When Belonging Becomes a Battle: What Unhealed Abandonment Can Look Like
Have you ever met someone who didn’t quite seem to know how to exist in platonic relationships?
Someone who, without realizing it, tried to make themselves a key character in a story that already had main characters?
They show up in your life, or someone else’s, and suddenly they’re everywhere. They start taking on the identity of the people around them. Their language shifts, their vibe shifts. They become the group they hang with.
It’s not always loud. Sometimes it’s subtle, a growing presence, a clinginess dressed up as helpfulness, a need to be needed that starts to take up space.
At first, you might feel confused. Then maybe annoyed. But underneath that? You start to feel bad. Because if you’ve been paying attention, you know what you’re looking at isn’t just personality, it’s pain.
Deep, unhealed pain that comes from abandonment.
This is what abandonment can look like when it’s still bleeding:
Trying to fast-forward intimacy.
Becoming over-involved in someone else’s life too quickly.
Mistaking proximity for belonging.
Replacing instead of relating.
Confusing being essential with being loved.
People who’ve been abandoned emotionally, physically, or both don’t always realize how that shapes their understanding of connection. They learned early on that people leave. So they cope by trying to become so indispensable, so involved, that leaving becomes harder.
It’s not malicious. It’s survival. They’re not trying to be manipulative, they’re just trying not to be left again.
But here’s where it gets complicated:
When someone hasn’t dealt with their trauma, they don’t just carry it, they spill it. Into rooms, into relationships, into roles that were never theirs to fill. They think they’re finding a place to belong, but really they’re forcing one. And that pressure can make you or others around them feel guilty, exhausted, or even emotionally cornered.
It’s okay to admit that. It’s okay to name it. Empathy doesn’t mean erasing your own boundaries.
So what do you do when you see it?
You stay kind, but clear.
You don’t reward unhealthy attachment just because you feel bad.
You recognize that while trauma may explain someone’s behavior, it doesn’t excuse them from learning better once it starts harming others.
You stop letting guilt keep you in one-sided dynamics.
And maybe, just maybe, you model what a real connection looks like. Not one built on being everything to everyone, but one built on honesty, boundaries, and care that doesn’t suffocate.
Some people never got taught how to belong.
Some people think closeness has to be earned, begged for, or wedged into.
But the truth is: you don’t have to fight for a space that’s yours.
You don’t have to perform to be seen.
And no one has to shrink to make someone else feel secure.
Let this be your reminder:
You can feel bad for someone and not let them take over your life.
You can name the pattern and still hold compassion.
You can walk away and still wish them healing.
You are not their therapist.
You are not their fix.
You are allowed to protect your peace, even from people who are still in pieces.
I’m not a therapist. I’m not a psychologist or licensed clinician.
I’m just someone who understands.
Someone who’s watched people carry trauma into rooms like it was their only form of ID.
Someone who believes in empathy, but also believes in boundaries.
Because love without boundaries isn’t love, it’s self-abandonment in disguise.
You don’t have to diagnose people to recognize when something feels off.
You don’t have to be a professional to protect your peace.
You just have to trust what you see, honor what you feel, and remember that you’re allowed to take care of yourself, too.
