What Childhood Friendships Taught Me About Adult Boundaries!

Originally written in April 2023. Revised and republished.

I wrote an earlier version of this reflection during a season when I was beginning to notice patterns in my friendships that I could no longer ignore. At the time, I didn’t yet have the full language for what I was experiencing — only the quiet discomfort of knowing that something wasn’t sitting right.

Reading it back now, I can see how much of myself I was still giving away in the name of connection. I can also see the beginning of a shift — the moment I stopped blaming circumstances and started asking myself harder, more honest questions.

Learning how to be in relationship with others *without abandoning yourself* isn’t something you figure out once and move on from. It’s something you return to, again and again, as you grow.

When I was six, I once came home with a little girl and introduced her to my family as my sister. It was the first day of a visit to my granny, and I insisted she stay for lunch. My mum agreed.

Years later, my mum laughed as she retold the story, mentioning how inconvenient that lunch invitation had been. But my six-year-old self didn’t see inconvenience. I had found a friend I loved, and I wanted her to stay.

As a child, I never struggled to make friends. Childhood friendships were fleeting, and I learned early that people often come and go. That particular friendship ended simply because my mum and I went back home.

Looking back now, I sometimes wish my mum had gently said no — not to shame me, but to teach me something important.

Because later in life, I would find myself in friendships where I repeatedly placed myself in uncomfortable, inconvenient, and sometimes harmful positions just to keep people around.

Unlike childhood friendships, many of my adult friendships ended with heartache and bitterness. And as difficult as it is to admit, I wasn’t innocent in their demise.

For a long time, I focused on the visible parts of healing while avoiding some of my deeper patterns — particularly my need to be needed. I told myself I was kind, loyal, dependable. What I didn’t want to face was how often I lived for approval, acceptance, and belonging.

I gave myself freely, without boundaries.

What started as generosity slowly became self-betrayal. I tolerated things that didn’t sit right. I overextended myself emotionally, physically, and practically. I ignored my own discomfort because being needed felt safer than being honest.

A conversation with a close family member brought this into sharper focus. Watching her struggle to say no to a long-standing, one-sided friendship felt uncomfortably familiar. As I listened to her explain herself, I realised I wasn’t just witnessing her pattern — I was seeing my own reflected back at me.

Friendship is not meant to be a place where one person consistently carries the weight. It is not a role where someone must always rescue, soothe, or sacrifice themselves to be valued.

The real turning point for me came when I could no longer excuse behaviour that felt openly disrespectful. It wasn’t new — it had been happening for years — but this time, I stopped running from the truth.

I had to admit something painful: I wasn’t being a good friend. I was using relationships to soothe an attachment wound, and in doing so, I was abandoning myself.

Healing required something I had avoided for a long time — learning to be alone. Learning to sit with myself. Learning to be my own friend.

What I understand now is this: true friendship does not require you to disappear.

It survives boundaries.

It survives “no.”

It survives distance, growth, and seasons of withdrawal.

True friendship allows room for mistakes without superiority or judgment. It respects choice. It holds space for darkness without demanding explanations.

If being your authentic self costs you a friendship, it was never a safe place to begin with.

I no longer believe that understanding someone’s wounds requires sacrificing my own wellbeing. Compassion does not mean self-erasure. I can’t change others — but I can choose how I respond, and who I allow close.

People-pleasing taught me how to betray myself.

Self-awareness taught me how to come home.

Leaving a friendship does not make you a bad person. It doesn’t erase the good that existed. I carry the good with me.

And sometimes, leaving is what allows everyone involved the space to grow.

If this reflection resonates, I invite you to pause and sit with a few gentle questions:

* Where have I been giving more than I truly have?

* What have I been tolerating out of loyalty, fear, or history?

* What would it look like to be a friend to myself first?

You don’t need immediate answers. Awareness is enough.

Thank you for taking the time to read and reflect. If this spoke to you, you’re welcome to share your thoughts — here, privately, or quietly in your own journal.