I used to believe that longevity meant loyalty. That if someone had been in your life since middle school or high school, you owed them a permanent seat at your table. But lately, I’ve been learning that growing up sometimes means growing out – out of dynamics that no longer serve you, and out of friendships that leave you feeling misunderstood, unsupported, and small.
Almost a year ago, I moved in with a high school friend who I thought I could trust. Over time, I watched her completely change. And not in a growing way, but in a way that felt rooted in insecurity and desperation. She started dating a man who was married, which raised red flags, but more than that, she stopped treating me like a friend. Communication fell apart. Boundaries were ignored. And the people we both used to be… they weren’t in the room anymore.
What made it worse was how some of our mutual friends responded. Or didn’t. They kept spending time with her, never once asking how I was doing or acknowledging how she’d been treating me. That silence was louder than any argument could’ve been.
If I were in their place, I would’ve checked in. I would’ve cared. And realizing that they wouldn’t do the same for me made one thing painfully clear: I deserve better friends.
It’s not easy to walk away from people who feel like home. High school holds some of the most vivid, formative memories of my life: late-night drives, inside jokes, teenage chaos, the thrill of becoming. So yes, there’s nostalgia. Yes, there’s grief.
But nostalgia doesn’t make someone a good friend today. And grief doesn’t mean you made the wrong decision. I’ve had to remind myself: I can honor what we had and choose to move on. I can remember the good times and still protect my peace.
Losing those friendships was hard. But you know what was harder? Losing my grandmother.
In that time of deep personal loss, I looked around and noticed who showed up. And who didn’t. These so-called lifelong friends weren’t there. Not to check in, not to offer comfort, not to even say they were sorry. That absence was unforgettable. But what I’ll carry forward with me even more is the warmth and love I did receive – from other people in my life, people who saw me and held space for me when I needed it most.
I’ve learned that loyalty is not about sticking around no matter what. It’s about mutual respect, effort, and growth. And if those things aren’t there, then what’s left? A history book?
I look at some of these people now – people who once made me feel judged or “too different” – and I see them trapped in the same cycles: stuck in jobs they hate, relationships they settle for, always complaining but never changing. And it’s not that I think I’m better than them. It’s just that I know I don’t belong in that space anymore.
Because while all that was happening, I was transforming. In the past year, I’ve stepped fully into my life:
- Full-time school.
- Full-time work.
- Organizing and fighting for what I believe in.
- Almost two years in the most healthy, supportive relationship I’ve ever had.
- And most of all, chasing what I want with everything I’ve got.
It hasn’t been easy. But it’s been mine. And I’m proud of that.
Outgrowing people doesn’t make you cold, it means you’re growing. It means your standards are changing. It means you’re making room for the life and love and friendships that actually feed your spirit.
You don’t have to apologize for wanting more. For not wanting to spend your limited time and energy on people who bring you down. For refusing to keep old friendships on life support just because you share a yearbook.
I’m learning to release the guilt. To let go of the “shoulds.” And to honor the version of myself that’s been fighting to come forward, even when it meant walking alone for a little while.
Because the truth is, I’m not alone. I’m surrounded by people who do show up, who do get me, who do make me feel safe and seen and valued.
And that’s what I want more of. That’s what I deserve. And so do you.
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