After decades of meaningful relationships, I discovered I'd been systematically dismantling them through subtle behaviors I didn't even realize I'd developed.
I found myself sitting alone at my daughter's birthday dinner last year, watching her laugh with her in-laws across the table.
She hadn't excluded me—I'd positioned myself at the far end, phone in hand, half-listening to conversations while scrolling through news that could have waited. When she tried to include me in a story about her recent promotion, I interrupted to share how much harder job hunting was in my day. The evening ended with polite hugs and a promise to "do this again soon" that felt hollow even as I said it.
That night, driving home through familiar streets, I realized I'd been having variations of this same evening for years. The physical distance at the table was just a symptom of something deeper.
After decades of building meaningful relationships, I'd somehow started dismantling them without even noticing.
Here are 10 habits I realized were actually pushing people away.
1. Being quick to criticize rather than understand
My granddaughter had dyed her hair purple. My first words weren't "It's bold and beautiful like you" but "How will people take you seriously?"
I watched her face fall, and suddenly I was transported back to 1975 when my mother criticized my decision to become a teacher instead of a nurse. "Teachers don't make real money," she'd said, missing entirely that I wanted to shape minds, not just earn a paycheck.
Dale Carnegie wisely put it: "Any fool can criticize, complain, and condemn—and most fools do. But it takes character and self-control to be understanding and forgiving." I'd become the fool, so quick to judge that I'd forgotten to wonder why purple hair brought my granddaughter joy.
When I finally asked her about it weeks later, she told me it made her feel brave during a difficult time at school. My criticism had made her feel smaller when she was trying to feel bigger.
2. Keeping my guard up and avoiding vulnerability
After my husband's death, I'd assembled an impressive armor. When friends asked how I was doing, I'd perfected the art of the redirect: "Oh, you know me, keeping busy! How's your garden coming along?" I'd share my victories—the successful pie sale I organized, the hiking group I'd joined—but never mentioned crying into his pillow on the nights sleep wouldn't come.
As noted by researcher Brené Brown, "Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity." By refusing to let anyone see my struggles, I was also refusing their comfort, their shared experiences, their love.
One afternoon, my oldest friend finally said, "I miss the real you. The one who used to cry at insurance commercials and admit when she was scared." That's when I realized my armor wasn't protecting me; it was imprisoning me.
3. Constantly checking my phone during conversations
The habit had crept in slowly.
First, just glancing at notifications during coffee with friends. Then scrolling through emails while my son told me about his workday. I justified it as staying connected, but I was actually disconnecting from the people right in front of me.
Research shows that this behavior—called phubbing, snubbing someone in favor of your phone—seriously damages relationships. Nearly 32% of people report being phubbed two to three times a day, and it negatively affects intimacy and closeness.
The wake-up call came when my young grandson said, "Grandma, you're here but not really here." Out of the mouths of babes comes truth we need to hear.
4. Talking more than listening
Thirty-two years of teaching had given me thousands of stories. Every situation someone shared triggered three anecdotes from my classroom, my travels, my experiences.
My nephew mentioned struggling with his teenager, and I launched into a 20-minute monologue about the troubled students I'd helped over the decades. When I finally paused, he'd already checked out of the conversation.
However, as the philosopher Epictetus observed, "We have two ears and one mouth, so we should listen twice as much as we speak."I'd reversed that ratio completely. People stopped confiding in me not because they didn't trust me, but because there was no space for their words between all of mine.
5. Bottling up emotions rather than expressing them
I'd convinced myself that handling emotions privately was a sign of strength. When my brother forgot my birthday for the third year running, I said nothing. When my neighbor's loud music kept me awake, I smiled and waved the next morning. When grief hit me in waves, I retreated to my bedroom rather than reach out.
Freud said, "Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways." He was right. Those buried feelings erupted at the worst moments—snapping at a grocery clerk, giving my daughter the silent treatment over something trivial, sending passive-aggressive texts I immediately regretted. The very emotions I'd tried to hide were poisoning every interaction.
6. Rejecting feedback and becoming defensive
When my daughter gently suggested I might be monopolizing conversations, my immediate response was a 10-minute defense of how much wisdom I had to share. When a friend mentioned I'd been canceling plans frequently, I listed all my valid reasons. I'd become a master at deflection, treating every observation as an attack.
I'd started valuing being right over being close. Each defensive response pushed people further away, until they stopped sharing their thoughts altogether. The silence I'd created wasn't peaceful; it was lonely.
7. Withdrawing when life got stressful
Bad news seemed to trigger my hermit mode and I don't think I'm alone in this.
A health scare, financial worry, or family conflict would send me into isolation. I'd decline invitations, ignore calls, skip my regular activities. I told myself I was protecting others from my problems, but really I was protecting myself from feeling vulnerable.
As noted by HelpGuide, "Stress and anxiety, particularly in social situations, can lead you to self-isolate, deepening your loneliness and sense of isolation." This creates a vicious cycle—the more I withdrew, the more disconnected I felt, which made me withdraw even more. Soon, reaching out felt impossible, like trying to speak a language I'd forgotten.
8. Making assumptions instead of asking questions
I'd developed an unfortunate habit of thinking I knew what people meant, felt, or needed without actually asking them.
When my son didn't call for two weeks, I assumed he was too busy for me. When my friend stopped inviting me to lunch, I decided she'd found better companions. I was writing entire stories in my head without checking if they were true.
This behavior had cost me a precious friendship. I assumed a friend's shorter responses meant she was angry with me, so I pulled back. Months later, I learned she'd been dealing with her husband's cancer diagnosis and desperately needed support I never offered because I was too busy nursing imagined wounds.
9. Focusing on past grievances rather than present possibilities
I could recall with perfect clarity every slight from the past five years.
The birthday card my sister forgot to send, the time my neighbor borrowed my good scissors and returned them dull, the friend who never reciprocated dinner invitations. I carried these grievances like stones in my pocket, pulling them out regularly to examine and polish them.
Meanwhile, I was missing the attempts at connection happening right now. My sister's weekly check-in calls, my neighbor's offers to pick up groceries, my friend's invitations to walk. I was so focused on old wounds that I couldn't see the hands reaching out to heal them.
10. Comparing my insides to everyone else's outsides
Social media had become my daily dose of inadequacy. Everyone else seemed to have perfect relationships, endless energy, and lives full of adventure. I'd scroll through photos of friends traveling, grandchildren graduating, couples celebrating anniversaries, and feel my own life shrinking in comparison.
What I forgot was that nobody posts their 2 AM anxiety, their arguments, their lonely Sunday afternoons. I was comparing my full reality to everyone else's highlight reel, and the comparison was making me bitter. That bitterness leaked into my interactions, making me less generous with compliments, less enthusiastic about others' joy, less willing to share my own imperfect journey.
Final thoughts
Recognizing these behaviors wasn't comfortable, but it was necessary.
I'm learning that pushing people away is often a misguided attempt at self-protection, but all it really protects us from is love, connection, and growth. Now, when I catch myself defaulting to these old patterns, I pause and choose differently. I put down my phone, ask questions instead of assuming, share my struggles along with my strengths.
It's not perfect, but it's progress.
