I grew up an only child, learning early how to keep myself company and keep my spirit steady. At ten years old, I left for boarding school, a small steel case we called “trunk” in those days – and a big silence. When the lights went out at bedtime, I talked to God like He was the only one who truly knew me. In that mix of solitude and structure, He became my constant. Those years taught me how to listen inward, to self-correct, and to stand on my own two feet without hardening my heart.
I also learned fast that not every smile is safe. I’ve met betrayals both loud and quiet, envy disguised as concern, shifting loyalties, secrets traded like currency. Even the ones I called friends sometimes carried a subtle edge. I kept extending myself, hoping consistency would build trust, but life taught me the hard distinction between access and intimacy, proximity and loyalty.
I’m built different now. Not bitter but clear. I can be kind without shrinking, generous without paying with my peace. The fires I walked through didn’t consume me; they refined me. They burned off my need to be chosen by people who never planned to stay and left me with a truer core, a steadier voice, and a felt sense of what safety really is.
This season is layered, beginnings and endings sharing the same calendar, joy and grief talking to each other. In the midst of it, I asked God to help me discern the hearts of the people I call friends. He answered in unmistakable ways: quiet checks in my spirit, patterns I can finally see clearly, confirmations that arrive right when I start to doubt.
Some truths sting, but they’re liberating. I see who shows up unprompted, who celebrates without competing, who can hold my victories and my vulnerability without reaching for the spotlight. I also see where I overextended, confusing loyalty with self-abandonment. That chapter is closed.
Here’s where I stand: I trust what God is showing me, and I trust the wisdom He’s grown in me, from only-child quiet to dorm-room prayers to now. I won’t argue with unease. I will name what needs naming, confront what doesn’t feel right, and set the boundaries that protect my peace. I choose clarity over comfort, courage over compliance, and alignment over approval. With God as my guide, I’m ready and I will act.
Xoxo,
Lady Abena.