The Silent Ways We Close Ourselves Off

Last week, I was talking with my therapist about how ready I am to finally find my people — to feel that sense of community I’ve been missing.

He reminded me of something he’d suggested more than a year ago: a local healing retreat. At the time, I wasn’t ready. I could picture a place I would love to be… but one that felt a million miles from where I was.

In my imagination, the retreat was full of serene, quiet yogis — calm, peaceful, and effortlessly fit. The kind of people who sit cross-legged without a second thought about whether their belly gets in the way. The ones who flow into yoga poses like it’s second nature, and who probably roll out of bed looking gorgeous without trying.

And without even realizing it, I had already decided they wouldn’t accept me.

That’s when my therapist gently said something that stopped me in my tracks:

“Do you realize you’re judging them?”

It took me a moment to understand.
But then it clicked — I hadn’t met these people. I hadn’t seen their faces or heard their voices. I hadn’t spoken a single word to them. And yet, I had built an entire picture of who they were… and decided I wouldn’t belong with them.

The truth was, I wasn’t afraid they wouldn’t accept me.
I had already decided I wouldn’t accept them.

A Sign From the Universe

Not long before that conversation, I had seen something online from one of my favorite content creators — Teri Hofford, a photographer and body empowerment advocate. She had shared a series of memes about her experience shopping at Plato’s Closet as a grown woman.

Teri described singing a Justin Bieber song while browsing through the racks, all the while assuming she was being judged for even being in the store — a place she associated with teenagers. She noticed another woman shopping nearby, younger than her, and braced herself for silent judgment.

But instead, the woman looked up and said something completely unrelated to her age, her presence in the store, or anything judgmental at all.
She simply said she liked the song Teri was singing.

It was such a small moment, but such a big reminder: sometimes, the stories we tell ourselves about other people’s thoughts aren’t even close to reality.

Seeing Teri’s post and then having my own conversation with my therapist later that same day felt like the universe underlining the point in bold.

Why We Do This

It’s easy to think this is just insecurity, but it’s often something deeper: self-protection.

When we’ve been hurt, excluded, or misunderstood, our brain remembers. It files those moments away under “Warning: Possible Rejection Ahead.” And the next time we face something new, that file pops open before we even realize it.

If we expect rejection, we feel more in control — like we’re bracing for a fall we know is coming. But in preparing for pain, we can unintentionally close the door on connection.

Sometimes we’re not just protecting ourselves from others… we’re projecting our own self-criticisms onto them. If I’m self-conscious about my body or my worth, it’s easy to assume others will notice those same “flaws.” So instead of asking, “Who might they be?” I decide, “They’re probably not my kind of people.”

This pattern can come from many places:

• Past rejection or criticism that trained us to look for danger before it happens.

• Perfectionism that makes us believe everyone else holds us to impossible standards.

• Comparison culture that convinces us others have it all together while we’re still figuring it out.

But here’s the thing about armor — it doesn’t just keep the hurt out. It keeps the warmth out, too.

When we assume someone is already judging us, we stop seeing them for who they are, and instead see a reflection of our fears.

Choosing a Different Story

I still haven’t been to that healing retreat — and truthfully, I’m still not ready.

But now I understand why. And I know that readiness isn’t about perfecting myself, losing weight, or becoming someone I think others will accept. It’s about loosening my grip on the stories I’ve told myself about other people, and letting them show me who they really are.

For now, I’m working on it.
Because maybe the first step toward finding “my people” isn’t arriving polished and fearless — maybe it’s arriving honest and open, even if I’m a little shaky.

Judgment will always exist. People can and will make assumptions. But if I want others to give me the benefit of the doubt, I have to start by giving it to them.

And maybe — just maybe — that’s how I’ll be ready when the time finally comes.