Do you know that feeling when your heart is so sure someone will stay in your life that your mind doesn’t even question it? You don’t stop to think about the impact they’re having on you because just being around them makes you feel so good, like the universe planned for you to meet.

In this post, I’m sharing a recent experience — how losing an important friendship pushed me toward personal growth.

During my first weeks in Iceland, I didn’t have any friends. As an extrovert, being alone is always difficult for me. Maybe it’s because I struggle with my thoughts and tend to avoid being alone with them. The people at the stable where I worked already had their own connections, making it tough for me to find my place. One girl caught my attention, though. She moved through the stable as if socializing wasn’t on her radar. I’ve always been drawn to people who aren’t eager to be in the spotlight, probably because they’re so different from me.

Eventually, I started some small talk, and I was surprised to find out she was kind and more open than I expected. With a bit of nerves, I asked if she’d like to hang out on one of our days off, and she said yes.

A few days later, we went horse riding and grabbed drinks afterward. It turned out to be the best day I’d had in Iceland so far. For the first time in a while, I felt comfortable enough to let my wild ADHD side show. Our conversations got deeper over drinks, and we shared the stories that shaped us.

I got attached to the friendship quickly. Being alone in a foreign country can feel isolating, so having someone to talk to was a huge comfort. This friendship made me happy because it felt real. She matched my energy and made me feel seen and understood, like I had finally found a place where I fit in. I remember one night after dinner, we decided to climb a mountain behind the restaurant, bottle in hand, without a second thought. We laughed the entire way up, and it’s a memory I’ll never forget.

I’m not against drinking—in fact, I enjoy getting tipsy with friends occasionally. But with her, it became a routine. I started to compromise my usual habits and made sure there was always alcohol at home, just in case. I’m not sure why I did it. Maybe it was to feel more aligned with her or to quiet my overthinking. I still don’t know.

The highlight of our friendship was our weekend trip to Reykjavik. I even switched shifts to make it happen, and it was worth it. But it was also when I started noticing her mood swings. One time, she yelled at me over an innocent comment I made on the street. Later, when I brought it up, she brushed it off, saying she had only raised her voice because I was being deaf. I convinced myself I was overreacting, but looking back, I was shocked by her reaction.

That night at the guesthouse, we playfully wrestled and challenged each other to see who could knock the other down. I still laugh when I think about it. One time, I threw her to the floor, and she lay there pretending to be unresponsive to mess with me. I froze, unsure of what to do, and after what felt like forever, she shouted, “Why didn’t you call 112?” My heart nearly stopped. The next day, we were covered in bruises, but it felt worth it. That night also came with deep conversations about our childhoods and families, and plenty of tears. It left a mark on me that made me understand her better, and it’s why I can’t be mad at her, even now.

Over the month we spent together, so much happened that I became tangled in feelings that weren’t healthy. When I’m abroad and have just one close friend, my mood starts to depend on them. I started overthinking every time she was frustrated or annoyed, wondering how I should act. I tend to gravitate toward people who are emotionally supportive, and she definitely was. I guess this pattern shows up because I didn’t receive emotional validation in the way I needed as a kid.

A week after she left Iceland, I decided to tell her over text that I liked her as more than just a friend. She couldn’t call at that moment, but she already knew. I needed to say it so I could move on. I knew she was straight, and I realized my actions were influenced by my feelings. I wanted to stop that from happening.

A few weeks later, I was on the phone with another friend, explaining the situation. She suggested that I might have codependency issues. When I read more about it, I realized it resonated with me. This is something I need to work on, as it impacts my mental health. Even though I am independent, I still crave comfort and validation. Why?

Plans were made for me to leave my job early and visit her before she continued her travels. I even bought the flight tickets, and we were both excited. But just two days after I opened up about my feelings, she cut contact. Communication changed quickly, and we had an argument that felt like it came out of nowhere. I was so focused on being understanding that I lost myself. Even then, I didn’t know how to communicate with her.

I once saw a caption on TikTok: “A real connection can’t be broken by telling someone how you feel.” It’s a really painful truth.

The reality of traveling is that people come and go. Life is temporary, and so are many of the connections we make.

Do I regret meeting her, even though it hurt in the end? No. I’d do it all over again. That friendship brought growth and beautiful memories, and for that, I’m thankful.

Even though losing her left me feeling empty and unable to eat for a view days, and even though I called my dad in tears so many times that he suggested therapy, it taught me something. Feeling emotions so deeply is both painful and beautiful. Time heals, but only if you let yourself go through those feelings first.

The week after losing that friendship, something in me shifted—I stopped caring about anything in the same way I used to. It was as if the weight of constantly worrying and overthinking had finally broken. I felt lighter, almost reckless, but in a way that made me feel more alive. It pushed me to take bigger risks and put myself first for the first time in a long while. The fear of losing something or someone no longer held me back, and that newfound freedom changed everything.

This experience taught me that sometimes, losing something you hold dear can reveal parts of yourself you didn’t know were there. It showed me that when you reach a point where you have nothing left to lose, you find the courage to live more boldly and authentically. And while the pain was real, so was the growth. It reminded me that putting myself first isn’t selfish—it’s an act of self-respect.