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“Finally, I realized that I was never asking too much. I was just asking the wrong person.” ~Unknown

Friendship should nourish the soul. And in my life, for the most part, it has. I have a small, longstanding circle of friends steeped in a long-shared history. We’re basically a real-life, thirty-five-year-long John Hughes film.

However, every now and then, a hornet in disguise has buzzed into my life and stung.

He was one of them. A bad sting.

Love Bombing

Right off the bat, knowing him felt amazing.

I was still reeling from the aftereffects of living with an abusive man who died a few months after I finally got away. Emotionally raw, my nervous system felt like it was covered in third-degree burns being scrubbed with a Brillo pad.

But this new friend? He felt safe. Quiet. Peaceful.

He wanted to see me multiple times a week. He introduced me to his child. We spent time watching TV, going out for drinks and dinner, living in what felt like a comforting routine. His good morning texts became a comfort for my sleepy eyes.

It felt good. Really good.

Until it didn’t.

A Bouquet of Red Flags? For Me?

Small things began happening that just didn’t sit well.

He began to speak ill of others in our mutual friend group. If he’s talking about them like this, what is he saying about me? Then I’d dismiss it. No, Jennifer. He’s a good friend.

Once, when I asked him to repay money he owed me, I received a semi-scathing text accusing me of not being a “real friend,” because “real friends” don’t expect repayment. Am I here to subsidize your income?

You’d think I walked away entirely at that point. No, not quite.

When There’s No Communication, There’s No Friendship

Instead, I drank too much one night and made out with him. (Stop judging me.)

I felt uncomfortable and needed to talk about it. I asked if I could come over for a quick chat. He declined. He was “too busy gardening.”

Right. Gardening. Okay.

The good morning texts stopped. The invitations to hang out vanished.

Days later, I texted, “Are you upset with me? We usually see each other all the time, and I haven’t heard from you.”

His reply: “I’m not upset.” No explanation. No elaboration.

Five weeks passed. Silence. Crickets.

And it hurt—more than I expected. I had let someone in after a traumatic experience. I was vulnerable, open, willing to trust again. But the friendship only existed on his terms. Everything was fine—until I asked for emotional accountability.

Inner Work and Uncomfortable Truths

After doing a lot of inner work, I realized something painful: I have a pattern of projecting qualities onto people that they simply don’t possess. I want people to be kind, emotionally intelligent, and loyal. So, I make them that way in my mind.

But people are who they are—not who I wish them to be.

And for my own well-being, that pattern had to end.

Not everyone is ready to do the work. And that’s fine. I can only be responsible for my healing, my boundaries, my growth.

In any relationship—be it romantic, familial, professional, or platonic—every individual has a right to be seen, heard, and valued. To be acknowledged as a complete person with thoughts, feelings, and needs.

Our voices and wants should be respected and celebrated. Without this foundation of trust, emotional safety, and genuine connection, we begin to feel invisible, diminished, or invalidated.

And sometimes the most loving thing we can do for ourselves is to leave a space that no longer aligns with who we are.

It’s not about giving up on people too quickly but recognizing when staying becomes a quiet betrayal of our own needs.

Self-Respect and Goodbye

So how did I move forward?

After acknowledging a deeper truth—that I had lived in a place of unworthiness for far too long, repeatedly allowing myself to be manipulated and emotionally abandoned—I decided to no longer chase breadcrumbs and worked hard on setting clear boundaries. And if those aren’t respected, I give myself permission to walk away.

And I walked away from him. I declined invites where I knew he’d be present and performed a digital detox: the phone number, the photos, the threads—all deleted. Unfollow. Unfollow. Unfollow.

And none of it happened out of anger or malice, but from a place of peace. A place of self-respect.

In the end, we teach others how to treat us by what we allow, and leaving is sometimes the most powerful way to be seen and heard—by ourselves most of all.

I was whole before I met him. And I remained whole after saying goodbye.

A Final Note

Not every friend is meant to stay. Not every connection nourishes the soul.

Some buzz in for a bit, give a quick sting, and buzz right back out.

The lesson? To stop letting ourselves be stung over and over again.

About Jennifer Tomlin

Jennifer is an advertising copywriter with over twenty-five years in the creative services and corporate communications field, A lover of animals, coffee, and music, she resides in the Philadelphia suburbs. Contact Jennifer at jennifertomlinwrites.com.

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So you’ve finally met someone and you’re in a long-term relationship, but perhaps there are a few nagging doubts hanging around your brain. While we all have doubts from time to time, here are some signs that you really need to ditch that dead weight pronto – go on, we dare you.

The Relationship has become Toxic

Let’s face it, we don’t set out to end up in a relationship that’s toxic but this can happen over time. Single you wouldn’t put up with parenting your partner or a close friend, arguments and power games so why are you putting up with it now? Think about what single you would say if you told them about your relationship, if it would be greeted with a snort of derision then you know what to do.

They’re Controlling

If you’re mature enough to pick who you want to date then you’re more than able to make decisions for yourself. That same idiotic partner probably wants to take that control away from you so you don’t end up leaving them. Sometimes, small controlling tendencies that you didn’t mind during the honeymoon period, like choosing what outfit they want you to wear, can quickly turn into full-blown red flags. Sound familiar?

It’s My Way or the Highway

Relationships are about compromise, so if your partner is becoming a bit of a monster than it might be time to cut ties. There’s no room in a relationship with a person that wants their own way all the time, so show them the highway out of your life.

The Blame Game

If you’re starting to doubt the relationship and might want to exit it, then they may start playing the blame game. Of course, everything will be your fault now! This is just a coping mechanism that some people use to make themselves feel better, so be glad you’re leaving this person behind.

Clamming Up

You’ve got something that’s really annoying you, maybe that pile of dishes in the sink has sat there for a minute too long, and you need to get it out. You’re communicating with your partner and you might as well be talking to the wall behind them. Break up and you can treat yourself to a nice chat with the wall without them, plus you’ll have less dirty dishes to deal with so it’s win-win.

Arguments Never End

Couples argue, no matter how perfect they may seem on the outside. However, if you’re replaying the same argument over and over again with no resolution, it’s time to really consider your options. Do you really want to be having the same argument for years? It’s a no from us, frankly, we’d rather be enjoying reruns of Dragon’s Den instead.

Ultimatums

These are often the last-ditch attempt of the idiot, if you don’t do things my way then I’ll leave. Next time they give you an ultimatum like this, feel free to encourage them to follow through.

Life is way to short to be spending time with a partner that isn’t really your soulmate. These behaviours are more than enough to stop a relationship in its tracks if they’re creeping in then explore your options. Remember that your soulmate is supposed to have your back, so hopefully, your single period will allow you to develop a high level of compromise along with a splash of gratitude.

“It’s okay to let go of those who couldn’t love you. Those who didn’t know how to. Those who failed to even try. It’s okay to outgrow them, because that means you filled the empty space in you with self-love instead. You’re outgrowing them because you’re growing into you. And that’s more than okay; that’s something to celebrate.” ~Angelica Moone

I’ve had the most unusual, baffling, and frustrating experience with someone recently. And yet, it’s also been a massive catalyst for growth. I’ve seen myself more clearly by observing the behavior of someone who, in some ways, is a lot like me.

For me, it’s been the purest demonstration of the phrase “Others are your mirror.”

This person—let’s call him Simon—has been incredibly toxic.

He’s insulted me deeply, hurled cruel names, and used gaslighting, manipulation, and blame-shifting to twist reality.

At times, he cloaked control in false compassion, pretending to help while subtly undermining me.

He projected his insecurities onto me so persistently, I began to doubt my own sanity—wondering if I really was as terrible as he claimed.

Thankfully, I’m in a strong place mentally right now. I can see how someone more vulnerable could be shattered by Simon. In fact, I know he’s left a trail of broken relationships behind him. People abandon him left, right, and center—the moment they get close, his toxicity flares.

At his worst, Simon has been absolutely vile. He ticks nearly every box for narcissistic traits. He can’t handle even mild criticism. When I offered gentle, constructive feedback, his ego erupted, and he lashed out with shocking viciousness. He claims to want self-improvement, but when real opportunities arise, his ego slams shut. Growth is blocked at the gates.

And yet, despite all this, I feel deep compassion for him. I’ve read enough about narcissists to understand where this behavior might come from. He’s going through hell: job loss, depression, drug use. I’ve been in a scarily similar place. So my empathy kicks in hard. Even though he’s been monstrous, I see pieces of myself in him.

After clashing with him multiple times, I gave it one final try. I knew by then that avoiding narcissists is usually the wisest route—they rarely change—but I extended one last olive branch.

It lasted less than a day. He snapped it in half and flung it back in my face.

It feels like I’m some kind of unbearable truth agent to Simon. His soul just isn’t open enough to withstand my presence. I’m far from perfect, but I’ve worked hard on myself. I try to stay humble, self-reflective, and growth-oriented—and that’s like kryptonite to someone with such a fragile, inflamed ego.

So now, Simon is blocked. I’m proud I tried. It didn’t work. And for my own well-being, I had to let go.

I’ve grieved the friendship that might have been. Because, believe it or not, Simon has redeeming traits in spades. He’s brilliant, creative, charismatic. He seems to care about others—though I wonder if that’s driven more by ego than empathy.

So what good came out of all this chaos? Watching Simon’s worst traits has helped me examine my own.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m pretty sure I’m not a narcissist, and I don’t think I’ve ever been as vile as Simon.

But. I have lashed out. Especially when my ego’s taken a hit.

Back when I was addicted to drugs, I had a devastating fallout with one of my oldest friends—let’s call him Anthony. He was deeply concerned about my behavior. He had a young son, and didn’t trust me—with good reason.

I’d promised I wouldn’t take drugs on a lads’ holiday, then did it anyway. I betrayed his trust. Later, when we tried to arrange a meetup, Anthony did something incredibly difficult: he told me I wasn’t welcome at his home. He couldn’t risk me having drugs on me—in case his son found them.

Anthony tried to handle it with kindness and care. But it crushed my ego. My best friend thought I was a danger to his child.

I exploded. I did a Musk. In a blaze of rage, I told my best friend to go F himself.

That ended a fifteen-year friendship. I was already depressed, but after that, I spiraled into suicidal depths. Deep down, I knew I was to blame—but my ego couldn’t take it. Blaming Anthony was easier than facing myself.

He wouldn’t speak to me for years. Eventually, we reconciled, but something had died. The warmth was gone. He kept me at arm’s length, understandably. Now, we don’t speak at all. It’s clear he’s given up on me again. That still stings, but I accept it.

So can you see why I felt a connection to my new friend Simon?

Watching him lash out recently awakened something primal in me. It reminded me of my worst moments. And I never want to go there again. I want to master myself; build emotional intelligence; stop letting my volatility hurt people.

Simon showed me how bad it can get when you’re spiraling—and it’s terrifying.

All my life, I’ve struggled with emotional volatility. I don’t lose my temper often, but when I do, it’s nuclear. Words are my sword, and when I swing carelessly, the damage is brutal.

Which brings me to a truth I’ve come to believe: Strong men don’t lack the capacity for destruction—they master it.

They walk with a sheathed sword, drawing it only when absolutely necessary. It’s restraint, not weakness. It’s honor. It’s the way of the gentleman, the noble warrior. My blade is my voice—sharp, but it’s best when kept in check.

Weak men lash out at the slightest wound. I refuse to be a weak man.

Meeting someone as damaged as Simon has clarified my mission. I must continue to heal. I must shed the worst parts of myself. I saw my shadow in him—distorted and exaggerated. It horrified me. And it inspired me to rise above it.

I’ve started psychotherapy. I’ve even been using ChatGPT as a kind of therapist—surprisingly helpful. This past month has been a surge of self-development. And I have Simon, of all people, to thank.

Is he doomed to remain toxic? Maybe. The scientific literature suggests that the odds aren’t good. But it’s not my burden anymore. He didn’t want my help. I have to put my own well-being first.

By cutting him off, I protect myself from future pain.

And in doing so, I’ve gained greater empathy for those who once cut me off. They saw someone chaotic, unsafe, emotionally destructive. I wish they could see how much I’ve changed in the last ten years. But I respect their choice to keep their distance.

We can’t change the past. Some bridges are too obliterated and irradiated to ever rebuild.

But if we choose humility and self-reflection, we can always choose to grow.

About Rob Collins

Rob Collins is a tech geek, reviewer, eBay guru, writer/author, dance music enjoyer, runner and mental health advocate.

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