When Connection Feels Wrong Even Though I Crave It

I’ve been thinking a lot about how much I long for connection—how much I’ve wanted to be met, seen, felt, held in some way. And yet, recently when people made an effort—just said hello to me and my dog on a walk—it felt… weird. Forced. I didn’t like it.

And that’s the part no one really talks about.

There’s a strange, complicated place I seem to be in. A kind of in-between. I desperately want people to come closer, but when they do, something in my body recoils. Not because I don’t want it—but because it feels too unfamiliar. Too sudden. Almost unsafe.

For so long, connection wasn’t a safe place for me. It either didn’t exist, or it came with strings, performance, conditions. So now, even when it’s kind… even when it’s simple… my system doesn’t know how to let it in.

That’s not because I’m ungrateful. It’s because my body is still learning what it means to be met without fear.

So I’ve started to wonder:
Is it possible that I’ve been subconsciously looking for evidence that I’m unlovable?

That I’ve been withdrawing, exhausting myself, hiding in plain sight—not because I don’t want connection, but because I’m scared I won’t survive another almost?

And maybe, yeah, I have made some connections—small ones, quiet ones. People probably would be glad to see me again. But my brain doesn’t believe that. There’s a glitch, an emotional misfire that tells me: “It didn’t count. You failed again.”

That’s not a character flaw. That’s the result of never really being met in the past. It rewires you. And now, I’m trying to gently rewire it back.

What I’m coming to realise is this:

• It’s okay that connection feels off at first.
• It’s okay to feel exposed and uncomfortable.
• It doesn’t mean I’m not ready—it means I’m relearning.
• It doesn’t mean I’ve failed—it means I’m healing.

Maybe I don’t have to wait until I completely break down to start again.
Maybe I am starting again already—just by noticing.
Noticing that I want something more.
And that, despite everything, I’m still here.

This isn’t a clean answer. It’s not an “aha” moment tied with a bow.
It’s just me, in the middle of something real, whispering to myself:

“I’m not broken. I’m just thawing. And that’s enough for today.”

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A Note on Mornings

The funny thing is—when I’ve had a decent sleep, or even just a tolerable night—I often find it quite easy to connect with people in the morning. I think it goes well. Even after a rough night, I can usually manage the morning walk without too much difficulty. And what’s more, I can always leave if it gets unclear or overwhelming.

It’s not performative. I’m not forcing anything. It just feels… safe enough.

I think those morning walks might be quietly saving me. They bring rhythm. Familiarity. Soft human contact. And even though I missed it yesterday, and it may have led to me seeking comfort in food later, it reminds me that gentle, steady connection is possible—when I meet myself with a little more kindness.

So maybe that’s the invitation for now:
Protect what grounds you.
Return to what feels soft and real.
And remember—sometimes healing looks like walking your dog and just letting yourself be part of the world for a few minutes.

That’s enough. Really.