Group Chats, Ghosting, and Other Emotional Workouts

Let’s be real—nobody teaches you how to actually do friendship past the age of 12. Like, yes, we learned to “share our toys” and “say sorry,” but nobody prepared us for the adult-level chaos of mismatched priorities, unspoken resentment, and the slow, silent fade of a once-daily texter into a quarterly “miss you!” emoji.

Friendship in adulthood? It's weird. Beautiful, but weird. Suddenly you’re juggling jobs, kids, trauma, therapy breakthroughs, and the emotional labor of answering texts within a socially acceptable time frame—and somehow still expected to be a good friend through all of it.

But here’s the thing: friendships aren’t effortless. They're living, evolving relationships that require boundaries, honesty, and the occasional “hey, that hurt my feelings” conversation that makes you want to crawl into a hole and die a little. And managing them well? That’s not about being perfect—it’s about being intentional.

So today, we’re diving into the messy, meaningful art of friendship maintenance. From setting boundaries to knowing when to walk away, from rekindling connection to making peace with the ones that drift—this one’s for the group chat, the ghosted thread, and the best friend you still call “dude” after fifteen years. Let’s get into it.

Friendships, like any other relationship, require effort, communication, and boundaries. But because they’re not romantic or blood-related, we often treat them like optional side quests. Cute if they work out, but not something we’re taught to work on.

And that’s where the problems start. We assume friendships should be easy—that if it’s “real,” it’ll just flow. No conflict, no awkwardness, no weird silences after someone forgets your birthday or makes a passive-aggressive comment about your life choices. But spoiler alert: ease doesn’t equal health. Just like dating, solid friendships take maintenance. Emotional oil changes. Occasional hard resets. And yes, sometimes they need to be gently unplugged and thrown out the window.

Effort doesn’t mean performative check-ins or forcing the vibe to match what it used to be in 2017. It means showing up—honestly. Communicating when something’s off instead of marinating in resentment and hoping they magically get it. It means setting boundaries like “Hey, I can’t be your emotional landfill right now” or “I love you, but I can’t always drop everything.”

Because here’s the truth: friendship isn’t a free-for-all. It’s not unconditional access to your time, your energy, or your nervous system. It’s a relationship. And the ones that last? They’re the ones that evolve—where both people can grow, change, mess up, and still choose to keep showing up, not out of obligation, but out of genuine care.

So today, we’re getting into it—messy dynamics, unmet expectations, the myth of “forever friends,” and how to tell the difference between a rough patch and a dead end. We’ll break down how to bring stuff up without spiraling, how to make peace with natural drift, and how to be the kind of friend who doesn’t abandon themselves just to keep the peace. Buckle up—this one’s part group chat therapy, part loving reality check.

Let’s be real: friendship isn’t one-size-fits-all, and neither are you. Some of us are clingy little emotional barnacles who need daily check-ins, constant validation, and the occasional “just thinking of you” meme to keep the friendship fire alive. Others are like forest-dwelling introvert sprites who emerge from the mist once every six months, toss a chaotic life update your way, and then vanish again like a cryptid with poor Wi-Fi.

And guess what? All of that is valid. What’s not valid is treating your very specific friendship style like it’s the universal default, then spiraling when your friends don’t magically conform to it via osmosis or moodboard. You are not writing a telepathic friendship user manual. You are a whole human being with needs—and it’s your job to know what they are and say them out loud.

Think of your friendship style like your emotional Wi-Fi settings. Some people need constant signal, daily pings, and high-bandwidth connection. Others are totally fine with low-power mode, occasional updates, and a solid meme once in a blue moon to keep the thread alive. There’s no “right” setting—but it is a problem if you don’t know which one you’re running on, and then get salty because someone’s connection doesn’t match your expectations.

And let’s not forget the burn-out factor. If you keep operating like a full-time friendship concierge when you’re actually running on emotional fumes, you will start to hate everyone—including yourself. So take stock: What makes you feel close to people? What drains you? What kind of social upkeep actually feels good, and what starts feeling like an obligation you low-key resent but keep doing because you don’t want to be the flaky one?

And then—and this part’s wild—you communicate that. With words. To your friends. Not through subtweets. Not through carefully curated sad-girl playlists. Not through making them guess which version of you they’re going to get today. Just… tell them. Like a person who knows their worth and respects other people’s emotional bandwidth too.

Because when you ditch the unspoken expectations and lead with clarity instead of vibes? The drama shrinks. The resentment fades. And the friendships? They get a whole lot more sustainable. And a hell of a lot more fun.

Now, once you’ve figured out your friendship style, it’s time for the real boss-level move: boundaries. Yep. The thing we all say we’re good at, while simultaneously letting people treat our time and energy like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Here’s the truth bomb they really should’ve taught in health class—right between “don’t do drugs” and that weird banana-condom demonstration: boundaries aren’t just for toxic exes and nosy relatives. They’re for everyone. Even the people you adore. Even the best friend who’s practically family. Especially them.

Setting boundaries in friendship isn’t about being cold, mean, or suddenly turning into a stoic island monk. It’s about not losing your damn mind because you’ve been running on zero emotional battery while still trying to be everyone’s unpaid life coach. It’s saying, “Hey, I love you, but I can’t be your 3 a.m. crisis hotline right now,” or “I want to be there for you, but I’ve got the emotional range of a potato today—can we talk tomorrow?” It’s knowing your own limits and protecting your peace like it’s your last brain cell on a bad mental health day.

Because guess what? You’re not obligated to show up 100% of the time at 100% capacity. That’s not friendship—that’s martyrdom with a side of burnout. And spoiler alert: if you keep giving past your limits, you will start resenting the people you care about. You’ll find yourself rolling your eyes at their voice memos, hate-watching their stories, and turning every interaction into an internal episode of Why Am I The Only One Who Gives a Shit?

And it goes both ways. If your friend says they’re maxed out, don’t take it as a personal rejection and spiral into “I’m too much and no one loves me” mode. That’s not self-awareness—it’s emotional self-sabotage. Be the kind of friend who doesn’t just tolerate boundaries, but actively respects them. Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when you’re feeling clingy and your inner people-pleaser is begging to send one more “You good?” text they never asked for.

Because when both of you are clear about where the emotional fences are? Things stay cleaner, kinder, and way less likely to devolve into petty drama over a slow reply. Boundaries aren’t walls—they’re scaffolding. They hold up the friendship, so it doesn’t collapse under the weight of unspoken expectations and quietly simmering resentment.

Alright, now that we’ve lovingly dragged boundaries into the spotlight, let’s talk about the next terrifying thing no one warned us adulthood would require: communicating your actual feelings. Gasp. I know. Horrifying. But hear me out.

Okay, I get it—talking about your feelings sounds like something reserved for therapy sessions, Oscar acceptance speeches, or that one friend who cries at Trader Joe’s commercials. But in real life? Especially in friendships? It’s vital. Because bottling things up might feel emotionally “polite” in the moment, but spoiler alert: repressed feelings age like milk in a heatwave. One second it’s “It’s fine, I’m fine,” and the next you’re scrubbing your sink with rage because they forgot your birthday six years ago and now you hate them and lemon-scented cleaning products.

Here’s the deal: if something’s bothering you, say something. Not in a cryptic Instagram quote. Not via dramatic silence and martyr energy. Use your actual words. You are not a cursed Victorian ghost haunting your friend with vibes. You are a whole adult with a voice and access to “I” statements.

Yes, it’s uncomfortable. Vulnerability always is. But you can express your hurt without lighting the entire friendship on fire. Try “I felt hurt when you didn’t reach out” instead of “You clearly don’t care about anyone but yourself.” One opens a conversation. The other opens a grudge match. Your choice.

And for the love of your mental health, stop assuming your friends are mind-readers. They’re probably just as emotionally overwhelmed and caffeine-dependent as you are. They don’t know you’ve been spiraling about that text they sent with a slightly dry tone. If it matters, bring it up. If it doesn’t, let it go. Either way—choose clarity over passive-aggressive breadcrumb trails.

Because when open, honest communication becomes the norm in your friendships, wild things happen. Like… trust. Ease. Nobody walking on emotional eggshells. Nobody mentally rehearsing a speech for six weeks just to say, “That actually hurt my feelings.” You get to be fully you, and they get to do the same.

And that? That’s what real friendship is made of. Not perfection. Not performance. Just two humans choosing to be honest instead of quietly unraveling behind fake smiles and group chat drama.

So you’ve gotten honest about your friendship style. You’ve set some boundaries. You’ve even talked about your feelings without combusting. Amazing. Now comes the part that sounds deceptively simple but is actually a full-on adulting skill: making time.

Let’s be brutally honest: nobody has boundless social energy anymore. We are all just out here trying to survive late-stage capitalism, dodge existential dread, remember what day it is, and maybe drink water that isn’t coffee. You are not a human 7-Eleven. You do not need to be emotionally open for business 24/7.

But—and this is key—you do need to make intentional space for the friendships that matter. Because friendships aren’t immortal succulents that just vibe quietly on your windowsill for five years without attention. They’re more like emotional houseplants with personality disorders: if you neglect them too long, they get crispy, sad, and weirdly passive-aggressive.

The goal here isn’t to overextend yourself into martyrdom. It’s to figure out what level of maintenance is realistic for you, and then commit to showing up in a way that feels doable—not performative. A five-minute voice memo? Golden. A perfectly timed meme? Practically a love letter. A “hey, I’ve been in hermit mode but still thinking about you” text? Soul food. It’s not about grand gestures—it’s about meaningful micro-effort.

And no, you don’t have to RSVP to every plan or respond to every message like you’re auditioning for “Friend of the Year.” You’re allowed to have slow seasons. You’re allowed to say, “Not right now.” But disappearing into the void without a trace and then expecting that friendship to stay magically intact? That’s how connections quietly fall apart while everyone pretends nothing happened.

So do yourself—and your people—a favor: show up within your limits, and tell them what those limits are. Communicate your availability like an emotionally literate adult, not a mysterious swamp creature who only emerges under a blood moon.

Because when you show up consistently, even in small ways? That’s what keeps friendships alive. Not constant contact. Not forced hangouts. Just little reminders that you give a damn—even when life’s a dumpster fire.

Alright, so you’ve figured out your bandwidth, you’re making time when you can, and you’ve mastered the art of the perfectly-timed meme drop. Great. But here’s the next friendship truth bomb we need to drop: effort shouldn’t be a solo sport.

Look, friendship isn’t a customer service gig. You’re not someone’s emotional concierge, available 24/7 to field breakdowns, validate life choices, and remember every birthday, breakup, and embarrassing middle school crush—while getting radio silence when you’re the one spiraling. If you’re constantly texting first, initiating plans, offering pep talks, and basically doing emotional cartwheels for someone who responds like you’re an optional side quest? That’s not friendship. That’s unpaid labor in a one-person emotional support department.

Real friendship has flow. It’s not about keeping a perfectly balanced ledger every day—this isn’t an emotional tax audit. Of course there will be seasons where one person’s the hot mess express and the other’s the steady anchor. That’s normal. That’s human. But if your role is permanently locked into “therapist, cheerleader, planner, crisis hotline, and motivational speaker” while your own needs go unnoticed? You are not in a friendship—you are doing performance art.

And listen, asking for support doesn’t make you needy. It makes you a person with feelings. You are allowed to say, “Hey, I need to be held for a sec too.” You are allowed to want reciprocity. And if a friendship only works when you’re bending over backwards to maintain it, while they’re out here treating the connection like a subscription they forgot they still had? It’s time to reassess. Possibly cancel. No exit survey required.

So take inventory. Ask yourself: Does this friendship feel mutual? Do I feel safe and supported, or just drained and low-key bitter? If the answers point to imbalance, don’t guilt yourself into staying just because you “go way back” or “don’t want to rock the boat.” Rock the damn boat. If it sinks that easily, it wasn’t seaworthy anyway.

Friendship isn’t about keeping score—but it is about making sure you’re not stuck playing all the positions while the other person just shows up for the highlight reel. You deserve better. And honestly? So do they. Because fake harmony helps no one—and real connection only happens when both people actually show up.

And if you’ve done all the work—communicated clearly, set boundaries, shown up with memes and emotional bandwidth—and still feel like you’re shouting into the void? It might be time for the final boss of friendship maintenance: letting go.

Ah yes, the slow, aching death of the one-sided friendship. The emotional equivalent of sending a heartfelt “miss you” text and getting hit with a thumbs-up emoji. Or worse—no response at all while they update their story from a brunch you weren’t invited to. We’ve all been there. And while no one really likes to talk about it, here’s the truth bomb: not every friendship is built to last forever.

Some friendships are seasonal. Some were built on shared chaos and fizzle out when life gets stable. And some? Were just ✨vibes✨ and red flags dressed up as connection. If you’re always the one initiating, checking in, making the plans, and holding emotional space for their every existential spiral—while your own struggles get ghosted? That’s not friendship. That’s an unpaid internship in someone else’s emotional ecosystem.

And listen, you are not a casting director. You do not need to keep auditioning for someone’s love, loyalty, or attention just because you once bonded over a wild weekend or mutual hatred for your old boss. That connection may have been real—but if it’s all one-sided now? Let it go.

Letting go doesn’t make you cold. It doesn’t mean you’re bitter or dramatic or “too sensitive.” It means you’ve finally realized you’re worth more than breadcrumbs and birthday texts sent two days late with a recycled GIF. Releasing a friendship that’s stopped feeling good isn’t failure—it’s emotional self-respect. It’s the spiritual equivalent of throwing out expired milk: yes, it was good once. No, it does not belong in your fridge anymore.

Will it suck? Oh, for sure. Letting go of someone you loved—even platonically—is grief with no funeral. But clinging to a connection that drains you just because of the history? That’s how you end up bitter, exhausted, and questioning your worth. And babe, your peace is worth more than someone who only shows up when it’s convenient for them.

So give yourself permission to release what no longer fits. Choose mutual energy. Choose emotional reciprocity. Choose friends who don’t require detective work to feel cared for. Let the fan club go—you were never meant to be the star and the unpaid manager.

So maybe you’ve dodged the one-sided friendships, trimmed the deadweight, and surrounded yourself with people who actually text back. Amazing. Now comes the next plot twist: sometimes, even the good ones piss you off.

Welcome to the glamorous world of conflict. And let’s get one thing straight—conflict is not the villain in this story. It’s not a blinking neon sign saying “Abort mission! This friendship is over!” It’s just communication… with a little emotional jalapeño on top. Uncomfortable? Sure. But running from it like it’s a haunted house only guarantees one thing: resentment is going to set up camp in your soul and start planning renovations.

Look, disagreements are inevitable. You’re not friendship clones—you’re two (or more) fully chaotic humans with wildly different backgrounds, triggers, and definitions of what “five more minutes” means. You will annoy each other. You will misunderstand something. And eventually, someone’s going to say something tone-deaf, drop the ball, or commit a minor emotional war crime like canceling plans after you’ve already washed your hair.

But here’s the kicker: the conflict itself isn’t what breaks the friendship—it’s how you handle it. If your go-to is ghosting, stewing in silence, or plotting an imaginary courtroom monologue where you DESTROY them with facts and emotional receipts? That’s not resolution. That’s a grudge in a trench coat pretending to be power.

Try this instead: use your actual words. Say what hurt. Say what you need. Don’t launch a passive-aggressive vibe campaign or post cryptic quotes about betrayal on your Instagram story. You are not a walking Tumblr post. You are a grown-ass person with access to "I" statements and the internet.

And don’t forget the wildest part: listening. Not the “waiting for your turn to talk” kind of listening. The real kind. The kind where you hear them out without mentally building your rebuttal or tallying up past offenses like an emotional accountant. Because sometimes? The problem isn’t the argument—it’s the years of unsaid stuff living just under the surface like emotional mold.

If you mess up, apologize like someone who’s emotionally literate. If they mess up and own it, forgive like someone who’s also made dumb choices while under-slept, overstimulated, or hangry. We’re all a work in progress. None of us are flawless. The point isn’t to never fight—it’s to get better at it.

Because when you handle conflict with care? The friendship gets stronger. You build trust, resilience, and the kind of closeness that comes from knowing, “Hey, we can disagree and still choose each other.” That’s the real flex. Not curated selfies or matching tattoos. Not being “drama-free.” Just being real, and staying connected through the mess.

So you’ve had the hard conversations, survived some spicy conflict, and realized that even good friendships can hit rough patches. But what happens when things don’t blow up—they just fade? When there’s no big betrayal, no dramatic goodbye, just… a slow, awkward drift into “We used to be close”?

Welcome to the bittersweet land of friendships evolving.

And here’s the uncomfortable truth no one ever stitched onto a friendship bracelet: not all friendships are meant to stay exactly how they started—and they’re not supposed to. People grow. Circumstances change. And trying to keep a friendship frozen in its original form is like trying to force yourself into your favorite hoodie from middle school. Yeah, it holds memories. But now it’s tight in weird places, smells vaguely like Axe body spray, and makes you itchy every time you put it on.

Maybe you used to text every single day and now it’s every other month. Maybe you went from swapping trauma dumps and takeout orders to politely liking each other’s Instagram reels. That doesn’t mean the friendship failed. It just means it shifted. And shifts aren’t inherently bad—they’re just awkward, emotionally crunchy, and occasionally make you stare at your phone wondering, “Do I reach out or just let this fizzle quietly into the abyss?”

The real trap here is clinging to what used to be like it’s a sacred artifact. Trying to force the friendship to go back to its “golden era” just sets you up for resentment and disappointment. You’re comparing current, imperfect reality to a highlight reel from 2015—and let’s be honest, even 2015 wasn’t that great.

Nostalgia isn’t a strategy. And maintaining a vibe that no longer fits? Exhausting. Like emotionally cosplaying a version of yourself you outgrew three therapists ago.

Instead, try this: honor the friendship for what it was, appreciate what it is now, and let go of what it’s not anymore. Some friendships get quieter but deeper. Some slowly drift into that sweet “I’ll always root for you from afar” territory. And some? They shapeshift into something brand new—messier, more mature, less codependent.

The ones worth keeping? They’ll evolve with you. No forcing. No clinging. Just mutual growth and a shared ability to say, “Hey, this is different now—but it’s still real.”

So maybe your friendships are evolving. Maybe you’re evolving. But before you spiral into managing everyone’s expectations like a walking calendar app with anxiety, let’s talk about one more crucial, often-ignored truth of real connection: sometimes, the most loving thing you can do for a friendship is to straight-up vanish for a bit.

Not in a “throw your phone in a lake, fake your death, and become a barista in a remote fishing village” kind of way. More like, “my nervous system is doing the electric slide and I need to not interact with humans unless they are furry and purr at me” kind of way.

Needing space isn’t betrayal. It’s not a red flag. It’s not you being a flaky monster who doesn’t care enough. It’s emotional hygiene. If every text feels like a homework assignment and every invite makes you want to fake a sprained ankle, that’s not a social life—that’s a slow slide into people-pleasing burnout. You are allowed to hit pause. You are allowed to do nothing and tell no one and just quietly exist like a sentient moss patch.

And this is the part where real friendships flex their muscles. The good ones? They don’t panic. They don’t guilt you with “Haven’t heard from you.” They don’t send weirdly pointed memes about being abandoned. They say, “Take your time. I’ll be here.” Because they get it. Because they’ve had their own “don’t talk to me, I’m feral” seasons too.

The key isn’t to ghost like a cryptic ex. It’s to offer a little clarity. Nothing wild. Just a “Hey, love you—low-power mode engaged. I’ll pop back up when I’ve recharged my soul battery.” Boom. Done. No three-paragraph justification, no emotional labor report. Just the heads-up that you’re not emotionally dead, you’re just… offline for maintenance.

Protecting your peace doesn’t make you selfish—it makes you sustainable. And if a friendship falls apart the moment you take a breath? That connection was running on codependency, not care.

So next time you feel the burnout monster creeping in, skip the guilt spiral. Build the pillow fort. Turn off notifications. Water your houseplants and your soul. Go cryptid. Go hermit. Go invisible on purpose.

Because the friendships worth keeping? They’ll still be there when you resurface.

So you’ve navigated boundaries, communication breakdowns, evolving dynamics, space-taking, and every flavor of friendship chaos in between. Now here’s the final boss move: choosing who actually gets a seat at your table. Because not everyone deserves front-row access to your life just because they once split mozzarella sticks with you in 2012.

Let’s be blunt: your energy is currency. And if you’re constantly dropping it like confetti on people who make you feel like a human doormat, a backup emotional support animal, or an on-call therapist with zero PTO—we have a budgeting problem. Friendship should not feel like a full-time job with no benefits and a toxic boss who only calls when their life is on fire.

The right people? They’re not threatened by your “no.” They don’t weaponize guilt, vanish at the first sign of your own needs, or treat your boundaries like an optional survey at the end of a phone call. The right people make space for your full, weird, brilliant, flawed humanity—without needing a TED Talk on your trauma just to get it.

You don’t have to keep chasing friendships that feel like emotionally microwaved leftovers. You don’t have to cling to the “we’ve been friends forever” ones if forever now feels like enduring a group project with no end date. Loyalty is sweet. Peace is sacred. And if it comes down to choosing between your mental health or someone else’s fragile ego? Babe, pick you. Every time.

Build a circle that claps when you win, checks in when you ghost for a week, and doesn’t take your silence as an insult. The ones who send “just thinking of you” texts without needing a five-paragraph essay in return. The ones who feel like rest. Like your favorite hoodie that still fits. Like being loved in a way that doesn’t require performance.

And if that circle is small? Good. Fewer people. Less chaos. Higher quality connection. Intimate beats exhausting every damn time. You’re not collecting acquaintances—you’re curating emotional safety. Choose wisely.

Managing friendships isn’t about being some Pinterest-perfect friend who always knows the right thing to say, responds to every text within six minutes, and never cancels plans because they’re overwhelmed and socially hungover. Please. That’s not friendship—that’s a customer service rep with abandonment issues.

Real friendship is about balance. It’s the tightrope walk between “I got you no matter what” and “I’m turning my phone off because I’ve hit my emotional limit and I’m currently mainlining snacks in the dark.” It’s knowing when to lean in with love, when to back off with grace, and when to full-on Irish exit because the vibes are giving emotional taxes with no refunds.

Friendship should feel nourishing. Supportive. Maybe a little chaotic, but never soul-sucking. If every interaction feels like a performance review, a therapy session you didn’t sign up for, or a group project where you’re the only one doing the work—it’s time to reevaluate. Because the right friends? They don’t make you question your worth, tiptoe around their moods, or wonder if a boundary is going to ruin everything. They get it. They get you.

They’re the ones who send hyper-specific memes at 2 a.m. that make you snort-laugh alone in bed. The ones who cheer when you win, sit with you when you lose, and don’t need a full explanation when you text “I’m not okay but don’t want to talk”—they just say, “Got it. I’m here.”

So stop overwatering the dead plants. Seriously. Stop contorting yourself to stay digestible for people who only love you when you’re easy. Stop being the emotional sidekick in someone else’s main character drama. Start choosing the people who make you feel like a whole damn human—messy, brilliant, and deeply loved.

Because at the end of the day? The friendships that matter are the ones that hold space for all of you—the “let’s go get coffee and unpack your trauma” version and the “I haven’t showered and I’m rage-eating crackers in bed” version. The ones that make you feel safe, seen, and held, even when you’re not at your best—even when you’re feral, flakey, or texting like you’ve lost all grammar function.

Hold onto those. Water those. And as for the rest? Let them drift, un-follow, or fade quietly into the archives. Not all connections are meant to last forever—but the ones that are? They’ll meet you where you are, again and again.

And that? That’s the good stuff.

And that’s a wrap on today’s deep dive into the beautiful, messy, occasionally soul-draining, but ultimately life-saving world of managing friendships.

If nothing else, I hope this episode reminded you that you don’t need to be the perfect friend to be a good one. You’re allowed to set boundaries. You’re allowed to need space. You’re allowed to grow, change, drift, reconnect, and re-enter as a slightly more self-aware version of yourself. Friendship isn’t a linear storyline—it’s a series of moments, choices, and memes that say, “I see you. I got you. I still like you, even when you’re spiraling.”

So whether you’re in a season of planting new friendships, pruning the ones that no longer serve you, or just trying to keep your social battery from flatlining—you’re not alone. And you’re not a bad friend for being human. Real connection can handle honesty. It can handle growth. It can even handle a little distance.

Thanks for pushing play on Shrink Wrapped. If this episode hit you in the heart, made you laugh, or made you rethink that one group chat you’ve been emotionally ghosting—go ahead and share it with someone who needs to hear it too. And hey, while you’re here, rate, review, and subscribe on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, Amazon Music, iHeartRadio— whatever your podcast app of choice. Five stars helps more people find the pod, and also validates my inner child. Win-win.

Wanna keep the conversation going? Join the O’Neil Counseling app (the link’s in the show notes) to connect with other listeners, get exclusive content, and maybe even drop a hot take or two on friendship, therapy, or that weird thing your brain did last Tuesday.

Next week, we’re diving into effective communication, and it's a favorite topic of mine—so make sure you’re subscribed and ready for more slightly unhinged, deeply validating mental health real talk.

Until then? Be kind to yourself. Be honest with your people. And remember—your worth isn’t measured by how available you are. It’s measured by how authentically you show up... even if it’s just once in a while, with snacks.