This is the first installment of ‘Am I doing this right?’

The transition into adulthood isn’t an easy one. Navigating relationships, paying bills, managing workplace politics — don’t be fooled, no one knows what they’re doing. There will be all kinds of fumbles, blunders and awkward missteps along the way. If you’re constantly wondering to yourself, “Am I doing this right?” Welcome. This is just the place for you.

“These chicks wonder why they can’t get a man. Walking around in ballet slippers and rompers. You got to up your sexy game, get some heels. Grown men want to hear ‘click-clack’ when you enter a room.” As I sat, listening to my friend, I felt an uncomfortably familiar pang of anxiety. I thought back to a week prior when she called to let me know she’d be in town and asked if we could get together for brunch. “Of course,” I answered. We followed up with a brief life update, where I learned that she was in the process of relocating and still in a long-term relationship. I shared that while I was thriving in my career and traveling a lot, I was still single and exhausted of the whole dating process. Fast forward to this very brunch sitting before my impeccably-dressed friend, I was wearing my favorite Free People romper dress and my go-to Banana Republic black ballet slippers. She had literally just described me. I was one of the pathetic “these chicks” she was referring to.

My life was great. I had no real gripes, yet somehow she had managed to make me feel small and pitiful. She used something I disclosed in casual conversation as ammunition for this sneaky, passive aggressive read, and worst of all she had done it so cleverly that it didn’t really resonate until approximately 2.5 seconds beyond the window when confrontation felt appropriate. I responded the same way I always did — took a deep breath, plastered on an uncomfortable grin and said nothing.

As I left our date, I felt mentally drained and physically exhausted as if I had been in hand-to-hand combat. I had endured a barrage of attacks camouflaged behind smiles, laughter and friendly goodbye hugs. Why do I continue to do this? I thought to myself. Clearly, this woman hates me. I put up with it because, well, history. We had known each other longer than we hadn’t. We knew one another’s lives and families, we had seen each other at our best and worst, and that had to count for something, right? Also, she wasn’t always like this. She used to be really sweet and funny and could still be very endearing at times. Within an hour of our farewell, she had tagged me in our brunch selfie with the sweetest caption, something about her lifelong ride-or-die. Was I…Maybe I’m overreacting, I thought. And this was the pattern that had come to define our relationship.

The truth is that somewhere along the way we had stopped being friends. These mean jabs and sneak disses had become our norm.

I had stopped sharing things with her long ago because I knew that no matter the news, it would somehow be spun in some negative way. I was complicit in this sham. I harbored resentment that I refused to confront because I was certain she wasn’t open to owning her stuff. She would be more likely to accuse me of being oversensitive while strategizing a spin campaign of epic petty proportions that would ultimately place me on the outside of our group of mutual friends. I’d seen her in action, I didn’t stand a chance against her craftiness. We went on this way for years before I eventually ghosted the friendship.

It was a bitter split. As I predicted, she maintained custody of our mutual friends and I was cast as the villains. It was tough and painful. In retrospect, I definitely could have handled things differently. I’m sure there was something for me to own in her change of her behavior, some blind spot that I couldn’t see in myself. We were both immature and still learning how to adult. Today, I harbor no hard feelings. In fact, that experience was the source of some pretty big lessons. I learned that I cared way too much about fitting in and looking popular, and I also discovered that I had a paralyzing fear of confrontation.

These days, the quality of my relationships are golden. We make room for our imperfections and grant permission to call each other out on our BS. We own our stuff and, when necessary, we agree to disagree. No matter what we go through, betrayal and pettiness are never an option. My circle is much smaller than it once was, in fact it’s more like a line. But that’s just enough for me.

Share your advice on how you maintain your inner circle in the comments below!

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