I’ve been noticing something quietly but consistently over the past few months.

Some connections leave me feeling more grounded.
Others leave me subtly dysregulated — tense, depleted, slightly off-centre.

For a long time, I ignored that distinction.

I assumed discomfort was something to push through.
That connection required effort.
That if I felt uneasy, it was probably something I needed to work on in myself.

But lately, I’ve been listening more closely.

What I’m Noticing

I’m starting to see that not all social discomfort is the same.

There’s the kind that comes from stretching — learning, opening, risking.
And then there’s the kind that comes from being pulled into a role.

Caretaker.
Regulator.
Container.

In some groups, I feel subtly recruited into steadiness.
Into being the calm one.
The reasonable one.
The one who absorbs rather than receives.

Nothing dramatic happens.
No one asks outright.

But my body knows.

I’ve stepped back from a few spaces recently — not in anger, not in judgment, but in honesty.

Some groups left me feeling responsible for other people’s emotions.
Some were filled with dysregulation and unprocessed pain.
Some mistook shared struggle for mutual support.

I realised something important:

If I leave a group feeling more fragmented than when I arrived, something isn’t right for me — even if it helps others.

That doesn’t make anyone bad.
But it does make the boundary necessary.

Why I Think It Matters

What’s interesting is that I do experience connection that nourishes me.

At college.
In therapy.
On quiet walks with people who can both give and receive.

The difference is subtle but profound:

  • Responsibility is shared
  • Repair is possible
  • I’m not the only adult in the room
  • I don’t have to hold everything together

My nervous system relaxes because it isn’t on duty.

There’s grief in this.

I want community.
I want ease.
I want belonging that doesn’t cost me regulation.

But I’m learning that forcing myself into spaces that drain me isn’t courage — it’s self-abandonment.

Walking away quietly, kindly, without explanation, is sometimes the most respectful thing I can do — for myself and for others.

The Open Question

I’m trusting this:

If connection is right for me, it won’t require me to disappear inside myself.

I may have fewer people around me for a while.
That’s okay.

This feels less like isolation
and more like making room
for something steadier to arrive.

Sometimes the work isn’t learning how to connect.
It’s learning when not to.