Cheers to 31

As I enter my 31st lap around the sun (lol), I can safely say that I have learned enough hard lessons about friendships to carry with me into every type of relationship in my life now. Most of them, unfortunately, I learned the hard way.

I used to believe I had to be nice to everyone, regardless of what they did to me or how they made me feel. I now understand that niceness can often be self-betrayal dressed up as virtue, and I was very good at convincing myself that it made me a good person.

It was not until my late twenties that I learned to stop giving my energy to people I no longer aligned with. While I wish I could tell you there was some big “aha” moment where it all clicked, there was not. It was a slow burn deep in my body that I ignored for far too long.

But that is the thing about lessons — they keep coming back around until you learn them.

At first, it looked like leaving a hangout feeling like the vortex of a tornado had sucked the life out of me. Dramatic? Maybe. But my body knew long before my brain did. I would get in my car, close my eyes, let out a deep sigh, and zone out to music the entire drive home. The kind of zoning out where you blink and realize you are driving, yet have no memory of how you got there. I know, I know — totally safe.

I did not have the language for what I was feeling. Nothing “bad” had happened. I just felt heavy. Heavy in a way that did not make sense. Heavy in a way I could not explain without sounding dramatic. Heavy in a way that made me question if I was the problem for feeling it at all.

Then I began noticing how light I felt after spending time with other people in my life. That contrast was a tiny seed being planted in my mind, but I still gaslit myself. I tried to see the good in everyone, and I told myself I was overwhelmed. I told myself this is just what adulthood and parenting feels like. I became very good at explaining away my intuition.

In my defense, I was solo parenting a neurodivergent child, and exhaustion was my baseline. It was easy to assume the heaviness was just part of the cards I had been dealt.

Then came the backhanded compliments. The kind disguised well enough that you question yourself before you question them.

“Was that rude… or am I being too sensitive?”

Hear me loud and clear when I say this: you are never being too sensitive. If something bothers you, it is worth paying attention to. Sensitivity is often the first alarm bell we are taught to ignore — especially as women, especially as “nice” people.

I started noticing that when I shared good news, the response felt… off. Slightly dismissive. Slightly competitive. Never outright cruel, but never fully kind either. That gray area was a very confusing place for me to exist in, because I could never quite prove to myself that something was wrong.

But once I recognized the subtle hint of jealousy, I knew.

I do not do jealousy well. Jealousy turns celebration into competition. And I do not compete with people. I found myself rehearsing how I would share good news so that it landed softer. Smaller. Less threatening. I found myself bracing for the joke. The jab. The “must be nice.” The subtle energy shift.

Now, when I feel it, I do not argue with it or try to fix it. I quietly take note that this is not someone I wish to cultivate a deeper relationship with. Because jealousy is a reflection of something happening within them, not within me. And while it is often rooted in insecurity, it is incredibly corrosive in a friendship.

So in hindsight, the most telling sign was this: I stopped wanting to share good news with them. I started celebrating alone. Or with other people. And that realization hit me harder than anything else.

I have been in low places in my life, and even then, my friends could call me with their best news and I would feel genuinely happy for them. Because that is the kind of friend I am. And I need to be surrounded by people who can do the same for me.

So when you find that you cannot tell your friend good news for fear of how they will respond — run. Because friendship should feel like celebration, not comparison. You should leave interactions feeling uplifted and more like yourself, not less.

Your gut always knows when something is off. And now, when my gut speaks, I listen. Not because I think I am always right, but because I know what it feels like when I ignore it. And I know the consequences that come with ignoring it.

There is a Japanese proverb that I love and often quote to my friends that says, “If you get on the wrong train, get off at the nearest station. The longer you stay on, the more expensive the return trip will be.”

And oh have I learned to get off at the next stop!

If you are struggling with a relationship nearing its end, just know: you will know when it is time to bail. You might be scared, but you can be scared and still feel an incredible sense of peace about what you need to do next.

While I am not proud of this, I have a tendency to disappear off the face of the earth from people when I no longer want them in my life. And I have done enough self-reflection to know that hurts people. And hurting people does not feel good. But neither does slowly disappearing inside a relationship that no longer fits.

I was waiting far too long to leave, until disappearing felt like my only option. One of my biggest lessons since then has been learning to listen sooner so I do not get to that point again.

In the wise words of my favorite girl T. Swift:

“But as she was leaving
It felt like breathing
All her fuckin’ lives flashed before her eyes.
It feels like the time
She fell through the ice, then came out alive.”

And I did come out alive. And healthier than I have ever been. What we often call kindness can sometimes be us neglecting ourselves to keep other people comfortable. And the moment I chose myself, I felt like I could breathe again.

I have been told I can be cutthroat, but my journal and I both know that I did not move on swiftly from these friendship breakups. There was nothing about these relationships ending that I took lightly. In fact, I stayed far longer than I should have, abandoning myself in the process just to keep the peace.

And that is the part no one sees. The months, sometimes years, of internal wrestling. The second-guessing. The rationalizing. The hoping that this person will be different.

But I had to also learn to forgive myself. Because it is okay to outgrow a person. Even if they were once exactly what you needed. Even if you loved them deeply. Because no one is worth your peace.

So I have learned that when I finally walked away, it was not impulsive — it was long overdue. And it is okay to choose yourself before you disappear inside a relationship trying to save it.

If 31-year-old me could talk to 29-year-old me, she would say: leave sooner. The aligned relationships waiting for you on the other side are so much more beautiful than you can imagine. You just have to be willing to choose yourself and walk away.

Because these friendships are the kind where you do not have to explain yourself. Where good news meets you with genuine excitement. Where you feel safe fully being yourself — loud, quiet, messy, evolving, all of it.

The people in my corner now are only good ones. And I know, deep in my bones, they will be with me until I am old.

So to each one of my friends who have witnessed this growth in me — thank you. Thank you for believing in me and meeting me with nothing but grace. You have carried me more than you will ever know. You have loved me through several versions of myself, even while I was still learning how to love myself better, and that is a gift I will never take for granted.

Being loved like that has changed me. It has shown me what is possible in friendship, and what I am no longer willing to live without.

I have learned I can only walk beside people who are walking forward. I want to be surrounded by people who are curious about themselves, accountable for themselves, and brave enough to grow. May a complacent human never find me again.

Growth is uncomfortable because it asks you to choose yourself in rooms where you used to choose everyone else. It can feel lonely before it feels peaceful, but the reward is well worth it.

So here is to 31 — to never shrinking myself to make others comfortable, to surrounding myself with people who celebrate me, and to finally owning my power. My hope is that this year is filled with even more growth, deeper peace, more joy, lots of national park hikes, and the sweetest memories with Jace. Cheers!

Xoxo,
T