Friendships, man… they’re like your own personal tribe, your ride-or-dies, your people. And when it’s real? That bond is unshakable. My circle of real friends—the ones who truly see me, love me, and pour into me the way I pour into them—yeah, that’s solid. We got history, we got loyalty, we got each other’s backs through every season. That’s the kind of friendship that doesn’t drain, it fuels.
But then there are the ones who call me their "friend" when, really, they just see me as a free service. No matter what’s going on in my life—whether I’m thriving or in crisis—I still gotta be the one to show up, to listen, to fix, to carry their baggage like it’s my job. And, baby, it is exhausting.
For too long, I’ve put my own life on pause, thinking I could be the one to help, to save, to guide. But I’ve realized I can’t be the superhero in someone else’s chaos when I’m trying to write my own story. My real friends? They get that. They respect my time, my space, my energy. But these others? They just take. And take. And take.
So, I had to take a step back. Ghost mode activated. Not because I don’t care, but because I do. About myself. About my peace. About my real friendships—the ones that actually nourish me instead of draining me dry.
Letting go of that need to be the fixer has been a game-changer. Ignoring my phone when I need a breather? Liberating. Not rushing to solve every problem that ain’t mine? Life-saving. Being a good friend doesn’t mean being on call for everyone else’s mess 24/7. Some problems just aren’t mine to fix.
And loyalty? That’s beautiful. But blind loyalty that runs me ragged? Nah. I still love my people, the real ones, and we keep our bond strong. But for some others? The best I can do is love them from a distance and take care of me first. Because if I don’t, who will?
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