In the past few weeks, I’ve been reflecting deeply on the types of friends I’ve surrounded myself with. Naturally, as we grow and evolve, the people we keep close to us shift to reflect who we are in that moment. But this time, I wasn’t just thinking about who I’ve allowed in my circle—I was also questioning who I’ve been within these friendships.

What I’ve come to realize is that, ironically, I had the most friends during one of the most toxic periods of my life. Back then, I carried a “I don’t give a fuck” attitude. I didn’t care if my words hurt anyone, and if someone couldn’t handle how I treated them, that was their problem, not mine. I lacked compassion, moving through those friendships with little care for others’ feelings. And yet, that’s when people seemed to want to be around me the most.

This made me start questioning: Was I attracting these friends because of my toxic traits? Was it that old push-pull dynamic, where the more I pushed people away, the more they wanted to stick around? At some point, I realized I didn’t like who I had become. I started cutting people off—both close friends and acquaintances alike. It became clear that most of them were drawn to the masculine energy I was projecting, not necessarily who I truly was.

When I eventually hit a low point, feeling the weight of isolation and longing for genuine connection, I was faced with a hard truth: none of those people truly cared about me. It hurt my ego, but I understood why. How could I expect kindness and real friendship when I had treated so many people poorly? Growing up, I was taught to view everyone with suspicion, always feeling like I wasn’t enough, and I carried that mindset into my friendships. I surrounded myself with people who mirrored my own lack of care for genuine connection, and in the end, they treated me the way I treated them.

In recent years, I’ve done a lot of shadow work, much of it in solitude. I had to go deep within myself, free of distractions, to understand who I was, who I had become, and who I wanted to be. It wasn’t easy, but I needed to break the cycles I kept seeing play out in my life. As I began healing, many of the people I once considered friends started fading away. The drama quieted, my life felt lighter, and my interactions with the few people who remained became more meaningful. I even started mending some relationships—not because they were toxic, but because I had been.

In this solitude, I’ve come to appreciate the small circle I’ve maintained. Sure, sometimes I miss the days when I always had a group of people around me, but I also know that I’m not that person anymore. I’ve changed, and I don’t ever want to go back to who I was. Healing, I’ve learned, is a lifelong process. I may still carry some toxicity, but now I’m aware of it. And with that awareness comes the commitment to being a better friend, to myself and others.