The Tea and the Truth Bomb
A couple of months ago, my ex-boyfriend-turned-bestie popped over for a cup of tea before heading off to some event he had to attend. I can’t even remember what it was. A fundraiser? A housewarming? A dinner with twenty people? Whatever it was, it was peak social butterfly behaviour. Meanwhile, I was in my favourite loungewear, brewing green tea in a pot that could double as a cauldron, already half-committed to a quiet evening of doing absolutely nothing. Classic us.
We’re different, he and I. Always have been. There’s a ten-year age gap (yes, I’m older, yes, I wear leopard print), and while he thrives on connection and conversation, I love solitude because being a Taurus is a full-time job. Still, there we were, sipping tea and chatting about life, the way we always do. He brings the classic Aries energy, I bring the Cheezels. It works.
Eventually, the conversation wandered into the realm of friendships. He was talking about how hard it is to maintain friendships as people grow and shift. And I, in my very blunt, very me way, said, “Look, I’m changing jobs soon. There’s one person from the office I’ll stay close with. The rest? Lovely people, but we won’t speak again. And that’s okay.*” His face said, Wait, what? But mine said, This is the truth.
*This was specifically in reference to a friend I’d been close with for over a year, who vanished the moment she got engaged. I’ve seen it before, and I’ll see it again. I’ve had people disappear the second I got into a relationship, because they weren’t after a coupled-up bestie, they wanted a wingwoman. I’ve also stepped away from friendships when our values started to clash. No drama. No bad vibes. Just clarity.
Curating the Monkey Sphere
He worries that I don’t have enough people in my life. That my circle is too small. That I’ll be old and alone with just my cat and my matcha lattes. But what he doesn’t understand is this: I curate my monkey sphere like it’s a weird little boutique art gallery. If you’re in, you’re in. If not? Sorrows. Sorrows, prayers.
Nice is great. I love nice. A coronation chicken sandwich is nice. That doesn’t mean I want it in my life forever. Some people are seasonal. Some are situational. And some are lifers. I used to think I had to keep everyone close, and that if someone was kind, or funny, or thoughtful, that was reason enough to hold on tight. But I’ve learned that there’s a difference between loving someone and needing them in your day-to-day life.
You can wish someone well, hold fond memories, and still let go*. You can honour the role they played in your story without insisting they stick around for every chapter. Growth sometimes means waving lovingly from a distance. Especially when your paths start to diverge so far you can no longer see each other clearly.
*I miss you Heather 🙁
Permission to Change
I’ve outgrown a lot of people. Some gently*. Some dramatically. Some with a slow fade that felt like soft mourning. Others with a full theatrical exit and metaphorical door slamming. But the thing that took me the longest to realise is this: it’s not always because something went wrong. Sometimes, things go right. For you. For them. And suddenly, the connection doesn’t fit anymore.
Maybe you start prioritising your health, and they’re still in the all-night-party phase. Maybe you start healing, and they’re still swimming in their wounds. Maybe you want quieter days and deeper chats, while they’re booking bottomless brunch for the fourth time this week. None of it is bad. It’s just different. And it’s okay to want different.
You’re not selfish for pulling back. You’re not a bad person for choosing peace. You’re not cold-hearted for recognising that the friendship is held together by nostalgia rather than mutual growth. We’re allowed to change. We’re meant to. That’s the whole point of this messy, beautiful life.
*Here’s looking at you Owain.
But They Were So Lovely
Now look, I’m not saying it’s easy. Outgrowing people can feel gut-wrenching. Especially when they’re the good ones. The nice ones. The ones who brought you soup when you were sick and remembered your birthday without Facebook reminders. It’s much simpler when the person was toxic or clearly not meant for you. But when they’re lovely? That’s where it gets sticky.
It feels ungrateful. Like you’re turning your back on kindness. But you’re not. You’re acknowledging the truth. That sometimes kindness isn’t enough to sustain a deep and meaningful connection. It’s like dating someone who ticks all the boxes on paper, but something just isn’t there. You could force it. But why would you?
We need to stop confusing goodness with longevity. Just because someone was perfect for you at one time doesn’t mean they still are. You’re allowed to change your mind. You’re allowed to shift your priorities. You’re allowed to say, “This was beautiful. And it’s over.”
Making Space for What Matters
Every time I’ve let go of a friendship that no longer felt aligned, I’ve made space for something else. Sometimes it was another person. Sometimes it was more time for myself. Sometimes it was a renewed connection with someone I hadn’t spoken to in years*. There is always something waiting on the other side of release. But you have to make room for it.
Our energy is not infinite. It’s a sacred, limited resource, like the last of your matcha latte – and you don’t pour it just anywhere. The people in your life should feel like a garden. You tend to them. You water them. You admire them. But you also pull out weeds. You prune. You decide what grows where. And sometimes, you leave sections wild, just to see what might bloom. You curate your monkey sphere, without any monkey business.
I no longer feel guilty about walking away from people who don’t fit my life anymore. Even the nice ones. Especially the nice ones, because letting them go with love is a form of respect. I want people to be surrounded by those who truly see them. Who meet them where they are. Who match their pace, their rhythm, their season. And I want the same for myself.
*Yaz!!!! I wish we’d reconnected earlier – we lost so many years!!
But What If I’m Just Being Harsh?
Of course, there’s always the classic self-doubt spiral. What if I’m just being too picky? Too cold? Too harsh? What if I’m cutting people out when I should be fighting harder to keep them around?
First of all, let’s all take a deep breath and sip some tea. You’re not being harsh for wanting your relationships to feel nourishing, not draining. You’re not harsh for protecting your peace. You’re being intentional. And intentional living is not something you should apologise for.
If anything, trusting your instincts about who belongs in your life is a beautiful, brave thing. It’s not about being harsh. It’s about being honest. And sure, there might be moments when you wonder if you’re overreacting, but the truth is, your gut knows. You know. You always have. And a little pruning now and then? It only makes the garden healthier.
Nice is lovely. Nice is sweet. Nice does not guarantee a lifelong seat.
The Beauty of Goodbye
There is grace in a gentle goodbye. There is wisdom in knowing when to step back. And there is bravery in trusting that you’re doing the right thing, even if it makes others uncomfortable. Especially if it makes others uncomfortable. Not everyone will understand your choices. But that doesn’t make them wrong.
Your life is your own. Your friendships are not public property. You don’t need to explain or justify why you’ve drifted, why you’ve stopped replying, or why you no longer want to go for weekly catch-ups that leave you drained. You just need to trust yourself. Your intuition knows.
So if you’ve been holding onto a friendship that feels heavy, out of obligation or history or guilt, here’s your permission slip. Let it go. Thank it. Bless it. And then move forward. You’re allowed to outgrow people. Even the lovely ones. Especially the lovely ones. Because you, my darling, are allowed to grow.
And my bestie? He still worries, by the way. He checks in on my monkey sphere like it’s a tiny endangered species that needs conservation efforts. Classic Aries. Passionate, loyal, a little dramatic. He’s always convinced I need more people, more chaos, more connection. But the truth is, I’m happiest when my circle is small but strong. He doesn’t get it, not fully, but he respects it. And that’s why he has earned his place in my Monkey Sphere.
We Need to Stop Clapping for Basic Decency – Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity
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