“At times, growth may not manifest as gaining more—it can involve leaving behind what no longer serves us.”
For many years, I thought that growing apart from a friendship indicated my inadequacy in maintaining it.
This notion took hold early on, at boarding school, where friendships were more than mere connections—they were essential for survival. We spent only a few hours apart each day. We lived in the same space. Shared meals. Studied, slept, and matured alongside each other.
There was no return home to recharge. No opportunity to withdraw and reassess. Friendship was necessary—it constituted our habitat.
So, when I eventually began to outgrow one of those relationships, I didn’t see it as evolution.
I perceived it as a setback.
When Friendship Relies on Closeness
During my time at boarding school, intimacy was a constant. We shared living quarters, daily routines, secrets exchanged after lights out. Over time, such closeness fostered a deep sense of loyalty.
These were not merely friends. They were witnesses to my development.
Years later, as life evolved and distances took the place of daily interactions, I presumed the bond would simply adjust. After all, if we managed to navigate adolescence together, surely adulthood would be simpler.
From an external perspective, everything appeared fine. We still conversed. We checked in on one another. We reminisced about shared experiences.
Yet something had altered—and I failed to recognize it during our chats.
I realized it afterward.
I remember one particular conversation. I had opened up about a struggle, wanting to feel understood, but the dialogue swiftly reverted to their life and concerns. I found myself listening, providing support, nodding along—while discreetly sidelining my own emotions. When the call concluded, I sat there gazing at my phone, feeling unusually weighed down and more fatigued than before.
But that sensation returned. Time and again.
Redirecting the Discomfort Inward
Given that this friendship had been formed with such intensity, questioning it felt almost disloyal. We had coexisted, day after day. Shared significant parts of our formative years.
Who was I to feel discomfort now?
So I directed the discomfort inward.
Why is this challenging for me? Why can’t I simply relax into the familiar? Why do I feel the need to filter my expressions?
I recognized that I was selecting my words with care. Softening my reactions. Remaining agreeable. I wasn’t being outright dishonest, but I also wasn’t fully engaged.