The Hidden Need Behind Taking Things Personally
And how to change the pattern
Sometimes, we act in ways that others quickly label as “illogical” or an “overreaction,” but not all seemingly irrational behaviour is as senseless as it appears.
Think about how often we interpret others' negative actions as being directed at us, even when they aren't. This is what most people mean when they say we "take things personally." When someone is angry, frustrated, or even just distant, it can feel like their reaction is a judgment on us—whether or not we’ve done anything wrong.
In these moments, instead of stepping back to gain perspective, we might turn inward, questioning our own worth. We internalise their emotions, believing that their feelings reflect something about us. Even when we know intellectually that their response isn't about us, it can still trigger feelings of inadequacy or self-doubt.
It's natural to feel hurt by a harsh comment or a dismissive attitude. But when we engage with their emotions as though they’re our responsibility—trying to fix things, defending ourselves, or escalating the situation—we risk getting caught in a cycle. We let their storm pull us in, stirring up our own insecurities and making the situation more intense than it needs to be.
But beneath this seemingly irrational response lies a deeper, more complex reason why some of us are particularly prone to taking things personally.
The adaptive function of taking things personally.
Our unconscious mind often works in complex ways to meet our needs. And one of the most essential needs is to feel seen and feel that we matter to others, especially to significant people in our lives.
One reason we might take things personally stems from this deep need to feel noticed—even if that attention comes through conflict or criticism. Just as someone might crave the rush of a familiar, but harmful, substance, we might find ourselves drawn to the emotional drama of conflict because it brings a sense of connection, despite the pain it may cause. It’s almost as if we’re saying, “I’d rather have you angry with me than ignore me completely.”
Over time, this emotional intensity becomes something we seek because it feels “real.” Our need to feel recognised and acknowledged, and our fear of loneliness, can outweigh the discomfort caused by conflict. This cycle of reacting to others' moods and words can become ingrained, so that, even when we recognise the damage it causes, we might feel an urge to continue, as if it's the only way to validate our worth or feel seen.
Paradoxically, the very things that hurt us can also make us feel significant, seen, and connected. Taking things personally becomes a way to hold onto a connection, despite the discomfort. Any emotional intensity, even conflict, can feel better than indifference. We might then end up giving a lot of ourselves away to make others happy, to keep the peace, and to make them stay in our lives.
We see a similar pattern in behaviours like the habit of frequent complaining. Some people use complaints as a way to connect with others when they don’t know how to find closeness in other ways. Complaining, in this sense, becomes a cry to be noticed, seen, and even valued. Similarly, taking blame for things we didn’t do or tolerating negative behaviours without standing up for ourselves—believing we've made a mistake and trying to make up for it—can feel like ways to maintain connection, even at a personal cost.
How anxious attachment comes into play.
For those with anxious attachment styles, the tendency to take things personally can be deeply ingrained due to a fear of rejection and abandonment. People with anxious attachment often feel insecure in relationships, even without a real threat, holding negative self-views and tying their self-worth to the relationship.
To avoid potential rejection, they may react intensely—expressing fears, exaggerating distress, and constantly seeking reassurance. They may rely on emotional regulation strategies that keep their attachment system on high alert, leading to heightened reactions and a need for constant validation from loved ones.
For them, others’ anger, frustration, or withdrawal can become a sign that they “matter” to that person. These emotional reactions from a loved one can create a strange sense of security, even though they lead to negative interactions or emotions.
Imagine this: your partner comes home and says they need space. Instinctively, you panic. “Did I do something wrong? Are they upset with me?” Your heart races, and instead of honouring their request, you push for reassurance because the quiet feels too much to bear. In fact, the quiet means rejection. Without emotional engagement, you might fear you might not matter at all.
This need to internalise others’ reactions can make those with anxious attachment feel like they’re keeping an emotional bond alive, even if it’s through conflict. But while it may offer temporary connection, it’s an unsustainable and painful way to feel valued.
Of course, not all instances of taking things personally come down to our attachment strategies or a need to connect through conflict. This is just one potential reason, and everyone’s experiences and motivations can be unique. But this tendency is more common than you might think. Besides, anxious attachment is not a one-size-fits-all experience. While many people with this style may internalise others' behaviours because of a fear of disconnection, individual histories, past relationships, and current stressors can also shape how one reacts.
Can we break free from this pattern?
Seeking connection through behaviours that hurt us may feel effective in the short term—but at what cost? The pull can feel magnetic, drawing us toward emotional intensity even at the expense of inner peace.
The first step toward breaking this pattern is recognising it—understanding why we take things personally and that we're not doing it "for no reason." The next time we feel ourselves internalising someone else’s frustration, we can pause and ask: What am I truly needing right now? Am I seeking validation, connection, or perhaps a sense of security? Why am I making this about me?
The need for validation might cause us to interpret criticism as a personal attack, because we’re searching for approval and acceptance. The need for connection could make us take things personally when others withdraw or act cold, because we fear disconnection and want to feel seen and heard.
This creates an emotional contradiction: we know that internalising others’ reactions—whether it’s criticism, frustration, or withdrawal—hurts us, yet we continue to do it. It’s as if we’re stuck in an emotional tug-of-war. The desire for connection, validation, and security draws us in, making us believe that engaging with others’ negativity is the only way to feel noticed, loved, or worthy.
Even when it costs us peace or self-worth, the short-term emotional payoff can be high. We might even convince ourselves that the pain is somehow "worth it" because it at least feels familiar. We may even be subconsciously seeking out this emotional intensity because it mirrors experiences from the past—times when we felt close to others through conflict or drama.
Recognising that taking things personally often reflects an inner wound or unmet need brings clarity. We begin to understand that it’s less about others’ opinions of us and more about a longing we carry. At the same time, we may also notice that others’ criticisms or anger often say more about them than about us.
The real goal, however, is to find healthier ways to meet our needs for validation and connection. This starts with tending to the wounds that fuel these habits. Parts of ourselves that didn’t get what they needed in childhood still crave compassion and understanding. We can start meeting these needs on our own, but it can be even more healing in a supportive relationship, where we can openly communicate about our patterns and underlying needs, seeking collaboration to break them.
I know this isn’t easy for many people, which is why working with a therapist can be so helpful. A therapeutic relationship provides a space to explore these underlying needs and practice new ways of relating.
Sometimes, even those closest to us may not be able to give us what we need in the moment. In these times, we can turn inward to connect with ourselves, cultivating the compassion we often seek from others and bringing it to ourselves instead. Learning to rely on our inner resources gives us a greater sense of independence. Relationships will always be essential, but the more we understand ourselves, the less we’ll need others to define us. A life grounded in our own resources instead of external approval naturally reduces our dependency on others for validation.
Breaking the habit of taking things personally is a challenging process, one that won’t change overnight. But as we start to meet our own emotional needs—with the support of a trusted person and/or through self-compassion—we discover that true connection doesn’t come from others’ reactions. It comes from the strength to stand firmly in our own worth, regardless of what’s happening around us.
Let me leave you with some food for thought, from psychoanalyst Adam Phillips, in his book On Balance. He challenges the common term "overreacting," writing:
One of the things people most frequently say in psychoanalysis is, ‘Perhaps I am overreacting, but . . .’; and one of the commonest complaints today is about feeling too much or feeling too little. I want to suggest that we are simply too much for ourselves, but that this too-muchness is telling us something important… My proposition is that it is impossible to overreact. That when we call our reactions overreactions what we mean is just that they are stronger than we would like them to be. In other words, we sometimes call ourselves and other people excessive as a way of invalidating or tempering the truths we tell ourselves or that other people tell us. It is impossible to overreact.
In the context of taking things personally, it’s worth considering that what we often label as an "overreaction" may simply be an emotional response trying to tell us something about our needs. Instead of dismissing it, it’s an invitation to explore what lies beneath and how you can attend to that need.
As always, I’d love to hear your experiences or what this post made you feel/think.
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Thoroughly love this. Some lines are news for me especially the past of seeking validation even if we feel hurt. Thanks for sharing this.
Beautifully articulated Selda. I think complaining was a tool of connection for me for a long time - a bid to feel seen and cared about as you say. So useful to reflect on (and own) these patterns.