All my life, I’ve felt like I’ve been searching for the best friend I lost when I had to abruptly change schools in the second grade. Constantly moving for my mother’s work at various academic institutions meant that I had to re-make friendships over and over to the point that, by the time I reached college, I had a trail of best friends from every place I lived when most people my age had grown up with a few lifelong best friends.
Reflecting on these early life friendships, they were a stable essence of laughter, quality time, and joy in the constant upheaval of my life, but it was also a time where some of these friendships developed moreso out of close proximity rather than true value alignment and mutual care. It did not help that my mother was worryingly overprotective, rarely letting me spend time with friends outside of school or extracurricular activities like sports. From the jump, my friendship options were limited and, unfortunately, my introverted and solitary nature tended to come across as being standoffish when that was not – and still is not – the case.
This pattern continued as a first-year student at Spelman. While I did gain true friends during my time in college, I can admit in hindsight that the people I initially considered “best” friends between my first year and junior year of school were not good to or for me. I was the friend who happily went along with the plans, rarely requesting that those people equally show up for me. I didn’t have firm boundaries at the time: I strung along third-wheeling on their dates, was always the therapist friend consoling them about their boy troubles, and struggled speaking up as my own problems were trivialized or made into jokes. I felt guilty when making my own friends and feel like I sabotaged several authentic friendships out of a misguided sense of loyalty to those two “best” friends.
When I joined a sorority sophomore year, I was ecstatic to have more community beyond the Spelman sisterhood. I looked forward to bonding more with each of my co-initiates after crossing until that stalled when I studied abroad in Morocco for the entire fall semester of my junior year. While there, very few people checked on me consistently besides family and a few non-sorority friends. Even though I was five hours ahead, I tried to follow each and every sorority event, including our fall scholarship pageant and the highly anticipated homecoming stepshow. I often felt like an afterthought but chalked it up to people being engaged in the daily happenings of college life. To add to this sense of disconnect from people I wanted to grow closer with, my close childhood friend and Morehouse brother Kendall suddenly died in a car crash literally the week before I was supposed to fly back home; I was devastated.
When I returned back to Spelman the following spring semester and up to graduation a year later in 2016, I felt like a stranger among people I thought were supposed to be part of my closest support system. Old friends, sorority mates, classmates, and others had continued on with their lives while I was away, which they had a right to do, and I lost myself to the point of experiencing serious emotional and physical harm trying to be everything for others in order to prove my loyalty or to fit in. I still love a lot of those individuals wholeheartedly, just from a distance, because you never really stop loving people if it was sincere.
At Columbia, being one of few Black students meant our group looked out for everyone for the most part. We supported each others’ career plans just as much as we explored the social life of the city. As we all settled into our first jobs post-J School, the reality set in that jobs (the crazy working hours, living far way from people, or just burnout) can equally cause friendships to suffer without intentional intervention. I know this because, in the two years that I worked as a full-time journalist, I attempted to force friendships with people instead of accepting that not everyone wants to, has to, or can show up to support me as a friend. At times, I was the one who couldn’t show up as a good friend. Nonetheless, I am extremely grateful to have these J-School friends check in every few months just to see how everyone is doing.
Navigating grad school at UF has brought different, but still tough, friendship lessons about not only the consequences of forcing friendships, but also entertaining friendships out of guilt in order to not hurt others’ feelings. On one hand, I jumped in head first when I got to UF thinking I could be friends with every person of color I met; this backfired for various reasons. On the other hand, when the demands of certain friendships became too much or one-sided, I found myself slowly withdrawing into my shell. As a recovering overgiver, I had to make the painful, but necessary decision of honoring my need for a lot of alone time, reciprocated support, and right to have my own life. This definitely came with some backlash such as being called “avoidant” or “self-preoccupied,” making me feel guilty for putting my well-being first, especially in the middle of an already anxiety-inducing global pandemic and my attempts to navigate post traumatic stress disorder.
The reality of all these friendship experiences were eye-openers when I eventually realized that I shouldn’t need to force people to value me or what I offer as a friend. At the same time, I had to be realistic—not everyone will resonate with me, have a desire to be my friend, or have the capacity to be a friend that I need even if they wanted to, which is also okay. Nowadays, I do not call someone a “friend” that easily, let alone a “best friend.” Beyond this, friendship, to me, does not mean I’m going to enable someone’s dysfunction.
I am now at a stage in my life where I’m not ashamed to admit I want more intentional, emotionally-safe, reciprocal friendships. Seeing mass death, loneliness, burnout, and despair on a wider scale since the pandemic started has only reinforced the reminder that we are not meant to handle the rollercoaster of life on our own. This reminder was even more personal as I grew closer to new and familiar people alike, including some of my grandmother’s friends who still look out for me since her death in 2017.
Really, all I want is a solid set of funny and trustworthy friends who care about me and love me during life’s highs, the in-between moments, and when my life is a mess; who don’t take it personally when I need alone time to be in my own world; who know how to communicate; and who are self-aware and emotionally intelligent enough to correct the times when their insecurities and attachment styles might affect the relationship negatively. Having an intentional relationship with God or a spiritual practice is a plus.
Wanting solid friends also means being a good friend myself. And honestly, sometimes I have not been a good friend to those who were there for me. I’ve learned it takes honesty, awareness, and discipline to change behaviors or beliefs that block what I say I need or want. Committing to healing and the journey of loving myself has been so worthwhile and I look forward to sharing that with others equally committed to doing their inner work. This work helps me show up for myself so that I can show up meaningfully for others.
What I want for myself–fulfilling friendships, authentic love, good health, joy, rest, play, opportunities that help me achieve the livelihood I desire–I also want for others. My shine is not in competition with others. Those who I want to be in community with should have similar values to be their authentic and favorite self while empowering others to do the same. All this is to say that true friendships, those committed to care, respect, vulnerability, trust, reciprocity, understanding, and love, make us all better, and I welcome that as I maneuver my late 20s and beyond.