"Always Welcome, Never Anchored."
I have always considered myself blessed to have many friends. My social calendar is often filled with different groups, different plans, and different conversations. And yet, there are moments when I feel alone in a way that is hard to explain.
What I’ve noticed is that each of my friends seems to have a core group they belong to—people they regularly see, text without thinking twice, and make plans with effortlessly. They have their constants, their home base. I don’t have that. I float between groups, always welcome but never fully anchored.
It’s a strange kind of loneliness—not the kind where you have no one to talk to, but the kind where you wonder if there’s anyone who truly counts you as one of their first calls. It’s being surrounded yet feeling untethered. When you have many friends, it almost feels wrong to admit to loneliness. But friendships, no matter how abundant, don’t always translate to deep-seated belonging.
"What Happens When You Have Friends But No 'Home'?"
Being autistic adds another layer to this feeling. I’ve always struggled with holding down friendships for long, and I sometimes wonder if that affects the depth of my existing connections. I’ve had many core or long-time friends drift out of my life, and even though I try not to take it personally, it’s hard not to. It makes me question whether I’m just bad at friendship, though I don’t know why that thought lingers or why it bothers me as much as it does.
The last time I had a solid core group was 10 years ago. It was with a group of guys who I’d known since school. But after a relationship with one of them that didn’t work out, everything changed. It felt like my male friends had to choose a side—and it wasn’t me. I was no longer part of the core and became an outsider. They still spend time together regularly and spontaneously, while our catch-ups feel rare and planned rather than natural. The most awkward moments are during milestone events—they went to his wedding, but they missed mine. I know it wasn’t malicious, just the way life works, especially when relationships form within friend groups. But no matter how much I rationalize it, it still hurts.
I think a part of this feeling comes from the way friendships form. Some grow naturally over years of shared experiences, while others are more circumstantial—built on work, hobbies, or mutual connections. While I’ve formed strong bonds in different areas of my life, I haven’t had that one consistent friend group that stays steady no matter what.
"When You're in Every Group but Belong to None."
Even history shows the importance of having a core group. Jesus himself, despite having many followers and 12 disciples, he had a tight inner circle of three. In his darkest, most terrifying hour, he asked his closest friends—James, John, and Peter—to accompany him to the Garden of Gethsemane. Other great leaders, too, relied on close friendships. Martin Luther King Jr. had his trusted allies in the civil rights movement, and even world leaders throughout history have leaned on core advisors and confidants to help navigate their personal and professional lives. It reinforces the idea that deep, dependable connections are a fundamental part of human nature.
Sometimes I wonder if this is a modern phenomenon. Are we all experiencing more fragmented friendships because of how life moves, or is it just me?
I don’t have an easy answer. Maybe connection isn’t about having one singular friend group but about learning to appreciate friendships in all their different forms. Maybe it’s okay to accept that having many friends and still feeling alone aren’t mutually exclusive—that both can exist at the same time, and that’s just part of being human.
Tee Cee
