Making friends is weird.
It isn’t easy finding the balance between being truly me and also wanting to make a good impression. It is such a sticky path. It is twisted and complicated. Being in a new school, knowing absolutely no one, makes finding friends not super easy. The whole process of making friends makes me feel like I am back in elementary school and trying to find people to play with on the playground.
Since being in school, I have made one friend. We have a couple classes together and are pursuing the same major. We were basically destined to be friends. Our friendship went from zero to sixty, real fast. I wasn’t even certain we were friends and then we were spilling our guts.
We quickly began talking about the deeper things about life: heartbreak, family drama, life, death, and everything else in-between.
The other day our class got cancelled so we went out to coffee (what a classic college statement to say). We sat down, a pumpkin latte in hand, and the conversation ebbed and flowed. Back and forth. They shared. I shared. It was an extremely rewarding conversation.
It was at coffee that I began to share my story. Up until this point, they had shared more than I had. Up until this point, I was just Maranda. I wasn’t Maranda The Christian, or Maranda The Ex-pastor, or Maranda The blogger, or even Maranda The Sinner. I was just Maranda. When the questions began, all the details flowed. I shared quite a bit. I definitely shared the parts that make me look waaaay less than impressive.
My new friend responded beautifully. They were kind and understanding. But, I walked away and kind of panicked.
I woke up the following day questioning what the heck I did.
I think I was just smacked with the realization that I have left the comfort of the church community. And now I am trying to navigate what I believe, what I want, and where I am going. Now, I don’t have the safety net of the church. Or the comfortability of church. I am just figuring out where my place is.
I was terrified of what my new friends thoughts would be. Did I share too much? Is my story too different? Will I be accepted? Am I enough to be their friend?
I reached out to some of my superhero girl gang & told them I was spazzing. They responded with reminding me to own my story.
My story matters. Period.
It doesn’t matter what I did seven years ago.
It doesn’t matter what I haven’t done.
I have a really beautiful heart that deserves to be trusted, honored, and celebrated.
I deserve to be surrounded by people that remind me that my story is valuable.
It’s so funny, because my new friend was really understanding of my story, but MY insecurity got involved. Owning my story is just another layer, a deeper level, of self love. More acceptance.
So, in this journey of making friends…I’ve decided to become my own friend.
Just like I am accepting of the new people I meet, I will be accepting of my story. I will extend kindness and grace and understanding to myself. I will trust the beauty I bring into friendships. I will celebrate who I am become through every season of my story.
Why does it seem so complicated to accept and befriend oneself. The reality is, you deserve friendship. You deserve respect and honor. You deserve to extend friendship to yourself. So, regardless of your story…own it. Rock it. And don’t doubt the fire within you.