In college, I felt like I always had to suppress myself emotionally in my friendships. I didn’t want to ask for too much, didn’t want to come off as “dramatic,” didn’t want to seem like I needed any type of reassurance. And somewhere between balancing classes, friendships, internships, and whatever my love life was at the time, I started to believe that the best thing I could be was a “low-maintenance friend.”
I wanted to be the easygoing friend, the one who was always down for anything, never made things complicated, and didn’t bring “too much” emotion into the room. I thought that if I could just be chill enough, unbothered enough, and independent enough, my friendships would feel easier and more secure.
And for a while, it worked — at least on the surface. I was the friend who was always there for everyone else but rarely opened up myself. I listened, supported, and showed up — but when it came to my own feelings, I kept them tucked away. I told myself I didn’t need reassurance, didn’t need to talk things through, didn’t need to ask for more effort or attention. Acknowledging those needs felt like a risk. Over time, being low-maintenance stopped feeling like a strength. It started feeling like exhaustion.
I thought I was protecting my relationships by not sharing my emotions, but I was actually letting them slip through my fingers.
I remember one fallout clearly. I had a friend, someone I really cared about, whom I started to grow distant from. They asked me multiple times if something was wrong because I’d been quiet, pulling away, and saying “I’m fine” even when everyone could tell I wasn’t. I didn’t want to risk being “too much” or making them uncomfortable, so I stayed silent. Eventually, they confronted me after a group event, frustrated that I’d shut them out. I tried to explain, but by then, the resentment on both sides had built up too much. We drifted apart.
That friendship, one I genuinely valued, ended not because of a fight, but because I refused to show that I needed anything at all. I thought I was protecting my relationships by not sharing my emotions, but I was actually letting them slip through my fingers.
For a while, I convinced myself I was fine. But being emotionally low-maintenance doesn’t mean you don’t have needs. It just means you’re suppressing them. And eventually, that catches up to you. I started to feel exhausted in ways I couldn’t fully explain. I’d get overwhelmed and shut down, and I didn’t understand why. I felt disconnected, even in my closest friendships, because no one really knew what I was going through.
There was also this quiet resentment building inside me. Deep down, I knew I wasn’t being honest with myself. I wasn’t giving my friends the chance to show up for me, because I never let them see that I needed anything in the first place. I thought I was protecting my friendships. In reality, I was abandoning myself.
When it came down to the moments where I really needed a friend in my corner, there was no one left for me to turn to.
Realizing something had to change didn’t happen instantly. It came in small moments — times when I wanted to say something and didn’t, when I needed support from my friends but I stayed quiet, when I felt hurt but brushed it off to keep the peace. Those moments started to add up until I couldn’t ignore them anymore.
I hit an all-time low when I graduated from college. In a period of waiting for job recruiters to get back to me, applying to law school, and working on personal projects, I reflected and realized that I had no one to turn to, no one to talk to about how I was hurting, no one to hang out with as a comfort mechanism. I had been so caught up in my need not to need anyone that I pushed everyone away. When it came down to the moments where I really needed a friend in my corner, there was no one left for me to turn to.
In college, where everything already feels uncertain, it’s easy to think that being low-maintenance is the safest way to keep people around.
I started reflecting on where that pressure really came from. It’s subtle, but it’s everywhere. There’s this unspoken expectation to be the “easygoing” friend, the one who goes with the flow, doesn’t overthink, doesn’t react, doesn’t ask for more. Social media really amplified that for me: The girls who seem unbothered and effortless always look like they have the most stable friendships. And in college, where everything already feels uncertain, it’s easy to think that being low-maintenance is the safest way to keep people around.
That’s not the truth.
Eventually, I had to ask myself: Why am I so afraid of being seen as someone who has needs in my friendships? Because having needs doesn’t make you dramatic, it makes you human.
I’m still working on it. I still catch myself wanting to downplay things or keep everything in. That instinct doesn’t just disappear overnight.
But now, I pause. I ask myself: Am I being easygoing, am I being silent, am I suppressing myself at this moment? And more often than before, I try to choose honesty over comfort. I’m realizing I was never “too much,” I just never permitted myself to take up space in the friendships that were supposed to hold me, too.
If you or someone you know is seeking help for mental health concerns, visit the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) website, or call 1-800-950-NAMI(6264). For confidential treatment referrals, visit the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) website, or call the National Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP(4357). In an emergency, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK(8255) or call 911.