The Friends You Outgrow (And the Ones Who Help You Grow)
I’ve been doing a quiet stocktake of my friendships lately - not the Instagram kind, the real kind. The ones that have carried me through entire eras of my life, and the ones I clung to long after they’d stopped feeling like home.
You hit a certain age and realise your contact list is basically a museum exhibition: “Brodie’s Former Lives - Curated by Trauma, Geography, and Questionable Decisions.” Sydney 1.0. Hobart. Recovery Era. Northern Beaches Return. Each with its own soundtrack, aesthetic, and supporting cast.
And for a long time, I assumed the cast couldn’t change. That loyalty meant staying loyal to versions of myself I no longer was.
But lately - through therapy, sobriety, training, building Get Out, and honestly just growing up - I’ve realised something confronting:
I’ve outgrown people.
And some of them outgrew me, too.
And that doesn’t make either of us villains.
It just means we’re not in the same season anymore.
When friendships shrink you
If I’m honest, some of the friendships I held onto in my twenties and early thirties were ones where I shrank. I watered myself down to fit the room. I avoided telling the truth because I was afraid the truth would make people leave.
Back then I thought being unbothered made me invincible. That not caring was a flex. That rolling my eyes at people “taking life too seriously” made me sound edgy rather than insecure.
But numbness isn’t strength. Avoidance isn’t peace. And self-shrinking doesn’t keep you safe - it just keeps you feeling small.
What I know now - at almost forty - is this:
The people who love you don’t want the muted version.
They want the one who lived.
The one who crawled back from the fire.
The one you fought to become.
The friendships that break when you start healing
Here’s the bit that’s hard to say without sounding self-righteous: sometimes, healing breaks friendships.
When you stop being the chaotic one…
When you stop tolerating disrespect…
When you start leaving the party early…
When you choose early mornings over early hours…
When you replace substances with actual self-respect…
People notice.
Some adapt with you. Some celebrate you. And some resent you because your growth exposes their stagnation.
It took me a long time to accept that losing people wasn’t a punishment - it was a recalibration. A necessary one.
Modern loneliness research keeps coming back to this: belonging requires congruence. You can’t feel connected in a space where you’re performing a person you’re not anymore.
You don’t want your old life back - you want people who match your new one
This is the line that cracked something open in me recently:
I don’t want friends who liked the version of me that was surviving.
I want friends who like the version of me I fought to rebuild and is now thriving.
That’s the heart of it.
I want people who take joy seriously.
People who train hard and laugh harder.
People who both celebrate and hold you accountable.
People who build things - communities, families, projects, connection.
People who want long lives, not just long nights.
In short:
People leading with purpose. People choosing growth. People choosing each other.
The cultural moment we’re in
The research, the articles, the think pieces - they’re all signalling the same shift.
We are in a global friendship reckoning.
The Atlantic calls it “the friendship recession.” Experts say we’ve become too quick to sever. Others warn that modern adulthood has made us deeply out of practice at maintaining connection. Loneliness research keeps rising - not because we’re alone, but because we don’t feel held.
And queer community? We feel these changes threefold - because chosen family has always been our backbone.
Between digital overwhelm, dating app fatigue, interstate/intercity moves, shifting values, and the sheer logistics of adult life, it’s no wonder so many of us are asking:
Where are my people? And why is it so hard to find them as an adult?
The truth that took me almost forty years to learn
Friendships don’t disappear because you’re a bad friend.
They change because:
People grow in different directions
Addiction, avoidance, or insecurity can pull people out of orbit
Some friends hold your past more tightly than your present
Adult responsibilities become gravitational fields
Healing makes you incompatible with the dynamics that once kept you small
It’s normal. It’s human. It’s not a failure.
The failure would be staying somewhere you’ve spiritually outgrown because you’re afraid to disappoint people who aren’t living your life.
So how do you build the right friendships now?
Not perfect friendships - just ones aligned with who you are.
Here’s what I’m learning (and practicing):
1. Choose people who choose you without ambiguity
If you’re constantly guessing where you stand, you’re standing in the wrong place.
2. Look for generosity of spirit, not performance of friendship
Some people bring drama.
Some bring depth.
Know the difference.
3. Prioritise people who are building something
Whether it’s career, health, family, recovery, community - building people understand building people.
4. Stop chasing the high school dream of the eternal group chat
Friendship as an adult is dial-tone style: steady, reliable, recurring. Not chaotic, availability-dependent fireworks.
5. Let go with kindness
You can honour what a friendship was without forcing it into your now.
6. Don’t make romantic love your only source of belonging
Your emotional ecosystem needs more than one pillar.
7. Actively seek friendships that fit your life today
Not your party era.
Not your self-destructive era.
Not your “say yes to everything” era.
This one. Now.
Where I land
I used to think losing friendships was a sign I’d messed something up.
Now I think it’s evidence I’ve stopped abandoning myself.
I want friendships rooted in the man I am now: sober, stable, ambitious, calm, intentional, and building a community I believe in with my whole chest.
And if that means my circle gets smaller while I get stronger?
So be it.
Because the right people don’t resent your growth - they rise with you. And if I’ve learned anything in these past few years, it’s this:
The people who belong in your life now won’t be intimidated by your healing.
They’ll be inspired by it.
And they’ll meet you where you are - not where you used to be.