Last weekend, I stopped being friends with someone. I just decided. I can’t remember ever just deciding to do that before. It’s weird. Drastic. Not like me.
In the past, I’ve stayed in bad relationships because I have this (truly annoying) tendency to assume I’m the problem and that if I just exercise more patience, more empathy, more resilience, everything will be fine. Over the weekend it dawned on me that this is weird logic, even for me. It’s like continually banging my head into walls with the goal of making that pain seem normal.
Some people are just bad for me. They’re not bad people, but they’re bad for me. They make me feel anxious, less confident, more frustrated and misunderstood. By contrast, I’ve met some truly amazing people who expand my heart and mind and make me better for the time I spend with them. Life is short; it’s up to me to fill it with awesome.
So this weekend, I let go of someone who is bad for me, and the act of consciously cutting them loose has been nerve-wracking, but also empowering. Freeing. Like kicking off my shoes and running barefoot when I’m not even on the beach.