My mother once told me of a story of when she was in high school where she became friends with all the wrong people.

These friends treated her horribly, and she was viewed as the tagalong of the group. My mom said she was always striving to gain their acceptance, and she would do stupid things with these “friends” because she wanted to feel like she mattered. She wanted to feel like part of the group. To this day, my mom always tells me how she regrets the person she used to be when she was around them because she didn’t like the person she became when they spent time together.

She has always encouraged me to befriend people who are genuine and who don’t make me feel like it’s difficult to be loved. She often told me about the numerous girls who she wishes she would have been friends with in high school but never did because she was afraid of how her social status would suffer if she didn’t go along with what her “friends” told her to do.

I think we are all more prone to have this mentality in high school, but that doesn’t discredit the fact that we aren’t any less susceptible to it in college. I speak from experience when I say that going after the friend who’s funny and bubbly but simultaneously makes us feel like we’re hard to love is not the right answer.

My first full day of college, just a few weeks ago, I walked into my first class of the day: International Business. I sat next to a girl who was energetic and liked to make people laugh. We had an instant connection and over the course of the next few days we became pretty good friends. On the surface, she seemed great. She always wanted to sit with new people, and she was always making everyone laugh. I enjoyed her bubbly personality and she always suggested having study groups before class.

Little by little, however, I began noticing odd mannerisms that she would have, or odd things she would say to me that were pretty condescending. Every time she would say something like “Oh my gosh Abbey, you are the most unobservant person I’ve ever met” or “No I think we should hang out at my dorm. I don’t like yours”, it began to make me feel inferior. I felt like I was the one who was doing something wrong or that I was the one who should be thinking clearer.

All the while, I still wanted to be friends with her. I wanted her to say things like “Abbey you are too funny!” or even “Abbey, oh my goodness what would I do without you?” My longing for those words only drew me closer to her, but I was always counteracted when she would say something rude or condescending. While being plagued with these thoughts one day, I was sitting in my dorm when all of the sudden my next-dorm neighbor (see what I did there?) passed by my room with a big smile and said “Hey! How were your classes?” This wasn’t the first time she had made such a kind gesture. In fact, she said something to that effect every day. Every time my door was open, she would stop by and ask how I was, what classes I had, how they went, etc. Every time she talked to me I always felt a rush of encouragement and a replenishment of joy.

That’s when it hit me. One of those “coulda had a V8” moments: why was I trying so hard to be friends with a girl who liked to take control over me? Why was I chasing after a so-called friend when I had such a sweet and caring person right next door? Immediately following this epiphany, I went over, knocked on her door, and asked if she wanted to get lunch together. With a big grin, she grabbed her purse and we were out the door.

Asking her to go to lunch was the best decision I’ve made. Since then, we’ve become great friends, and we’ve discovered that we have a lot in common with each other. Although I still see and occasionally hang out with the other girl, I don’t feel dependent on her anymore. I don’t feel the need to gain her approval or to show her that I’m worthy of her attention. I challenge readers to identify people that you feel dependent on for validation or for self-worth.

My mom was right all along: don’t be friends with people who make you feel like you’re hard to love.