It hit me —the deafening and heavy realization that I was just so tired. Tired of being walked all over. Tired of being blamed for everything and feeling coerced into endless apologies. Tired of shrinking myself just to keep people around who never really saw me.
I used to think I’d carry the same people with me for life. But somewhere along the way, I realized they weren’t lifting me up anymore —- they were holding me back.
For so long, I craved acceptance so badly that I was willing to jeopardize my health, my morals, and sometimes even my dignity just to feel like I belonged. I let other people’s opinions of me hold more weight than my own.
Clothes that were once complimented on me suddenly became “ugly” or came with judging looks and whispered opinions. I was “boring” because I didn’t embrace the “sexual revolution” as they did, so I was dignified as a prude and often felt disconnected since that’s all they would talk about (these women would NEVER pass the Bechdel Test). I was called “fat” way too often for eating and enjoying consistent and actual meals, so I’d shrink my appetite, and in the process I shrank myself.
Truth is, I don’t think they ever liked me, or not the real me anyways. They liked the version that was easy to control, easy to criticize, and easy to predict. And I let it happen. I was so desperate to belong that I lost sight of who I wanted to be —- of my dreams, goals, values, and worth.
Another day, another argument, and I couldn’t take it anymore. So I just stopped.
Stopped responding. Stopped explaining myself. Stopped trying to force friendships that were built on convenience, not connection.
It hurt, of course it did. But it also felt like finally exhaling after years of holding my breath —- that dizzy, quiet freedom when you realize you’ve survived the storm. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t surrounded by noise, wasn’t being pulled in a thousand directions, and didn’t have to walk on eggshells or fight to be understood.
For the first time, it was just me.
I looked around and realized I’d changed. I wanted more out of life than the same repetitive nights, shallow conversations, and performative “friendships.” The people who I’d committed my time and energy to for years were still in the same place, doing the same things, with the same complaints. I had different goals, deeper priorities, and way bigger dreams.
It wasn’t that they were bad people, we had just stopped speaking the same language. They were content staying comfortable. I was ready to grow.
At first, the silence felt unbearable. I hadn’t quite realized how much I relied on chaos to feel wanted. It felt like breaking up with a toxic boyfriend who gaslights, guilt trips, and strings you along to continue hurting and diminishing you. Manipulation was disguised as love, so I folded time and time again.
But now, I was alone. My phone was quiet. My weekends were slow. And honestly, I did have nights contemplating if I made a mistake —- Is being unhappy with people better than being alone without them?
Then something shifted.
I began spending time with myself in ways I never had before. I switched my major and added a minor. I fast-tracked my degree and raised my GPA. I went on walks without music. I joined new clubs. I met people who didn’t make me question if I was “too much” or “not enough.” I built routines and habits that healed me instead of draining me. Because “girls girls” who hype you up for everything, even when wrong or harmful, aren’t your people. Real friends don’t enable you. Real friends respect you. And when I finally surrounded myself with truth-tellers, I began to flourish.
I began to recognize my reflection again, and this time I was loving her.
The girl who used to crave validation now craved peace. The girl who used to chase people started chasing a purpose. And that’s when I realized the loneliness I was feeling wasn’t punishment. It was a rebirth.
Outgrowing people doesn’t always feel glamorous. Sometimes it’s lonely. Sometimes it hurts. It may be crying alone or deleting old photos and videos you’d once cherished. And still sometimes it’s sitting in the quiet and realizing you don’t really miss them. You miss who you thought they were.
But growth rarely happens in comfort —- and that’s the brutal truth.
I had to lose friendships that made me small in order to see how big I could become. I had to break away from the versions of me molded by other people’s expectations. I had to learn that walking away doesn’t make you cold, it makes you free.
Since then, I’ve rebuilt from the ground up. I’ve created a life that feels like mine. I’ve learned that being alone isn’t the same as being lonely. I’ve built healthier habits, stronger boundaries, and friendships and relationships rooted in respect.
Outgrowing people doesn’t mean you failed them. It means you stopped failing yourself. It means accepting that not everyone is meant to come with you into your next chapter.
Sometimes, the bravest thing you’ll ever do is choose yourself.
When you start letting go of people who no longer align with who you are becoming, you make space for the right ones to find you. You create room for the joy, honesty, and love that you’ve been craving. You realize that what you thought was loss is actually transformation.
Outgrowing people isn’t the end of your story —- it’s the beginning of the one where you finally become who you were always meant to be.