It's okay to molt

On the mutability of friendships

The realization that you would go a thousand miles for someone who wouldn't do as much as take a step for you is truly gutting.

What is even more devastating is when the people we’ve learned to call friends are adamant about not growing. Staying stagnant. No improvements in their ways of thinking. They might still seem myopic, but of course many of us would love to make them see things on a different level. Because we love them. We want to keep doing life with them and would love to grow with them.

But I've learned over time that change isn't something that can be instilled, nor is it instant. It's a process. I learned about the transtheoretical model of health education last academic year. It basically dives into the stages of change, and it isn't linear. In this model, one thing is made very clear: Change cannot be enforced. It can only begin willingly through an individual's contemplation, when a person has admitted there is a fault in their behavior.

I've found myself shedding friends like a snake molting. Sometimes, I feel fake and narcissistic. But I’ve learned that it’s actually a universal experience. I just suddenly notice on a random day that I could never grow with these types of friends. So they become acquaintances. The level of intimacy becomes superficial.

And the part about them not even bothering to take a step for me? I don't know how to even process the heartbreak. I don't think I'll ever fully recover from those experiences. It feels like I see them as a friend, but they don’t. I'm still learning the hard way that just because I adore someone doesn't mean it's reciprocal.

In the end, I’ll get there. And I keep learning about friendships and how to nurture them. It's a two-way thing. You also deserve to be seen and heard, just as much as the other party.

And this randomly reminded me of my close friend. I was feeling really sad, and I usually pen it down, but I felt like saying it out loud. So I started a sentence, “I feel like the mug in the back of my mother's cupboard...” She didn’t even let me finish! She completed it: “Dusty and forgotten.” She doesn’t write poetry, but she understood me. I felt seen, and I was excited that she actually understood me. I still think about it, and it really makes me happy. I’m sorry, I just had to share this because I was so excited.

I hope we all find people who will love us as fiercely as we love them.