I had terrible social skills for years - here are the 8 mistakes I finally learned to stop making

Introduction

There was a period in my twenties when I couldn't figure out why conversations felt so exhausting. Why invitations dried up. Why I'd leave social gatherings feeling more alone than when I arrived.

I wasn't shy, exactly. I could talk. I showed up. But something was consistently off, and I couldn't put my finger on what.

It took years and some brutally honest feedback from people who cared enough to tell me the truth to realize I was making the same social mistakes over and over. Not because I was a bad person, but because no one had ever taught me the unspoken rules that seem to come naturally to everyone else.

Here are the eight mistakes I finally learned to stop making. Maybe you'll recognize a few of your own.

1) I dominated conversations without realizing it

Someone would mention they went hiking over the weekend, and I'd immediately launch into a story about my photography trip to Griffith Park. They'd bring up a problem at work, and I'd jump in with my own work drama before they'd even finished.

I thought I was being relatable. I thought sharing my experiences was how you connected with people.

What I didn't understand was that I was essentially hijacking every conversation and making it about me.

The turning point came when my friend Sarah pulled me aside after a dinner party. "You asked me one question tonight," she said. "One. And then you talked for forty minutes about your music blog."

It stung. But she was right.

I started forcing myself to ask three questions before sharing anything about myself. It felt awkward at first, almost artificial. But people started opening up more. Conversations became actual exchanges instead of competing monologues.

The rule isn't perfect, but it broke my habit of treating every topic as a launching pad for my own stories.

2) I gave advice when people just wanted to be heard

Someone would share a struggle, and I'd immediately go into problem-solving mode. Here's what you should do. Have you tried this? What about that approach?

I genuinely thought I was being helpful.

Research in communication psychology shows that people usually share problems for emotional support, not solutions. They want validation and empathy, not a tactical plan.

But I was so focused on fixing things that I completely missed what people actually needed from me.

My partner finally told me, "Sometimes I just need you to say 'that sounds really hard' instead of telling me how to reorganize my entire life."

Now when someone shares something difficult, I catch myself before jumping to solutions. I ask, "Do you want advice, or do you just need to vent?"

More often than not, they just want someone to witness their experience without trying to change it.

3) I treated silence like an emergency

Any pause in conversation longer than three seconds would send me into panic mode. I'd blurt out whatever random thought crossed my mind just to fill the void. The weather. Something I saw on Instagram. Literally anything to avoid the awkwardness of silence.

This made conversations feel frantic and exhausting.

What I eventually learned is that comfortable silence is actually a sign of good connection. It means you're relaxed enough with each other that every moment doesn't need to be packed with words.

The constant need to fill space comes from anxiety, not engagement. And that anxiety is contagious. When I was uncomfortable with silence, I made everyone else uncomfortable too.

I started practicing just being present in the quiet moments. Letting conversations breathe. Discovering that sometimes the most meaningful exchanges happen in the pauses between words.

4) I never admitted when I was wrong

I'd deflect, justify, explain away my mistakes with elaborate context about why what I did actually made perfect sense if you just understood the full situation.

The problem with this approach is that it makes you exhausting to be around.

Nobody wants to have a relationship with someone who can't take responsibility. It creates this dynamic where people stop bringing things up because they know they'll just get a wall of defensiveness.

I remember an argument with my partner about forgetting plans we'd made. Instead of just saying "You're right, I messed up," I went on this whole thing about how stressed I was with work deadlines and how they should have reminded me and how we never actually confirmed the time anyway.

They just looked at me and said, "I don't need an explanation. I need you to acknowledge that you hurt me."

That hit different.

Now when I screw up, I practice saying "You're right, I'm sorry" and then actually stopping. Not adding justifications or context unless they ask. Just owning it and moving on.

It's amazing how much less conflict there is when you're not constantly defending yourself.

5) I treated small talk like it was beneath me

Weather? Boring. Weekend plans? Superficial. I wanted to have deep, meaningful conversations about psychology, philosophy, the nature of consciousness.

So I'd try to force every interaction into some profound discussion, even with people I barely knew.

What I didn't understand is that small talk serves a purpose. It's not about the content, it's about establishing comfort and rapport. It's how humans test whether someone is safe and friendly before going deeper.

Skipping straight to heavy topics is like trying to run before you can walk. It puts people on edge because you're demanding intimacy before you've earned it.

I learned this the hard way at a colleague's birthday dinner when I tried to turn a conversation about vacation plans into a discussion about the ethics of travel and carbon footprints. The energy just died. People drifted away to other conversations.

Now I let small talk happen naturally. I talk about the weather, ask about people's weekends, comment on the food. And you know what? Those surface-level exchanges often lead organically to more interesting discussions once people feel comfortable.

6) I kept score in my relationships

I'd mentally track who reached out last, who canceled plans, who owed whom a favor. Every interaction went into this invisible ledger I was maintaining.

When things felt unbalanced, I'd get resentful. Why am I always the one initiating? Why don't they ever ask about my life?

But I wouldn't actually say anything. I'd just pull back and wait for them to notice and correct the imbalance.

Of course, they usually didn't notice. Or if they did, they had no idea what had changed.

The problem with scorekeeping is that it assumes relationships should be perfectly equal at all times. But that's not how human connection works. Sometimes you're the one with capacity to give more. Sometimes you need more support. It ebbs and flows.

I had to learn that if something bothers me, I need to actually communicate about it instead of silently tallying grievances. And that healthy relationships aren't about maintaining perfect equilibrium, they're about both people showing up with generosity and trust.

7) I took everything personally

Someone canceled plans? They must be mad at me. A text went unanswered for a few hours? Clearly I said something wrong. A friend seemed distant? I must have done something to upset them.

Every interaction became a referendum on my worth as a person.

This made me exhausting to be around because I'd constantly need reassurance. I'd read into everything, create problems that didn't exist, and force people to manage my anxiety about the relationship.

My grandmother, who raised four kids while working full time, finally told me something that shifted my perspective: "Not everything is about you. Most of the time, people are just dealing with their own stuff."

It sounds obvious, but I had to actively retrain my brain to consider other explanations before jumping to the conclusion that someone's behavior was about me.

Maybe they're stressed about work. Maybe they're tired. Maybe they just forgot to respond to the text because they got distracted.

Giving people the benefit of the doubt instead of immediately assuming the worst made my relationships so much lighter and easier.

8) I never showed appreciation

People would do thoughtful things, show up for me, make efforts to include me, and I'd just accept it as my due. I thought saying thank you for every little thing would seem needy or over the top.

So I stayed cool and casual, acting like everything was no big deal.

What I didn't realize is that people need to know their efforts are noticed and valued. Without that feedback, they eventually stop making the effort.

I lost friendships because I never expressed gratitude. People would invite me to things once, twice, three times, and I'd show up but never acknowledge that I appreciated being included. Eventually, the invitations stopped coming.

Now I make it a point to actually say "thank you for thinking of me" or "I really appreciate you making time for this." Not in a formal, stiff way, but genuinely acknowledging when someone has done something kind.

It's a small shift, but it completely changed how people respond to me. Turns out when you make people feel valued, they want to keep you in their life.

Conclusion

None of these changes happened overnight. I still catch myself falling into old patterns sometimes.

But the difference is that now I notice. I can course-correct instead of just bulldozing through conversations the way I always have.

Social skills aren't some innate talent you either have or don't have. They're learnable. It just takes paying attention, being willing to hear feedback, and actually caring more about connecting with people than about being right or comfortable.

If you recognized yourself in any of these mistakes, you're not alone. Most of us were never explicitly taught this stuff. We're all just figuring it out as we go.

The good news is that once you start noticing these patterns, you can change them. And the payoff, genuine connection with people who actually want to be around you, is absolutely worth the discomfort of growing.