Growing Pains

An Alien To The Status Quo

Silent Confessions 3: The Good Friend

Silent Confessions 3: The Good Friend

Who are you? A question that stretches beyond names and titles, digging into identity, purpose, and legacy. We spend our lives shaping the answer, whether consciously or not. But in the end, how do we define ourselves—and more importantly, how do we wish to be remembered? If a single phrase or a single word were to mark the sum of our existence, what would it say? Would it capture the depth of who we were, or would it be a mere whisper of all we once hoped to be?

Who am I?

I am the good friend. The reliable one. The one who always shows up, always listens, always cares. And yet, I have this sinking feeling that when my time is up, my tombstone will read:

“Here lies Tina—an absolute doormat of a human being. She took the idea of being a good friend so literally that she let people walk all over her.”

Sad, isn’t it?

The worst part is, I didn’t start out this way. I really didn’t. There was a time when I had boundaries—clear, firm, non-negotiable. Cross them, and you’d find yourself swiftly erased from the list of people I considered friends. No second chances. No room for disrespect. I was serious about protecting my space, my energy, my dignity.

So, what happened? Where did that version of me go?

Somewhere along the way, the lines blurred. Maybe it was the need to be liked, the fear of disappointing others, or the belief that true friendship meant endless self-sacrifice. Whatever it was, I became the person who said yes when I wanted to say no, who forgave when I should have walked away, who made excuses for people who wouldn’t have done the same for me.

And now, here I am—still the good friend, but at what cost?

I try to skirt around the truth, but deep down, I know—this all started with you. The chipping away at my walls and the quiet unraveling of the person I used to be.

We met the way people do in rom-coms, in the most ordinary of places: a supermarket. By the produce section, to be exact. Melons. You made a lewd joke—something ridiculous and borderline inappropriate. I laughed. Maybe too easily, too freely. You smiled, looking pleased with yourself, then said something simple yet devastatingly effective: “Well, my work here is done—one pretty girl smiling.

And just like that, I walked away—heart floating, mind spinning, already scripting the beginning of something that, in hindsight, I should have known better than to write. Because what kind of good-looking stranger just hands out charm like that, effortlessly, without expecting something in return?

But I didn’t think about that then. I was too busy holding onto the thrill of being seen.

I met you again. Serendipity.

What were the chances? A second encounter, as effortless as the first. The universe, it seemed, was nudging us together. Encouraging me to believe in something bigger than coincidence.

We exchanged numbers. And I thought: Maybe this is it. Maybe I’m finally meeting the one.

And for a while, it felt that way. A few days passed, and you were already a presence in my life—messaging me daily, calling just to check in. It was intoxicating, the way you made me feel like I mattered.

I looked forward to the calls and the texts. I giggled whenever you sent a meme or a joke about your day. Whenever my phone would ding with a message from you, I’d smile this big smile that my friends would tease me about. I told myself this was how love was supposed to begin. Swift, effortless, inevitable. I had a crush. More than a crush really.

I was so sure that we would be more.

But in my eagerness to believe in us, to believe in more, I ignored the quiet whisper in the back of my mind—the one telling me that sometimes, what feels like destiny is just the beginning of a lesson you never asked to learn.

You met my friend—my good friend. And your eyes lit up.

Brighter than they ever had for me.

It was subtle, but I noticed. The slight shift in your posture, the way your voice took on an edge of excitement, the way your gaze lingered just a second too long. It was the kind of moment that, if I had looked away, I could have pretended never happened. But I didn’t look away. I saw it. I felt it. And something inside me sank.

Still, I smiled. I played it cool. Because what else was I supposed to do? Call it out? Make it awkward? No, I did what I always did—I brushed it off, convinced myself I was imagining things, that I was being insecure, that it didn’t mean anything.

But deep down, I knew.

Your communication changed. I became an afterthought. A thing to be discarded, left by the wayside. My heart hurt—oh, how it hurt. But I couldn’t say anything. Wouldn’t say anything. Because, in the end, you had never made your intentions known. It was all in my head, wasn’t it? I was just a dreamer who mistook attention for affection, kindness for something more. I thought I had met the one, but the truth was, I had only met another lesson in disguise.

And then came the words that sealed my fate. “You’re such a good friend.”

There it was. The moment I knew. The moment I had been placed neatly into the friend zone while my heart still clung to the fantasy I had built. My boundaries screamed at me to walk away—to protect myself before the pain deepened—but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Let you go? Let my good friend go, too? Watch the two of you slip into the universe you had built together while I stood at the edges, unwelcome?

I wanted her to choose me. To be a friend. To step back and let you go. But apparently, you were too good to pass up.

So I did what I always did—I swallowed my feelings, buried them so deep they became part of me. Be a good friend, I told myself.

Smile. Support. Stay.

I listened to the voices in my head that told me that I wasn’t good enough for you and, therefore,you wouldn’t choose me but then you’d call and I’d be happy again.

And when you called, when you joked, when your words danced on the line between platonic and something more, my heart would ignite with foolish hope—only for you to mention her name and snuff it out again. You played both sides, or maybe you didn’t. Maybe I just let myself believe you did because it was easier than facing the truth. Either way, I convinced myself that having you in my life—in any way—was worth it.

And now, today, you’re marrying her.

You’re smiling, radiant, happy.

And my heart is breaking in ways I can’t even put into words.

But still, I smile.

Because that’s what a good friend does.

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