Hello, 2026. It’s nice to meet you.

If we take a quick look back at 2025, it’s hard to deny she was… a character. Not entirely perfect. Not entirely horrific either. Just human—messy, emotional, and doing her best in relationships that often asked more of us than we knew how to give.

And if there’s one thing 2025 taught me, it’s this: meaningful relationships aren’t built on perfection. They’re built on how we respond to each other’s feelings—especially the ones that feel inconvenient, overwhelming, or hard to sit with.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about relationships. How they can lift us up. Tear us down. Make us laugh so hard we can’t even finish the sentence explaining why we’re laughing. And how, at their worst, they can leave us feeling resentful, misunderstood, and painfully alone—even when we’re technically not alone at all.

Which made me wonder: what is it about our culture that treats “emotional baggage” like a red flag, while simultaneously demanding that people be more “emotionally available”? Last time I checked, isn’t emotional intimacy the very thing we’re all supposedly looking for?

I couldn’t help but wonder: when we tell someone they’re “too much,” what are we really saying that we’re too afraid to say out loud?

Because when we really break it down, “too much” is rarely about volume. It’s translation.

It often means: Stop burdening others with your emotions. Your feelings are an inconvenience in my life. You can’t read the room. I can’t handle you. What you’re feeling doesn’t belong here.

And no matter how casually it’s delivered, the message lands heavily.

Because here’s the thing: when someone is labeled “too much,” it’s rarely about you being over-the-top on purpose. Often, it’s a signal—they’re hurting, struggling, or in need of support.

And yes, supporting someone when it’s intense, messy, or uncomfortable isn’t always easy. But the discomfort isn’t the problem—the inattention is. Emotional intimacy requires showing up, even when it feels inconvenient.

I don’t think we fully understand how emotionally isolating words like too much, extra, dramatic, ridiculous, impossible, or exhausting can be. They don’t correct behavior—they create shame. They make people question who they are, how they feel, and whether there’s something fundamentally wrong with them for feeling deeply at all.

And really—do we think telling someone they’re “too much” is going to magically make them any less? That logic makes about as much sense as telling a depressed person to “just stop being depressed.” Because sure, that’s how feelings work.

One of the best therapists once told me that when we tell a depressed person to stop being depressed, nothing improves—and often, things get worse. Emotional dismissal doesn’t foster growth. It fosters distance. And distance, disguised as honesty, has a way of quietly eroding intimacy.

So what can we do instead?

If you’ve ever called someone “too much”:

First, lead with compassion. If someone is coming to you in distress, it usually means one of two things: they feel safe with you, or they’re in dire need of safety. Emotional safety isn’t a luxury—it’s a human need. Psychologists have been telling us this for decades. (If you need convincing, Google the Harlow Monkey Attachment Experiment and report back—with a hot cappuccino or a cup of Earl Grey ready.)

Second, listen. Really listen. You don’t have to rescue. You don’t have to solve. Most people in distress aren’t looking for answers—they’re looking to be understood.

Third, remember that clear is kind. If you’re overwhelmed or don’t have the capacity in that moment, that’s okay. You can say, “I want to understand you, but I can’t show up the way you need right now.” Boundaries don’t have to come with shame. In fact, they model emotional responsibility.

Fourth, if you can’t support them, still thank them. A sincere “thank you for trusting me” goes further than we realize. It tells someone their feelings matter—even if you’re not the person who can sit with them in that moment.

And if you’ve ever been the one labeled “too much”:

You are not too much. You were never too much.

You were honest. You were open. You were reaching for connection in a world that often rewards emotional restraint more than emotional courage.

Maybe no one is ever “too much.”

Maybe they’re just brave enough to show up fully—in relationships with people who keep confusing emotional depth with emotional danger.

And maybe the loneliest part isn’t being too much at all—it’s being loved by someone who only knows how to meet you halfway, and still asking you to shrink the rest.

But the truth is, people aren’t entirely good or entirely bad. Sometimes they’re just unpracticed. Sometimes they haven’t learned yet how to hold what they’ve never been taught to carry.

The hopeful part—the part worth staying open for—is that capacity isn’t fixed. People can learn to listen. They can learn to stay. They can learn to handle what once felt impossible—if they’re willing to try.

And the really good news? Not everyone asks you to be smaller while they figure it out. Some people stay from the start. Some people lean in. Some people don’t flinch when things get complicated, emotional, or real.

They don’t love you in spite of your depth—they love you because of it.

And just like that, you remember: sometimes the right people stay. Sometimes, they don’t just stay—they lean in, even when it’s messy, complicated, or uncomfortable. They’re already there—seeing you, sitting with you, and choosing to stay.

And to conclude, in the words of Carrie Bradshaw (yeah, sometimes she says an occasional wise thing here and there): “But the most exciting, challenging, and significant relationship of all, is the one you have with yourself. And if you find someone to love the you you love, well… that's just fabulous.”