Letting Go of the Idea of Friendship

I don’t think I ever really had a true friend.

There are people I still occasionally think about — old names from London — people I skated with, laughed with, hung around with. At times, I did feel connected to them. Maybe the most connected I’ve ever felt to a group. But looking at it now, I can see that connection was circumstantial. I skated. They skated. There weren’t many people in that scene. I wasn’t chosen because of who I was — I was just… available. Convenient.

It’s taken over ten years for that realisation to properly sink in.

I still held onto them. Maybe because I wanted it to be real. Maybe because it was the only taste of group belonging I had. But in truth, there were betrayals in that group — real, quiet betrayals — that I buried at the time. And now I can feel it: that every time I talk to someone who still holds those people in high regard, it’s like I’m disrespecting myself.

I didn’t always live in self-respect. But I have that choice now. And that means I can let it all go — the memories, the connections, the illusion of friendship. It’s freeing, but it’s also sad.

Because now… I don’t really have any friends.
And I’m realising just how far I’ve contorted myself — maybe not consciously — trying to be liked. To be accepted. To prove I was good enough.

But it never really worked.

And I think people picked up on that. They might not have known why I was trying so hard, but I suspect it made me less likeable. I probably became the butt of jokes, the one who cared too much, the one who didn’t “get it.” But I do get it now.

I see the root of it.

I grew up in an environment where validation and acceptance were never freely given. I had to earn it, chase it, shape-shift for it. And that boy — the one who never felt enough — followed me into every social setting I walked into. Trying. Always trying.

And now I wake up most mornings with a deeper sadness than the day before.
But also with a deeper truth.

Because what I do have now is self-respect. And that’s finally stronger than my feelings.

I’m not driven by the hunger to belong at any cost. I’m not clinging to the past just to avoid the loneliness of the present. I’m learning to sit with that loneliness, let it wash over me, and remember that not needing to prove myself is a kind of homecoming.

Maybe real friendship will come one day. But it will have to meet me where I am now — not where I was when I was still auditioning.

And maybe — just maybe — I’ll be able to tell that younger version of me:
“You don’t have to try so hard anymore. You were always enough. Even when they couldn’t see it.”

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