For the next few posts, I want to slow down and talk through some of the why behind certain behaviors—things I’ve been quietly questioning for a long time, but didn’t have words for until recently.
The first one is this: Why did I share so deeply with Gina, when she rarely did the same with me?
I trusted her. I really did. I shared parts of myself I hadn’t shared with many people because I believed we were close. I believed we were safe with each other. And for a long time, I didn’t question that.
But looking back, there were small things that never fully made sense.
She called me a “close” friend, but always referred to someone else as her “best friend.” Even though she once admitted she talked to me more than anyone else, it felt like there was an invisible line I couldn’t cross.
When I was pregnant—or when I miscarried—I shared right away. She didn’t. When she experienced something similar, I didn’t find out until much later (she would make her husband lump me in a group text with MIL and FIL), and even then, it felt distant. I never brought it up because I didn’t want it to seem like I was making it about myself. I was careful. Maybe too careful.
I shared openly about my marriage and the things I struggled with. She rarely talked about hers (unless it was “perfect”). Sometimes, when I tried to explain how difficult certain family dynamics felt with MIL, her responses reminded me how different her situation was—how she didn’t have to worry about the things I did. She would let me know how “happy” she was about it, too.
She shared pieces of her life, but they were always brief. Vague. Just enough to explain what was happening, but not enough to really let me in. And yet, somehow, I still felt safe sharing with her.
I think now I understand why.
She didn’t give a lot—but she gave just enough. Enough warmth. Enough understanding. Enough presence to make me believe the closeness was mutual, even when it wasn’t balanced.
I didn’t recognize how uneven it was until 2024, when her responses grew shorter and the connection started to fade. That’s when I instinctively began pulling back. I shared less. I tried to meet her where she was instead of constantly reaching.
And that’s when everything changed.
What I’ve Come to Understand
Some people don’t avoid deep sharing because they don’t care at all—but because they don’t know how to be emotionally open, or because vulnerability feels unsafe to them. Others keep parts of themselves guarded as a way to stay in control, even if they don’t consciously realize they’re doing it.
At the same time, they may still create a sense of closeness that encourages you to open up—through listening, reassurance, or occasional personal sharing. Not enough to truly connect, but enough to keep the relationship going.
Over time, that imbalance can leave you feeling confused, overexposed, and emotionally tired.
Why It Feels So One-Sided
- Some people lack the capacity for deep emotional reciprocity.
- Some are afraid of being fully seen.
- Some rely on emotional distance to feel secure.
- And some simply don’t have the tools for mutual vulnerability.
None of that means you were wrong for sharing. It means you were open, trusting, and genuine.
What Helped Me Move Forward
- I stopped sharing with people who didn’t meet me halfway.
- I paid attention to consistency, not reassurance.
- I accepted that closeness can’t be forced or earned by giving more.
- And I chose to protect my energy instead of explaining myself.
I can see now that once I started pulling back, the dynamic shifted—and that probably felt uncomfortable for her. But it felt necessary for me.
I wish I had done it sooner. But I’m grateful I learned it when I did.
A Reflection
If you’re someone who shares deeply and loves openly, there is nothing wrong with you. Your openness is not a flaw—it’s a strength. But it deserves to be met with care, respect, and reciprocity.
You don’t need to give less of yourself to be accepted.
You just need to give it to the right people.
My Friend Abandoned Me and All I Have Is This Blog….. 
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