The question I grew up in a household that was supportive and well-meaning, but lacking in any affection or warmth. I know my parents love me in their own way and that they are funny and kind under the coldness. I can demonstrate love and affection towards my own daughter, but I know I have inherited their traits in other ways. I have only a handful of people who I’m close to. I know my sense of humour and outlook can seem cold and sarcastic. I find small talk hard. My inability to feel at ease with people is really affecting my life – and my daughter’s. I watch the other parents at the school gates hugging, chatting, arranging to meet up and feel bewildered at how they have got to this stage of a friendship so quickly. I am mostly ignored and when I do try to chat, am kept on the peripheries of the conversation. I feel awkward and shy, as if there is something off-putting about me. I always wear makeup because of insecurities about how I look and am convinced that this, too, is off-putting for other mums. My daughter’s school has already raised concerns about her socially and how she struggles to make friends beyond a small group. I am worried that I am not demonstrating these skills to her enough. How can I be a warmer, more-at-ease and approachable person? Philippa’s answer It seems that you’ve lived a life steeped in a kind of quiet, withheld affection, and while you’re aware of the love that existed in your household, it seems that its expression was bound and muted by an emotional hesitancy, one that has found its way into your own life, despite your best intentions. The fact that you can show love and affection to your daughter is already something beautiful. It’s a testament to your awareness, your capacity to break cycles, and your desire to give her what you perhaps longed for yourself. But it also sounds like you’ve inherited some emotional armour, a kind of self-protective barrier that makes it hard to connect with others, particularly in those moments of casual human interaction that seem so effortless to some. I understand what you’re saying about standing at the school gates, watching the other parents engage so easily in the kind of small talk and camaraderie that elude you. It’s easy to feel, in those moments, like something about you is off, that you are on the outside looking in. But what you describe, this feeling of awkwardness, of being slow to warm to people, too cold, too closed off, is a deeply human one. Many of us are convinced our insecurities are somehow screaming out to the world, because we compare what we feel like on the inside to what other people look like to us on the outside. But in reality, you won’t be the only one feeling awkward. I doubt you are cold or unapproachable. I believe you are someone who has learned to guard themselves. Maybe there’s a part of you that believes that if you take down those defences, you’ll expose yourself to judgment, to vulnerability, or to rejection. But the path forward, I think, is to allow yourself to lean into those vulnerabilities and embrace the very thing that feels uncomfortable. Start small. Don’t overthink the interactions at the school gates. Don’t focus on what you feel you lack or how you come across, instead focus on the other person. Listen to them. Ask them how they are. The intention behind small talk matters more than the words themselves. And if your makeup feels like armour, consider that maybe it isn’t your face that’s off-putting, but the self-consciousness that’s hiding beneath it. When you make yourself interested in the other rather than worrying how you come across, the self-consciousness decreases. People are drawn to openness, to warmth and I believe you possess those things. Your daughter’s struggles may reflect some of your own, but this doesn’t mean you’re failing her. You’re aware of it and that awareness is more powerful than you realise. She’s learning from you, but she’s also her own person, navigating her own emotional terrain. What matters most is that she feels loved by you and that love will find its way through the smallest cracks, despite any emotional restrictions you might feel. The walls you’ve inherited don’t define you, nor do they need to stand forever. Even if you never find yourself hugging strangers at the school gates, it doesn’t mean you aren’t capable of deep connection. You already are, in your own way, in your own time. Be patient with yourself. The world has enough loud, quick-to-hug people. What it needs more of is someone like you, someone thoughtful, who takes their time to really see people, who loves, even if they do so quietly. Recommended reading Daring Greatly: How the Courage to be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead by Brené Brown. Every week Philippa Perry addresses a personal problem sent in by a reader. If you would like advice from Philippa, please send your problem to askphilippa@guardian.co.uk. Submissions are subject to our terms and conditions