’re the one being criticized by a reasonable friend, try to listen without immediate rebuttal. Even a pause and a calm, “Thanks for telling me — I’ll think about that,” is far more attuned than a defensive sprint. Repair is the currency of relationships; owning missteps or asking to take time to reflect shows maturity.
Another pattern is being shielded — constantly busy, exhausted, or in perpetual crisis. That can become a social barrier. Broadcasting nonstop busyness often signals to others that contact will be inconvenient or burdensome, so they stop reaching out. That’s what happened to me: the narrative of being too busy made friends think I didn’t want company, and they stopped calling. Boundaries around time and energy are vital, but the point is to keep relational channels open rather than use busyness as an excuse to shut people out.
Dogmatism also drives people away. Strong, uncompromising positions on religion, politics, diet, or health — delivered as the only right way — close conversations. In groups that share a purpose, leaving polarizing topics at the door is often wise. Pushing your worldview onto others, even kindly, can feel like coercion: “You just need X” rarely lands as helpful. If what you offer has helped you, present it as your experience and allow others the space to choose. Attraction, not promotion, is a better way to influence someone.
Trustworthiness is crucial. Small speech habits erode it: gossiping about absent people signals you’re not a safe person to confide in. Exaggeration — “Everyone always…” or “I’ve never…” — can make someone seem unreliable or dramatic. Flakiness — saying “I’ll make time” and then never committing — communicates disrespect. If you’re seen as someone who cancels frequently or doesn’t follow through, people stop investing in you. These habits often stem from family patterns or trauma, not innate malice, but they nonetheless push people away.
Why do these things happen? Trauma and neglect in childhood often blunt attunement. Reading social cues is partly a nervous-system function; if that system was injured or if reality was repeatedly gaslit (“Nothing’s wrong, get in the car”), the ability to sense the room weakens. Trauma symptoms — chronic fear, hypervigilance, or shutdown — use up mental energy, making it very hard to attend to others. It’s like trying to be present while loud headphones blast in your ears. Trauma also makes criticism feel perilous, provoking defensiveness as a survival tactic. While understandable, defensiveness is toxic to friendships: when someone says, “You hurt me,” a defensive wall tends to produce distance. Instead, practice pausing, listening, and, when ready, asking clarifying questions like, “Can you tell me when that felt the worst so I can understand?” That kind of openness gets an A in repair work.
Boundaries and emotional self-regulation are essential tools. If trauma makes emotions erupt, it helps to learn how to manage those surges so feelings don’t leak in ways that harm relationships. That doesn’t mean denying feelings; it means choosing when and how to express them. For example, crying in front of a boss may feel risky; regulating first and returning with clear communication is often more effective. With good boundaries — the confidence to exit a bad situation gracefully — you can afford to enter social situations without keeping a foot perpetually out the door. Practice elegant exits: “Thanks for a lovely evening — I’m going to head out now,” and you’ll preserve both safety and dignity.
Here are more concrete signs that your attunement might need work: giving unsolicited advice; shutting down curiosity; ignoring others’ big moments or being absent at important times; failing to apologize or own errors; treating invitations carelessly; being chronically busy or distant; dogmatic preaching; gossiping; exaggerating; and canceling or flaking on plans. If these sound familiar, know that these are repairable patterns — often learned in family systems or as coping strategies for trauma.
Now, to illustrate how attunement (or the lack of it) plays out, consider a case of long-distance limerence. When someone is present only as an online voice or image and clearly says they don’t want a relationship, it can still become a blank canvas for fantasy. The person who imagines “if only we were together” sometimes refuses to accept the repeated reality that it won’t happen. A letter from “Sasha” captures this. She met a man in an online trauma-healing community; he showed dismissive-avoidant tendencies while she considered herself “earned secure.” They bonded deeply over calls that lasted hours and shared values about life and parenting, but they lived on different continents. Sasha admitted romantic feelings; he initially insisted they could only be friends and later suggested he assumed she might move to him — which she couldn’t for health reasons. He then shut down the romantic possibility and, despite that, they fell into near-daily, long video contact. He poured his trauma out to her and described feeling understood; he sometimes spoke of joy and even heaven when with her, yet repeatedly denied romantic interest and later pursued other women. After one and a half years of this pattern, she went no contact, but six months later she was still haunted by memories and confused about how he could walk away.
The blunt truth in cases like Sasha’s is this: you deserve someone who is physically present, consistently available, and openly committed. Long-distance courtship can work, but only if both people share and act on the same intention early on. If months pass without alignment or practical plans to build shared life — visiting, relocating, concretely progressing — it’s usually not a developing partnership. And when one person explicitly says “I’m not interested in a romantic relationship with you,” that should be taken at face value. Continuing to behave as if you’re their partner when one person has no romantic commitment is a recipe for ongoing pain. In other words, being their confidant while they seek a romantic partner elsewhere tends to be emotional exploitation, even if unintentional. No matter how much time you spend listening or holding space, if they want a different person — or want a partner who lives nearby — that’s a boundary you must honor for your own wellbeing.
If you’ve been the one pouring your emotional energy into someone who won’t reciprocate, the healing work includes stopping the “crap fit” — shaping yourself to match a relationship that’s unhealthy or unreturned. Make a clear standard: someone who is into you, attracted to you, available, and willing to be with you. Don’t stay in prolonged ambivalence or keep hope alive when actions contradict words. No-contact is often the healthiest step after persistent one-sidedness. Use the time to practice daily emotional work so memories and longing can settle in a safer place. Over time, people can and do find genuine relationships where the other person is excited to be present in daily life.
Another concept worth naming is covert avoidance. Some people don’t isolate outright but keep everyone at arm’s length in subtle ways: looking busy, cancelling last minute, keeping conversations short, or never fully participating in shared tasks. It looks like engagement on the surface — a job, a social calendar — but relational depth is missing. Covert avoidance protects against dysregulation but also blocks meaningful connection. Signs include: being physically present yet emotionally distant in groups; claiming constant busyness while secretly dreading engagement; repeatedly postponing commitments; being late or canceling; contributing little in shared activities; exaggerating reasons for absences; repeatedly choosing unavailable partners; and experiencing recurring superficial relationships. If you recognize these signs, you’re likely using avoidance to manage internal overwhelm.
Avoidance costs you closeness, joy, and practical support when life gets hard. Trauma makes social situations more likely to trigger dysregulation — brain fog, intense feelings, clumsiness — and avoiding becomes a strategy to minimize that pain. But over time it leaves you more isolated and vulnerable. Without repair, the next crisis will reveal the thin support network you’ve built. Healing covert avoidance involves learning to reduce reactivity (so you have more choices in the moment), practicing boundaries, and consciously inviting more reliable people into your life. Small steps matter: attend to one tiny social action each day, ask for help in manageable ways, set graceful exit strategies for uncomfortable interactions, and notice where you withdraw without wanting to. Some people employ harmless props at parties to give themselves an easy out; others set clear times to leave, practice brief but sincere check-ins, or arrange to sit next to someone who can help them feel anchored. The goal is not to force complete change overnight, but to broaden your capacity for tolerating closeness while keeping yourself safe.
Finally, emotional re-regulation is the backbone of all of this. When triggers are calmer and the nervous system is steadier, choices about connection become clearer. Re-regulation doesn’t mean stuffing feelings; it means learning techniques to reduce the intensity of dysregulation so you can show up and respond rather than react. With more regulation you can tolerate uncertainty, say yes to a party without panic, and exit gracefully if needed. You can practice boundaries and build reciprocal relationships that will sustain you in crisis. Healing is a gradual process: one small, consistent move each day creates momentum. If this material resonates and you want a concrete place to practice stress-release and boundary skills, there are structured daily practices and group support options that teach re-regulation and related techniques. Those practices helped many people move from chronic emotional whiplash to steadier, more connected lives — the kind of life in which friendships deepen, intimacy becomes possible, and the future feels less frantic and more hopeful.