I always wondered why people liked me but didn't love me—then someone explained these 7 things I was doing

There was a stretch of my life where I kept hearing the same vibe from people.

“You’re such a great guy.”

“You’re so easy to be around.”

“You’re the nicest.”

Yet, when it came to real closeness, real loyalty, real love, something didn’t land.

I’d get invited, but not chosen; people would warm up fast, then keep me at arm’s length.

If you’ve felt that, you know how confusing it is.

You start wondering if there’s some invisible rule everyone else learned in middle school that you missed.

One day, someone I trust spelled it out for me.

More like, “Dude, you’re doing a few things that make people comfortable, but not connected.”

Here are the seven habits I had to look at:

1) Approval chasing

I used to think being “low maintenance” was a relationship superpower.

I’d go with the flow, I’d laugh at jokes I didn’t find funny, and I’d say yes when I meant “maybe.”

People liked that, of course they did, it feels good to be around someone who doesn’t challenge you.

But love usually requires a little friction.

When you’re always reaching for approval, you become hard to fully trust because people can sense you’re editing yourself.

They may not say it out loud, but the feeling is: “Do I know you… or do I know the version of you that keeps things smooth?”

What helped me was practicing tiny honest moments, just little, daily truths.

At first it felt like I was being difficult, then I realized I was being real.

Real is where love grows.

2) Boundary leaks

Here’s a weird one: I thought boundaries were for people who had it together.

I figured if I was patient enough, flexible enough, giving enough, relationships would automatically deepen.

So, I’d answer texts instantly, overcommit, and make time even when I was drained.

People liked having access to me but love is built on respect.

When you don’t have clear boundaries, you train people to treat you like an always-open tab.

They might still think you’re great and they might even rely on you but, deep down, they don’t fully respect you, because you’re not respecting yourself.

A simple boundary upgrade is this: Stop explaining so much.

Instead of, “Sorry, I’m just overwhelmed and I had a long day and I have to wake up early,” try, “I can’t make it tonight, but I hope it’s fun.”

The more you can hold your line without a TED Talk, the more your relationships get cleaner.

Cleaner relationships have a better shot at turning into real closeness.

3) Emotional hiding

Let me put it bluntly: I was allergic to being seen.

I could share stories, I could be funny, and I could talk about work, travel, music, whatever.

But feelings? The messy ones? The ones that make you human? I kept those locked up.

A lot of us do this because we learned early that being “too much” scares people away.

So, we become easy to consume.

The problem is, love attaches to a whole person.

If you never show disappointment, fear, jealousy, insecurity, tenderness, and people can’t connect to you deeply.

They can only connect to the polished surface, but what changed things for me was realizing vulnerability is letting someone know what’s real, at the right dose, at the right time.

For example:

• “I’ve been a little in my head lately.”
• “I actually care what you think, which is annoying to admit.”
• “I’m not upset at you, I’m just feeling sensitive today.”

When you start doing that, the right people lean in and the wrong people drift.

4) Conversational performance

Have you ever walked away from a hangout thinking, “They loved me tonight,” but also feeling strangely empty?

That used to happen to me because I treated conversations like a set.

I’d bring energy, I’d keep the pace moving, and I’d make sure there were no awkward gaps.

People like performers because performers make you feel good.

However, love isn’t built on a highlight reel.

Love is built in the quiet parts, the pauses, and the moments where nobody is impressing anyone.

This is where a tiny behavior shift matters: Let conversations breathe, and let the silence sit for a second.

Ask a question, then actually wait.

When someone answers, don’t jump to your own story immediately.

A lot of “likable” people accidentally turn every interaction into a vibe.

A vibe is nice, but it’s not intimacy as intimacy needs presence.

5) Needlessness posture

I used to think having needs made me a burden.

So, I tried to be the guy who needed nothing.

Here’s the catch: When you act like you need nothing, people assume you feel nothing.

They may enjoy you and admire you, but they won’t always invest in you because there’s no signal that investment matters.

Love tends to form when two people feel needed in a healthy way.

Try saying things like:

• “I’d love to see you this week.”
• “It means a lot when you check in.”
• “I could use your opinion on something.”

Somewhere along the line, we started acting like needing people is cringe but needing people is kind of the whole point.

6) Resentment stacking

I’ll admit this one made me squirm.

I didn’t think I was resentful because I thought I was generous.

However, what I was really doing was giving, giving, giving… then quietly keeping score.

I’d do the thoughtful thing, show up, help, and listen for an hour.

Then, when the other person didn’t magically return the same energy, I’d feel annoyed.

That kind of hidden resentment is poison.

People can sense it as you start getting slightly colder, slightly sarcastic, slightly distant, and you don’t even mean to.

The other person feels the shift and thinks, “What did I do?”

Now there’s tension, but nobody names it.

What fixed it for me was getting honest about why I was giving.

If I’m giving to be liked, I’m going to resent people for not paying me back; if I’m giving because I choose to, I can do it cleanly.

Also, I started saying what I wanted earlier, before my frustration built a little nest in my chest.

Directness feels risky, but it prevents that slow drift where people like you, yet don’t feel safe getting close.

7) Identity blur

I’ve mentioned this before but a lot of modern loneliness comes from trying to be universally acceptable.

I did that; I’d mirror people, match their vibe, downplay my opinions, stay neutral, and avoid strong takes.

That made me broadly likable, and it also made me forgettable.

Love tends to form around specificity, values, preferences, and the little “this is me” details.

It’s why you remember the friend who’s obsessed with trail running, the coworker who always has a new book recommendation, the person who knows exactly what they believe about relationships.

When you blur your identity, you become socially smooth, but emotionally vague.

You just need contours; you can share your real taste and real priorities.

In my case, being more open about how I live, what I care about, even something simple like why I eat the way I do, helped people place me.

When people can place you, they can connect to you.

Being liked is often about minimizing your edges, while being loved is often about showing them.

The bottom line

If people like you but don’t love you, it might mean you’re over-polished.

A lot of us learned how to be pleasant before we learned how to be close.

So, maybe this is your permission slip to be a little more honest, a little more boundaried, a little more specific, and a little more seen.

That’s usually where “liked” finally turns into something that sticks.