When You Feel Like Too Much (And Still Not Enough)

How childhood trauma shapes our identity, our relationships—and our healing

The Lonely Ache of Feeling Like “Too Much”

I’ve been told I’m “too much” for most of my life.

Too emotional. Too intense. Too loud. Too sensitive. Too complicated. Too deep. Too much to hold. And somehow, all at the same time—not enough.

Not enough to be chosen.
Not enough to be trusted.
Not enough to be seen in the way I craved most.

For a long time, I didn’t realize how much of that belief system was seeded by trauma. I thought this ache inside me was a personal failing. Something broken in me. Something I just hadn’t fixed yet.

But what if the problem isn’t us?

The Root of the “Too Much” Wound

When you’re raised in chaos, you learn how to become whatever someone else needs you to be. That’s not personality—it’s survival.

For many trauma survivors, especially those with high ACE scores, people-pleasing becomes second nature. We scan every room, every expression, every pause in a conversation, trying to preemptively soothe the threat of abandonment or rejection. Because in childhood, rejection was dangerous.

We become experts in shapeshifting.
In over-delivering.
In quieting our needs.
In performing the version of ourselves we think will finally be loved.

And yet, even with all that effort, we often still end up on the outside. The “floater friend.” The ghost. The one always trying to earn their place.

The Burnout of Being Everything for Everyone

I spent years trying to be everything for everyone because deep down, I felt like no one. I gave all my energy, all my bandwidth, to relationships I thought might finally anchor me—but they never did.

I chased friendships that felt just out of reach.
I tried to force belonging.
And in doing so, I lost sight of who I actually was.

Here’s the truth I’ve had to sit with: part of the reason I don’t have that tight-knit friend group I dreamed of isn’t just circumstance. It’s that after living in constant fight-or-flight, I’m still learning how to trust other people’s intentions. Still learning how to let joy feel safe. Still learning how to show up without armor.

Healing From People-Pleasing Is a Process

Healing this wound means recognizing how long we’ve been at war with ourselves—trying to not be too much, while also begging to be enough. It means grieving the friendships we tried to force, and honoring the ones that held us without question. It means finding the courage to stop shrinking and start allowing.

I still catch myself trying to read a room before I enter it.
Still get quiet when I feel like I’m taking up too much space.
Still worry about being misunderstood.

But I’m learning, slowly, to sit with those fears instead of shape-shifting around them. I’m learning that the people who truly love me want me whole—not filtered, not muted, not half-present.

You Are Not Too Much

If you’ve ever been called too much—or not enough—know this: it was never really about you. It was about people who couldn’t meet you where you are. And that’s their limitation, not yours.

You deserve real connection.
You deserve to be held without performing.
You deserve to be chosen, just as you are.

Your softness is not a flaw. It’s a strength, and it’s welcome here.

Jessica Woodville | Memoir & Musings