Diaries of a Twenty-Six-Year Old Girl

“Alex, you always pick the worst friends.”

Something my sister said to me far too often. I always brushed it off—quick to dismiss her, thinking, well… you don’t even have friends.

The truth being that she was semi-right.

I always knew that on some level, but it went much deeper than I was willing to admit.

I think most people can relate to a friendship turning sour at least once in their life—but for me, this was a pattern.

I began to notice that I could never keep friends. I would maintain friendships for a while, until one day I’d decide I didn’t really like the person, and slowly distance myself… until I eventually disappeared.

I told myself I just had bad luck—that I kept choosing the wrong people. And in a way, that belief was reinforced by my sister.

But when I really took the time to reflect, I realized something harder to accept:
I was responsible for the choices I was making.

Looking back on my adolescence, I was deeply anxious and insecure. I didn’t have many friends growing up because of my social anxiety, so I never really learned how to set boundaries, say no, or choose people who genuinely fulfilled me.

As I got older, I wanted what so many young girls want:
validation.

So I unconsciously started seeking out superficial friendships, believing they would make me feel better about myself. And in some ways, they did—on the surface. I was “like them.” I fit in.

But underneath, I still felt empty.

That insecurity never left. If anything, it grew stronger. I often found myself surrounded by people I viewed as more socially confident or “high value,” which only made me want their approval more.

So I shrank myself.
I put their needs before my own.
I avoided conflict at all costs.

I didn’t know how to set boundaries, and I didn’t know how to advocate for myself.

And when I poured into these friendships, expecting the same in return, I was always disappointed.

Eventually, that disappointment would turn into detachment. I’d convince myself I didn’t actually like them, and I’d leave.

Sometimes that was partially true—we weren’t compatible. But more often than not, I had never communicated my needs in the first place.

I never gave the friendship a real chance to grow.

Over time, this cycle repeated so often that friendships became disposable to me. People would leave, or I would—and either way, nothing lasted.

I had this realization in the summer of 2025. I was still surrounded by a group of friends I had managed to keep for a couple of years, but the same thoughts started creeping in:

I don’t really enjoy being around them.

Still, I was determined to keep my friendships this time.

That is, until I met her.

This brown-eyed, blonde-haired girl from work who instantly became my best friend.

We were different in so many ways, and for the first time in a long time, I was genuinely having fun. This wasn’t the kind of superficial friendship I was used to—it felt easy, natural, and real.

I remember thinking, this is what friendship is supposed to feel like.

And in some ways, it was.

But underneath it all, the foundation hadn’t changed.

I was still measuring my friendships by how they made me feel. I was relying on them to regulate my emotions instead of simply allowing them to support me.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was expecting them to make me happy.

And at the same time, I was still people-pleasing—still putting her needs above my own, believing it was my responsibility to keep her happy too.

Despite how much I valued that friendship, it didn’t last.

It took me a long time to understand this, but my friends were never responsible for my happiness.

They were never meant to regulate my emotions, fill my emptiness, or fix the parts of me I hadn’t learned to face yet.

That was my responsibility.

And once I started to take that responsibility back, everything began to shift.

I learned how to sit with myself.
How to understand my emotions instead of running from them.
How to communicate my needs instead of expecting people to just know them.

I learned how to set boundaries—not to push people away, but to finally show up honestly in my relationships.

Because the truth is, I didn’t need better friends.

I needed to become a better friend to myself.

And when that changed, my relationships did too.

Not because I needed less,
but because I finally understood that I had to put myself first.

Only then could I truly show up in my relationships—
not from a place of need,
but from a place of love.