INTROVERSION + RELATIONSHIPS

It’s me. I’m the toxic friend.

Defining toxic friendship with radical acceptance and a little humility

I grew up in the burbs, outside of DC, in the 90s. Surrounded by girls who looked like Kelly Kapowski from Saved by the Bell. They were pleasant, tolerant rich girls who were just old enough to be acutely aware of our differences.

I was taller, thicker, and a little more “tan” than everybody else. My mom worked 3rd shift at Walmart, 1st and 2nd shift at a daycare, and we lived with some relatives because she was getting on her feet.

I wanted to be anybody else.

I needed to fit in because standing out was exhausting. I did all I could to make myself small and less intrusive.

Begged my mom to straighten my hair with lye, a toxic chemical that people with curly textured hair use to tame their tresses. In some circumstances, it’s used as a means to assimilate into specific professional or social spaces.

Starved myself so I could be skinnier, didn’t know then that my thickness was irreversible and delightful. God-given.

Didn’t know my legs were remarkable and strong, intended to carry me gracefully through all of life’s inordinate bullshit.

I just felt like I was too much.

Too black for the black boys navigating self-hate. Too big for the white boys who idolized bodies withering from early onset anorexia.

I-

I needed to fit in.

So I did what any isolated strategist does in the wild. I found a gang. I got jumped in. I learned all of the rules. Then I took over.

Definition of a gang in the burbs: a group of “friends” who have surface-level common interests and more influence than their peers for no other reason than combined net worth and pettiness.

I obsessed over survival. Relevance was a life raft. Being resourceful was my currency. I paid for those friendships by being useful and supportive. I thought that being everybody’s life coach (pro bono) was the fool-proof way to eradicate all of my “different”.

I got older but my strategy never shifted, being helpful was my niche. I knew how to fix problems and people pay a lot of money to have their problems fixed.

That survival strategy helped me construct a neurotic, rigid identity that rejected reality and designed stories that centered me as a superhero.

The problem with being hyper aware of my circumstances and hyper diligent about fixing my story is that I didn’t give a damn about anything else.

Friendship was contractual for me. It was a shelter. It was a lease. It was a borrowed blanket that I returned once I was warm.

I still struggle to embrace people.

I’m too focused on avoiding rejection. I meet people in the lobby of my life, I never invite them into my suite where masks are removed and the representative falls away from my body like a heavy gown after a long night.

I don’t know how to prioritize anything other than survival.

Vulnerability is a luxury offered to those who can be trusted by those who know how to trust.

I don’t know how to ask you how you’re doing then wholeheartedly wait for the answer. I’m too weary to be present.

I’m too preoccupied to be enthusiastic about whatever it is you have going on.

I’m paranoid.

I’m too busy trying to analyze your intentions and find inconsistencies between what you say and what you do. I need to avoid the inevitable. Disappointment.

Being a toxic friend isn’t about being ill-intentioned.

Hurt people aren’t necessarily hateful or spiteful. They’re strategists, desperate to find a way forward. They’re scared, bruised by a story they probably don’t trust you enough to tell you.

A healthy friendship is structurally sound because it’s on a foundation of vulnerability and accountability.

People who are willing to be themselves are capable of friendship. There’s a top tier level of honesty required that is excruciating but vital to the survival of the connection.

Healthy friends aren’t clinging to each other for perks and warmth during one convenient stage of life. They’re capable of shapeshifting and evolving together.

Healthy friends aren’t mimicking each other’s lives on social media or finding ways to compare accomplishments.

Friends trust each other. People who crave friendship have to be willing to trust people.

Relationships that aren’t rooted in honesty, emotional mutuality, and acceptance are toxic.

Everybody who clings to friendship because of the fear of being alone or as a side-effect of chronic codependency is a toxic friend.