April 23, 2025 By Elena C. Rowe

I used to think I just had bad luck with friendships. That maybe I kept picking the wrong people, or the timing was always off. But over time, a pattern became clear—people got close, saw a little too much of who I really am, and then quietly vanished.

No big fights. No messy drama. Just… silence. Like they were gently stepping around a fragile thing they didn’t know how to handle.

And honestly? I don’t blame them.

I’ve been told all my life that I come on too strong. That I overthink. That I “feel too much.” And for a long time, I tried to shrink myself—keep it light, stay surface-level, be the person people wanted around. But that version of me always cracked eventually, because it wasn’t real.

What’s real is that my brain gets loud sometimes. What’s real is that I feel the weight of things others seem to brush off. What’s real is that when I care about someone, I care deeply—maybe too deeply for some people.

When another friend stops texting back or slowly fades into the background of my life, I do what I always do: I blame myself. I spiral. I convince myself I’ve pushed them away again. That if I were just a little easier, a little quieter, a little more “normal,” they’d still be here.

But deep down, I know I’m not broken. I’m just not for everyone. And maybe that’s okay.

I’ve spent so much time chasing external proof that I’m worth sticking around for. But the more people leave, the more I’ve had to learn to sit with myself and try to find comfort in my own presence. Some days, that feels impossible. Other days, I surprise myself.

I won’t pretend I’ve figured it out. I still have nights where I scroll through old messages, wondering what I did wrong. I still catch myself rehearsing conversations that never happened, trying to explain who I am in a way that wouldn’t scare someone off.

But I’m learning—slowly, painfully—that I don’t have to apologize for being the kind of person who feels deeply. And maybe one day, someone won’t see that as too much. They’ll just see it as me.

And they’ll stay.