Letters from the Porch

Struggling to find your people

I have never been the kind of person surrounded by a large group of friends.

I used to think that meant something was wrong with me.

I would scroll through photos of girls on trips together, laughing at dinners, celebrating birthdays with matching outfits, and I would feel this quiet ache in my chest.

Why does friendship look effortless for everyone else?

Why does it feel hard for me?

For a long time, I blamed myself.

Maybe I was too sensitive.

Too intense.

Too quiet.

Too busy rebuilding parts of my life other people didn’t see.

Maybe I am the friend that calls to much.

The truth I had to learn — slowly — is this:

Not everyone is meant to have a crowd.

Some of us are built for depth, not noise.

I have outgrown friendships.

I have been the friend who tried too hard.

I have been the friend who gave more than I received.

I have been the friend who felt forgotten in rooms full of people.

I have been the friend people used as a clutch until they found their real friends.

And here is what I’ve learned.

Friendship in adulthood is different than it was in school.

In school, proximity made friends.

In adulthood, alignment does.

Not everyone is walking the same path as you. And that’s okay.

When you are growing — healing, building, changing your habits, chasing goals — your circle may shrink before it expands.

That shrinking can feel like loneliness.

But sometimes it is protection.

I stopped asking, “Why don’t I have more friends?”

And started asking, “Who feels safe? Who feels mutual? Who feels peaceful?”

I would rather have one person who understands my heart than ten who only understand my humor.

If you struggle with friendships, here is my gentle advice:

Do not chase belonging.

Build yourself.

Stay kind.

Stay open.

But do not contort yourself to be included.

The right friendships feel steady. They don’t make you question your worth. They don’t disappear when you set boundaries.

And sometimes — this is important — you become your own best friend first.

You learn your patterns.

You heal your wounds.

You grow comfortable in quiet spaces.

Then the right people recognize you.

You are not difficult to be friends with.

You are selective in a world that rewards surface connections.

And that is not a flaw.

It is discernment.

Until next week,

— Dominique