Do I Actually Like Them or Am I Just Bored and Traumatized?

Sometimes, the way someone makes you feel isn’t about them—it’s about you. And not in a self-centered way, but in a deeply psychological one. When you grow up craving emotional validation, your brain starts to confuse attention with affection. Random kindness feels like love. Consistent texting feels like connection. Even a vague sense of familiarity can feel like fate.

And that’s where the mess begins.

You find yourself drawn to people who are slightly unavailable. People who mirror the emotional patterns you were raised around—distant, unpredictable, thrilling, inconsistent. And when they give you crumbs of attention, it lights up your nervous system like a firework. Not because it’s love. But because it’s familiar.

Because it feels like the chaos you used to mistake for care.

You sit with the feelings, trying to analyze: Do I really like them? Or do I like the idea of them? Or worse—do I like the way they temporarily numb the quiet ache I’ve been ignoring?
Boredom isn’t just about having nothing to do. For many people, it’s about not knowing what to feel. When you’re used to running on adrenaline—on constant fight-or-flight—calmness feels like emptiness. And emptiness feels intolerable.

So you fill it.
With distractions. With flirting. With someone who isn’t quite right for you, but who occupies the space in your brain that’s otherwise too quiet. You convince yourself you like them, because liking someone gives your thoughts something to orbit around. It makes life a little less dull. A little less still.

And stillness, when you’ve lived through emotional chaos, feels unnatural.

That’s when the red flags turn pink. When the silence feels scarier than the wrong person. When you mistake entertainment for emotion. When you’re not really falling for them—you’re just falling into a pattern that feels less lonely than healing.
There’s a version of you that formed years ago. Maybe the child who didn’t get enough consistency. Maybe the teenager who was ignored, mocked, or made to feel small for wanting love. That version of you never left. They’re just quietly sitting in the background, influencing your choices.

They make you think:

• “I like them because they make me feel needed.”
• “I like them because they remind me of someone I couldn’t fix.”
• “I like them because they give me the chase I crave, even if it leaves me breathless.”

But what if you don’t actually like them?

What if you like the emotional drama they bring into your life? What if you like the role they let you play—of the fixer, the lover, the one who finally earns affection? What if you like the idea that maybe this time, if you try hard enough, someone will stay?

That isn’t love. That’s trauma doing dress-up.
It’s easy to confuse intensity with intimacy. The late-night heart-to-hearts. The sudden emotional closeness. The “we just click” feeling. But sometimes, that click is your trauma recognizing theirs. And what looks like chemistry is just co-regulation of two unhealed nervous systems looking for temporary safety in each other’s chaos.

You romanticize the fire. The unpredictable highs and lows. The emotional rollercoaster that leaves you feeling dizzy, but alive. And calm people? Healthy relationships? They feel “boring.”

Not because they are—but because you’re addicted to survival-mode love.

So when someone shows up with consistency, with clear intentions, with peace… you pull back. You say things like:

• “I don’t know, they’re just too nice.”
• “It doesn’t feel like there’s a spark.”
• “I feel like I should be more excited.”But what if that lack of chaos is the real love? What if peace feels unfamiliar, and you’ve mistaken that for lack of passion?

Here’s the hard truth: You can’t always trust your feelings at face value.

Feelings are data—but they’re not always facts. Especially when you’ve got emotional wounds acting as filters. What feels like love might actually be a need for distraction. What feels like longing might be fear of abandonment. What feels like obsession might be a desperate attempt to stay busy with someone else’s emotions so you don’t have to face your own.

So how do you know if you actually like someone?

Ask yourself:

Do I feel safe around them, or just stimulated?
Am I excited by who they are—or by how much they need me?
Can I be honest and relaxed, or do I feel like I’m performing?
If they stopped texting me, would I miss them—or the attention?
These aren’t easy questions. But they’re necessary ones.

Because at some point, you have to choose between what’s familiar and what’s healthy. Between what feels intense and what feels real. Between chasing someone who activates your wounds—and sitting with yourself long enough to let those wounds breathe.
The most radical thing you can do for your heart is this: Learn to be bored.

Sit in the silence. Turn off the notifications. Ask yourself what you actually want—not just in a partner, but in a life. Don’t chase connection just to feel something. Don’t fake feelings just to fill a void.

Let the loneliness speak.
Let the boredom sit.
Let the trauma unravel, slowly, softly.

Because when you learn to be alone without being lonely, your standards change. You stop choosing people who feel like emotional rollercoasters. You start craving people who feel like safe ground. You stop confusing chaos with connection.

You begin to choose love that doesn’t require you to lose yourself.

And that’s where real liking begins. Not from adrenaline. Not from wounds. But from clarity.

You realize that someone who respects your boundaries is more attractive than someone who blurs them. That texting back consistently is sexier than playing games. That feeling calm with someone is the new kind of chemistry.

Because love shouldn’t feel like you’re drowning.

It should feel like coming up for air.

So maybe you don’t actually like them.

Maybe you like the escape they give you from your own healing. Maybe you like the version of yourself you get to be when you’re with them—less anxious, more distracted, temporarily validated.

But that version isn’t sustainable. And neither is the kind of connection that depends on you ignoring your inner alarms.
You don’t need to create meaning where there is none.
You don’t need to chase butterflies born from anxiety.
You don’t need to turn your trauma into a love story.

You need peace.
You need truth.
You need love that holds you, not hooks you.

So the next time you find yourself wondering, Do I like them? Or am I just bored and traumatized?—pause.

Then ask: Do I like me when I’m with them?
Because if the answer is no, it doesn’t matter how thrilling they are.
You deserve a love that feels like safety, not survival.
And that love starts with how you choose yourself.
Unlock insightful tips and inspiration on personal growth, productivity, and well-being. Stay motivated and updated with the latest at My Life XP.