Dear Abigail,
Yesterday, on the drive home, you said something that has stayed with me ever since.
You told me the girl you played with gets left out at her school, too.
I felt relieved that you realized you weren’t alone.
And sadness that you already know what that feeling is.
Being left out hurts. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying or numb. I want you to know that I see it, I feel it with you, and I see you.
I was born and raised in Tampa, Florida. Even though I live here now, this place still feels like a foreign country to me sometimes. I don’t quite fit in, and I stopped trying a long time ago. That was freedom.
When I was younger, I believed belonging was something you had to earn and you needed it for optics and maybe to feel whole, too. I measured it by who showed up to the parties I hosted, girls’ nights, playdates—the more, the better, I thought.
But most of the time, I walked away from those events feeling drained and insufficient because a lot of people showed up, and I spent a lot of that time pouring into those cups and before I knew it, I missed time with you at your party, and there were always a couple of parents that I anxiously wondered if I made them feel valued and special enough. However, as I sit here today, most of those friendships are over, not because of fallout.
But because most friendships are seasonal. A few last. Most fade when life changes. No one waits for you to catch up to their season—and you shouldn’t wait either.
When I went back to work after years at home, everything shifted. You kids rode the bus. A nanny helped after school. I had less time. Your dad and I had less margin. And friendships took a back seat.
People formed bonds that didn’t include me, and that hurt at first. I won’t pretend otherwise. But eventually, I realized something important: friendships are mutual. They’re not just about being included; they’re about giving—your time, energy, and presence.
And I only have so much of that.
When you’re a giver—and you are, just like me—you have to be careful where you sit. You can only share so many meals, listen to so many problems, give so much of yourself before something important at home starts to feel the loss.
Time is your most valuable currency. Anyone you spend it on should be worth missing out on a piece of your own life.
I want you to know this early: fitting in is never just a gain—it always comes with a cost.
People will invite you to tables that look full but leave you empty. Others will walk away without explanation. That doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. It means they weren’t your people for this season—or any season that matters.
The world is full of people. When one person walks away, others will come. But not all of them deserve your investment or your heart.
So don’t measure your worth by who includes you.
Measure it by who is worth including you.
So choose carefully.
Protect your time.
And never trade who you are just to feel like you belong.
Love,
Mom
P.S. If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt left out, know you’re not alone. I’d love to hear your story in the comments below.
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